"Not as bad as it could have been,"
Takala scoffed lowly.
She averted her eyes. Not because she was unwilling, but because she couldn’t stand the reflection she might find in them.
How could it have been any worse? She was a huntress, she always has been. Her father would have been embarrassed to see her flail and whimper under the hooves of the beast. Worse yet, she was determined to prove herself in this damned, green hellscape. There was nothing to show for it. An empty stomach, a bruised ego, and a leg that would not see the light that shone through that stupid window for at least a few moons. Moons she would have spent looking for a way back Home.
"Not as bad as it could’ve been," she repeated, the words low, bitter—not at him, but at herself. "That seems to be the running theme."
I'm sorry - I ought to have been specific. You should keep your weight off of it for at least a week - maybe two - and take things slow for a while after. As long as we keep it from getting infected, though, you should recover fully
Though her eyes had been cast aside, his slender frame was caught in the corner of her eye as he shifted. He ensured he was politely and properly affixed in front of her as he continued.
"I wanted to see if I could fetch you anything, or...I thought you might like to stretch your legs; we have a garden, although it's a little lackluster this time of year."
"I'd gladly play the role of the humble crutch, if you wished."
Sadness ebbed at the corners of his lips, yet all she felt was a twisted, heavy anger that welled in her throat.
Takala exhaled sharply through her drying nose and lifted her gaze to him at last. Her expression wasn’t harsh. It was tight.
"I knew better," she said, voice quieter. "I should have known better."
"I've hunted elk in snowstorms and come out clean. But sheep? That’s how I end up... like this?" Takala's voice abandoned its softened tenor in favor of one that was far more incredulous.
A breath shivered out of her. It wasn't his fault. He was trying to help. And she got them into this mess.
"Don’t apologize," she added cooly. Her ears tipped back, and she finally met his wet gaze. "I’m not made of glass, Francis. I’m not looking to be coddled." Despite the words that filtered through her teeth, her tone was gentle.
"If you want to help," she said, turning to him now with a steadier look, "...let's take a look at this garden. Not as my crutch. Just — until my leg remembers what to do."
Takala scoffed lowly.
She averted her eyes. Not because she was unwilling, but because she couldn’t stand the reflection she might find in them.
How could it have been any worse? She was a huntress, she always has been. Her father would have been embarrassed to see her flail and whimper under the hooves of the beast. Worse yet, she was determined to prove herself in this damned, green hellscape. There was nothing to show for it. An empty stomach, a bruised ego, and a leg that would not see the light that shone through that stupid window for at least a few moons. Moons she would have spent looking for a way back Home.
"Not as bad as it could’ve been," she repeated, the words low, bitter—not at him, but at herself. "That seems to be the running theme."
I'm sorry - I ought to have been specific. You should keep your weight off of it for at least a week - maybe two - and take things slow for a while after. As long as we keep it from getting infected, though, you should recover fully
Though her eyes had been cast aside, his slender frame was caught in the corner of her eye as he shifted. He ensured he was politely and properly affixed in front of her as he continued.
"I wanted to see if I could fetch you anything, or...I thought you might like to stretch your legs; we have a garden, although it's a little lackluster this time of year."
"I'd gladly play the role of the humble crutch, if you wished."
Sadness ebbed at the corners of his lips, yet all she felt was a twisted, heavy anger that welled in her throat.
Takala exhaled sharply through her drying nose and lifted her gaze to him at last. Her expression wasn’t harsh. It was tight.
"I knew better," she said, voice quieter. "I should have known better."
"I've hunted elk in snowstorms and come out clean. But sheep? That’s how I end up... like this?" Takala's voice abandoned its softened tenor in favor of one that was far more incredulous.
A breath shivered out of her. It wasn't his fault. He was trying to help. And she got them into this mess.
"Don’t apologize," she added cooly. Her ears tipped back, and she finally met his wet gaze. "I’m not made of glass, Francis. I’m not looking to be coddled." Despite the words that filtered through her teeth, her tone was gentle.
"If you want to help," she said, turning to him now with a steadier look, "...let's take a look at this garden. Not as my crutch. Just — until my leg remembers what to do."
