Honeyed Pasture Water stings the lungs

A weald, such a strange name for perhaps a home. Gracious often spoke in a more articulate way than most, but perhaps she had met her match. She felt the prods against her, and although she flinched a few times, she didn't feel deep pain. Just exhaustion and its nasty side effects. 

"I am not broken," she said softly, "tired from running. My lungs are on fire." She felt like smoke should have billowed from her mouth as her lips parted, the heat from inside of her was almost too much. But the night's temperature would soon help her cool down, and perhaps the calmness of her visitor. She struggled to get her legs underneath her. "I can walk, just-" she said, catching herself just in time as she felt one of her knees buckle, "need some help."