Dragoncrest Cliffs i could never get the hang of thursday

Her teeth lacerate the Rusalka wolf’s throat and every subsequent event after is a blur, hardly a memory, and it’s not until the next morning that she finally comes to. Exhaustion from the adrenaline leaves a nasty headache and a stiff body. She opens her eyes slowly, cloaked in the morning light broken from the tall redwoods. The bright light sends a shooting pain into her head and she slowly rights herself. Crusted blood cakes her throat and shoulder, unsure where his ends and hers begins, but the throb of puncture and tear likely needs attention.

Finally, she gets moving, but her eyes are half closed and if she makes a call for a healer (whom is likely busy), she’ll make the pain worse. She just needs to get somewhere to clean herself off and evaluate what has to be taken care of so she can find Rose later.

Her legs stagger beneath her every so often as she tries herself to the northern corner of the cliffs where it declines and opens up to the only salt water accessible without going down into Hougeda. Any rough slopes might lead to crumbling and she decides to take the careful route as low tide laps at the sandy shores. The damp sand parts beneath her feet and as soon as she touches the cold, salty water, she collapses into the froth. As the water breaks away at the dried blood, smears of red coat the sand and white caps.