Wild Berry Meadow im ersten morgendlichen Schein

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days pass, a seamless spread of day and night, light and dark. she is made heavy, her bones lead and her lungs iron, remains bound to this place as scabs and healing begin a slow march over open wounds. remaining near, always, is the untethered moonbeam, as unbound to this world as the raven to it. the sylph works to keep away infection, to persuade the gently healing wounds to close over; become whole. 

eventually, the wraith can shift without pulling open the scabbing sounds, and the seeping blood stops entirely. she remains heavy, but the blur of the days slows, becomes clear. she wakes that morn with the heavy fog within her skull dissipated. yes, it lingers still in the corners and low places of her thoughts, and the hurt remains steadfast, but coal-dark gaze searches for the ethereal @Awenfen without the dull glaze they'd carried since the weald.