Dragoncrest Cliffs a paean

healing broken bones is a long and challenging process for anyone.

for Avicus, who in even poor condition hated to stay still, it is something close to a death sentence.

day after day, she wiles away the time in the healer's place, watching the goings-on of the pack, ears cupped to catch the distant sound of the sea. she sleeps, but not often, because while Erzulie had staved off the fever that haunted her previous convalescences, the dreams were just as fitful were she engulfed in flames.

every time, she dreams of her mother. and every moment upon waking, she weeps.

it is a quiet, still sort of weeping, the tears flowing silent from her eyes, her body heaving just slightly. she dare not sob too hard (her tender ribs ache under the strain) nor too loudly. she is afraid of looking as weak as she feels.

with wet cheeks, she remains here, breath stirring the dirt, adorned in any number of bandages and poultices and salves.

if there is a hell, it is here; it is now.