The woman was anything but what one might call okay.
In the current moment, she was curled up on her bed on her left side, face closed in pain as she fought off the returning ache in her injured shoulder. The Claith recalled the expedition that caused the wound, flinching lightly as she though about how stupid she had been to even try going to a warfront, even as someone with such a mundane reason as 'translator'. She shifted slightly under the covers, wincing a bit as she tried to rest as easily as she could on her back- staring upwards at the ceiling in the sunlit room.
The sky was bright outside the small, corner home. The beams of the sun invading the copper-haired woman's room and telling her that she shouldn't be lazying about in bed but being up, being active. Despite this, she already knew that the moment she stepped outside her home and was seen by either the Lady or General that she would be set back into the home and bed to rest. Oh, how strict those people were sometimes. She could be doing more important things like attending events or getting an afternoon drink but instead she had to follow the word of the man that brought her to the warfront!
"Go back to bed and rest," the Claith mocked quietly, her words biting as she copied the voice of Regalian General in a far more high-pitched voice. She huffed quietly, mumbling to herself as if to keep even the shadows from hearing the rude words that came from her mouth about the betraying Nelfin and d'Vaud. After several moments of her internal temper tantrum, she let out another sigh, louder this time in annoyance and boredom. She knew, truly, that this was only her fault- not the fault of the General Hamelin. She would admit that, but her blame for the ache in her shoulder needed to be pinned somewhere. At least, somewhere other than herself who was the true cause. She was the one that insisted he bring her along with her tragic and pitiful excuses that ended in her being carried off the field no longer had the first arrow been shot.
Merina grimaced at the memory, lifting her left hand to gently brush her fingers against the bandages over her right shoulder, shaking her head lightly. Her thoughts stayed captivated by the linen wrapped around her wound for several minutes as her tired mind focused on nothing of importance before a sound interrupted her thoughts. The grumbling of her stomach.
It was in this moment that the woman had the sudden realization that her pain did not just live in her arm, but also her gut as she had been forgetful of eating for the most part since arriving back into the Crown Isle. With a heavy sigh, she dragged herself from bed and pulled a dress over head to cover herself and bandages, trudging across the room as the feeling of spinning hit her- something anyone usual experienced after lying down for hours on end only to rise more exhausted than before. She wrote a short letter on the page in front of her and opened a small pouch on her desk, removing two tenpieces.
Taking her time, the Claith eventually arrived at the bottom of her spiraling steps and reached the door where she spotted the usual, dirt-haired boy that clung around her block. She waving over to the child, who was no older than thirteen, handing him the letter and the coin before saying gingerly, "Take this to the General as always," to which a nod was her reply and the boy was off.
Within the hour, the short note would be dropped onto the desk of Hamelin d'Vaud for him to read, containing only the words:
I've run short of food, bring more.
In the current moment, she was curled up on her bed on her left side, face closed in pain as she fought off the returning ache in her injured shoulder. The Claith recalled the expedition that caused the wound, flinching lightly as she though about how stupid she had been to even try going to a warfront, even as someone with such a mundane reason as 'translator'. She shifted slightly under the covers, wincing a bit as she tried to rest as easily as she could on her back- staring upwards at the ceiling in the sunlit room.
The sky was bright outside the small, corner home. The beams of the sun invading the copper-haired woman's room and telling her that she shouldn't be lazying about in bed but being up, being active. Despite this, she already knew that the moment she stepped outside her home and was seen by either the Lady or General that she would be set back into the home and bed to rest. Oh, how strict those people were sometimes. She could be doing more important things like attending events or getting an afternoon drink but instead she had to follow the word of the man that brought her to the warfront!
"Go back to bed and rest," the Claith mocked quietly, her words biting as she copied the voice of Regalian General in a far more high-pitched voice. She huffed quietly, mumbling to herself as if to keep even the shadows from hearing the rude words that came from her mouth about the betraying Nelfin and d'Vaud. After several moments of her internal temper tantrum, she let out another sigh, louder this time in annoyance and boredom. She knew, truly, that this was only her fault- not the fault of the General Hamelin. She would admit that, but her blame for the ache in her shoulder needed to be pinned somewhere. At least, somewhere other than herself who was the true cause. She was the one that insisted he bring her along with her tragic and pitiful excuses that ended in her being carried off the field no longer had the first arrow been shot.
Merina grimaced at the memory, lifting her left hand to gently brush her fingers against the bandages over her right shoulder, shaking her head lightly. Her thoughts stayed captivated by the linen wrapped around her wound for several minutes as her tired mind focused on nothing of importance before a sound interrupted her thoughts. The grumbling of her stomach.
It was in this moment that the woman had the sudden realization that her pain did not just live in her arm, but also her gut as she had been forgetful of eating for the most part since arriving back into the Crown Isle. With a heavy sigh, she dragged herself from bed and pulled a dress over head to cover herself and bandages, trudging across the room as the feeling of spinning hit her- something anyone usual experienced after lying down for hours on end only to rise more exhausted than before. She wrote a short letter on the page in front of her and opened a small pouch on her desk, removing two tenpieces.
Taking her time, the Claith eventually arrived at the bottom of her spiraling steps and reached the door where she spotted the usual, dirt-haired boy that clung around her block. She waving over to the child, who was no older than thirteen, handing him the letter and the coin before saying gingerly, "Take this to the General as always," to which a nod was her reply and the boy was off.
Within the hour, the short note would be dropped onto the desk of Hamelin d'Vaud for him to read, containing only the words:
I've run short of food, bring more.
-Mer
The usual daily notice, of course.
@Suicidium
@Suicidium
