Totoka River princess,

praimfaya drifts, almost lulled into sleep by exhaustion, weak from the pain, from the blood loss. she hadn't felt this way when she'd fought in the conclave ...but she reminds herself through the haze of her wandering thoughts drifting without tethers that there'd been a slew of medics there to tend to her as soon as the battle(s) were won...

the sound of hurried footfalls approaching pulls her from the blissful promise of reprieve and on edge, wanheda feels the hair along her spine bristle with warning. had the insane woman come to finish her off? though if not for the interruption praimfaya suspects she would've won the fight. too sore from physical wounds, the sting of pride is absent.

she opens frostbound gaze to study the woman that approaches her only close enough to affirm that it isn't the crazy one. a stranger, this one. her left eye stings too much to keep it open for prolonged periods of time — a combination she thinks of the wounds around it and the blood that has dripped into it acting as an irritant. a voice joins them, also unfamiliar. her throat feels sore from the woman's assault upon it but praimfaya, though no medic, hopes it simply looks worse than it is.

st — talking pulls at the wounds uncomfortably ...but if she passes anything along let it be this ( though the inquiry of her name does not go unnoticed ). stay out of the bleeding forest. if she, almost a master warrior, suffers this much damage she would hate to see what another might suffer. her words come out with more pauses than necessary; a struggle.

praimfaya. she wheezes with pain. i am praim— praimfaya. though she does not expect her name to mean anything to either woman who has come to her aid.