The recovering scout entered her hut, having had to relieve herself again. She'd stayed out in the clear morning as long as she reasonably could without chilling herself too badly, but that wasn't all that long. Not when all she could put on for herself of the things she had to wear were her boots. At least, not without removing the sling and risking further damage to her shoulder.
She got out of her boots a bit nearer the fire than usual, grateful that her wife – and how incredible to her it still was she could think that now! – was keeping the wood-box supplied and ensuring that she had warmth even when alone. Ljota was off walking the hounds now, and possibly tidying up some at the lodge, which was why she was alone for the moment.
After a bit of warming herself, she settled onto the furs that generally served as her bed, and sighed. She'd had more rest than she'd really wanted even before the battle, for all that she'd perhaps needed it. But now, this enforced rest with the pain in the back of her shoulder that spread every time she forgot and tried to use it – this was what her body now needed, yes. But it gave her far too much time to think, and far too little she could manage doing to distract herself.
And this thinking, with what all had been going on, was mostly involving feeling sorry for herself by now, or worse, dwelling on things that had happened that she could not correct. In particular, her complete loss of control with Leohna and Wood-Sculptor still bothered her. The little healer had done so much right in trying to keep her from it, too, but that last bit before she couldn't manage any more – asking another woman about when she'd last bled. How could that mean something about injury? Surely that had been one of the most clear things she'd ever asked? But apparently it hadn't been, and that confused her, and frustrated her.
That frustration, at herself, her limitations, her utter failure to make herself understood, that had been the final push. She'd had to get away. She was lucky Ljota had been with her, keeping her somewhat grounded by her very presence. Even as it was, she'd barely managed the door with her flailing hand, and the sling was all that kept her from trying to flail the other, and probably hurting her shoulder more.
Fang had circled and guarded, as he always did when she needed it, but he had learned, or simply figured out on his own, that no matter who else he kept away from her, Ljota was always to be allowed in. She couldn't really remember what all had been asked, but she knew some of it was about loving her, and her mouthed kiss had only been meant to reaffirm to her wife that she'd heard, and loved back even in that condition. But the kiss that came in response, while it had surprised her almost into pulling away, had been just the right touch from her.
Had anyone else touched her then, she probably would have tried to attack them, with unpredictable results as to who would actually get hurt. But somehow, in a way she still could scarcely believe, and had no way to explain, her wife's touch was different. There would be times when even that might not be good, but her presence – that made so much difference to her.
Somehow, even just standing or sitting by her, that tall, dark woman was an anchor for her thoughts and feelings. The maelstrom that occupied her head in response to all the sensations was lessened, and made less important. What mattered was the solid assurance of her love. And in that time of losing control so badly, it had mattered yet again. Her 'fit' had lasted less than an hour, she suspected, and not the good chunk of a day that it would have normally – and not involved running around in circles in the woods and getting minor injuries as otherwise happened even at the best of times.
And yet, for all the assurances and smiles Leohna and Wood-Sculptor had given her, she knew she had failed them, and not been so good to them as they deserved, both as clan-mates and as friends – or even simply as good people. It was just as well she couldn't spend too much time around people if that's how she was going to be. They probably didn't really want to see her anyway. Not after that.
At least Scarlet Jay was still dropping by to see her and talk with her. But her old friend was having to take up the gap in scouting left by her injury and convalescence, so there wasn't a lot of time available for those visits. And the redhead needed to get better integrated into the clan than would happen only from spending time with her.
The recent visit from the healer Elf, though – that had truly surprised her, and she was sure she hadn't properly shown how much she appreciated it. The unexpected pleasure of some new company, the effort put forth on her behalf, bringing food, and just being willing to chat with her some. An Elf! After all the things she'd been told when younger about how she wasn't worthy of any Elf's attention. Yet this one had said otherwise, and not just because of being a healer with someone who was in need of care.
That was a thought to hold onto. It was too easy to lose herself in bad memories otherwise, with nothing she could really do properly to occupy her mind. But the Elf thought her worth talking to, and the still-recovering Home-Wright had immediately asked whether their home was big enough. Perhaps thinking on good arrangements for growing hounds was something she could manage to make last.
Arastal's suggestion about trying to draw or something was a good one, if only they had parchment to spare. If someone brought her the means, she could try drawing what the hut could look like, perhaps. That would certainly work better than her feeble attempts at one-handed fletching had.
Perhaps she could go down to the lodge even without help? It was cold out, but if she draped her robe over her shoulder? Ah, but if the fires there had gone out because everyone had left… She sighed. No, that wasn't really an option. She'd have to wait where she was, and try to remember to ask about some way to draw later.
