---

The healing was... going. Saga was still weak, wrapped heavily in leaves and poultice, but she was getting better. Eldritch had sent the infection fleeing from her wounds, but now the task of letting them actually heal was beginning in earnest. She was just weak, weaker than she'd ever felt in her life! But also... restless. Yearning for a return of normal, but jumping at every stir in the shadows and echo through the mist. The Fox was dreadfully paranoid, waiting for danger around every corner, and struggled with feeling... at home. With grasping happiness again even though for all intents and purposes, things should've been going back to normal.

She stayed far, far from the borders, but she didn't think her limbs could take her that far anyway. Or, at least, should. Too much walking often left her bandages tinged pink when they were changed, but Saga grew swiftly frustrated from the swap from travel to 'don't move that way or you could bleed to death'. Her neck hurt, her throat sore and hoarse still though the bruises were fading beneath her fur. Her stomach, crisscrossed worse than her throat, pinched and pulled at her skin at every motion as scabs tried to form at the edges.
Her face. Her face. Gods above, half of it was swathed in bandages too, and she hadn't yet seen the full extent of the damage... but she could feel it. The ragged patch of bare skin across her face that would never grow her glossy silver fur again, the deep pit that was once her eye; she was glad they were covered. She didn't want to face what lay beneath.

She looked half a mummy, wandering about the heart of Mistveil wrapped in cobwebs. It was humiliating enough without thinking about how ugly she was going to be.

The wind tousled her fur as she limped gingerly along a well-worn path, no destination in mind, just stretching her legs.