Eruviel stared at the roof of her hut. Was it her hut? Minutes were hours, and every one she spent convincing herself not to crawl out into the cold of the storm and curl up in the snow. The heat of the burns radiated through her aching, languid limbs, and every movement only a measure more agonizing than laying still.
She could not remember how she had gotten from the Ferry to the hut. She could not remember how she’d gotten into her bed of furs, or changed into fresh clothes with salve spread over her burns, but the pain… That was all too clear. Her flesh bubbling and curling as she’d stepped into the liquid fire. Heat turning her lungs to parchment and smoke filling her chest for her to choke on. And she had gone back in. The Elf remembered the pain being a little less… or it was, quite possibly, her body growing numb to compensate for the pain, and she remembered feeling the cold bite of magic that had clung to her shoulder since Durrow burn away.
More than anything, she remembered waking from the Henki-maa, in the raw reality of Forochel to writhe in the snow, unable to keep back the tormented cries that clawed up her throat. What a pitiful sight she must have been. Somewhere in the back of her mind she tried to convince herself that it would pass, and tried to push past the unbearable sting and heat that radiated from her singed flesh, but the present was too much. Hot tears streamed across the dried skin of her face to wet the loose hair that pillowed her head. What she wouldn’t give for a taste of cold snow on her tongue, or the feel of frigid water coursing down her throat.
Having woken in a haze she’d found Hano curled around her head. She had cried more than she’d meant to, finding that she was not alone, his concerned wimpers pulling her from her sleep. Had she dreamed or voiced her discomfort in her sleep? Either way, she did not have the heart nor the will to ask him to stop when the wolf occasionally licked the tears from her cheeks. Kemp drifted in and out of the dwelling, but Hano remained, ever vigilant as she passed in and out of sleep.
She thought often about the others. An ache twisted in her chest, a bitterly familiar pain of shame and failure as she recalled Oendir’s cries, and the horrifying silence as Kemendin had begun to float away in the river of fire. She was to blame. Leaving the elk calves to their fate had not been an option, but she had been weak, stepping into the lava, and because of that her friends had gotten hurt. They all knew that there would be a cost. They had been warned of it two years ago, but in their urgency she had not cared to think on it.
Hano sniffed, his cold nose nudging at her ear as the elf’s wallowing began to get the better of her. Pulled from her thoughts, she attempted what she hoped was a weak smile, and exhaled a ragged sigh that felt only somewhat less painful than than the ones before. The wolf scooted a little closer and Eruviel tucked her head against his neck, praying for sleep to take her, and for her two friends that she hoped had somehow been spared.