King Elk Forest past the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind

he does not probe, but the sound he makes is somehow worse than any question. for he does not need to ask, surely, he knows what weight lies behind the vague words. she'd rather he didn't rather no one know how filthy she feels, but it is too late for that, now. and as he pulls himself into the role he occupies now, she lifts her chin a fraction, uncurls her spine. she is dangerously close to slipping back into the dar place, but she remembers the words of the woman and knows she must not.

"yes," she says only to his words when they do come, not sure what else to say. is she glad? no, there is no happiness in returning here, only a kind of relief. his next questions she considers a moment before shaking her head in a small no, words coming shortly thereafter. "i'm alright." the words sound hollow to her own ears, and after a moment she amends, "i'm tired." tired of feeling, tired of hurting and of the constant tension in her bones.