Wheeling Gull Isle keep you in the dark

"it does not matter," she drawls, gaze settled heavily on the strange woman. "I am bound here." she understand enough about the healing process to know not to move; only to shift from one side to the other, to make for the stream when dryness pulls at her throat. to rely on the kindness of those who have made her dependant on her is grating, painful, and yet she must.