Blackfeather Woods hanging on in quiet desperation is the english way

She stared at Kalganov for a long time, not moving, not registering his presence nor comprehending who he was. Then the horror of her dream faded, and she came to life once more, sitting up, licking dry lips. No. . . she said quietly, shaking her head an infinitesimal degree. No, I'm fine.

Maegi stretched, wiry muscles rippling, letting loose a jaw-cracking yawn before turning to Kalganov once more. Peryite came again to me in my dreams, she said, as if discussing what to watch on television. The god of pestilence, the one I'm named for. I-- It suddenly seemed sacrilege, to tell the other what she had seen, what she had been told. Was it? Was the knowledge for her, and her alone?

She felt trapped in this knowledge, though, completely and utterly alone. If this was truly her destiny, there was no way she would escape it. What more could Peryite do to punish her for an instance of loose lips?

Apparently, I'm going to rot from the inside and die, eventually, Maegi continued, laughing--though the sound came hollow and cold from her maw.