Forward dated a day or so.
Her routine was becoming more automatic, for she was left alone— sleep, wake up, eat whatever bites of food might have been left by her den (an increasingly rare occurrence), and chancing a walk depending on both her level of pain and level of boredom. Mostly, however, she slept. Magpie was in no shape to travel beyond Drageda's borders, and she did not like the darkness the consumed her thoughts when she was awake. Her dreams were better; of dark-furred bodies that brushed against her, usually with golden eyes but occasionally slate. There were nightmares, too, of wolves tearing into her flank and side and belly— but even that was better than what her waking hours were made of.
She was losing herself. There were times that the loneliness was so overpowering that she forced herself to leave the den and walk as far as she could. When she pushed herself too far, she'd collapse and rest, then make the painful journey back. Magpie wanted nothing more than to see someplace new— hating each tree or rock or geyser with more intensity every time she passed them.
Today, she had managed several meters further than she had been capable of yesterday before her strength gave out. She sank wearily to her haunches, tongue lolling from the side of her mouth, sides heaving in shallow breaths. Magpie's eyes were sullen as they cataloged something new that she hadn't seen yesterday, clinging to that small thing to keep her from madness.
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