[ it is nothing she had not already considered. still, hearing the words aloud makes them real. they sink deeper into the meat of her thoughts. her fingers curl around sand. the grains stick under her nails.
she tries to make words — i don't need anyone. i won't go anywhere. and an older mantra, one the jarl had been right to disbelieve: i'm not dangerous i'm not — but the world is spinning. the pain in her shoulder is too much. she retches, but only water and bile comes up. it sticks between her lips and the dark patch of sand she's made wet with her upheaval. she retches again, dry.
and then, perhaps anticlimactically, she collapses right there on top of her own vomit. she's too wounded to get further. too tired. ]
no subject
she tries to make words — i don't need anyone. i won't go anywhere. and an older mantra, one the jarl had been right to disbelieve: i'm not dangerous i'm not — but the world is spinning. the pain in her shoulder is too much. she retches, but only water and bile comes up. it sticks between her lips and the dark patch of sand she's made wet with her upheaval. she retches again, dry.
and then, perhaps anticlimactically, she collapses right there on top of her own vomit. she's too wounded to get further. too tired. ]