Wapun Meadow i. a vagrant you shall become

A quiet cant of her head follows Rhælla’s own name-giving — and the herbalist cannot help but shy, some, when the rogue willingly presents the rest of her guise to her. What was once hidden in shadow was now brought into gaping curvature where the other twinkling eye should’ve been. Neither could Aure help the wisping thought of That could have been me.

The argent bowed her head in mute apology for her staring, ears flicking further back to nestle down into a willowy ruff. As for her own hindrance, well... “... It does.” There it was — the words she hadn’t been able to bring herself to speak, least of all to herself. “I am newly... it— this is new.”

And so far, there was no way to use it to her advantage, with living. Fighting. If any at all.

The same, searing (undeserving?) shame gobbled her up; made her fidget in place. I’ll never get to see my children with both eyes ever again. Or my love. The stars, the moon. A humming flush had worked its way into her scarred cheeks by now, and the silver whet her lips, voice a little hoarse, “And... and, you?”