Northstar Vale Pónos

The journey home, under any other circumstance would have been made swiftly and easily. She had woken to being carried—switched between the backs of the two men, any insistence she made to walk completely futile. It was agony, not just the seering pain with each jolted footfall, but the mannerism of Reyson. Hurt and indifference—he knew something had transpired. His hurt indicated to her it mattered not quite what it was, simply that it was.

And so when she was met with refusal to walk, she fell to silence, every so often losing consciousness as another wave of nausea or pain would overcome her. 

When they returned, she was nestled to the healing den. A place she knew well—a place she never would have expected herself to be put upon, especially with her pupil doting upon her with worry. 

Arsenio spoke and she had no words. Tamar cried, cradling her, and taking over a job and herself would have done. Reyson would not look to her. 

And so her eyes strayed to the distance, silent and wishing quietly for the darkness to come to her once more, in a reprieve she knew she did not deserve.