[closed-ish] revelations come at last

[eolasemah]

WHO: Sina and anyone who wants a starter
WHAT: The diplomacy mission did not agree well with her.
WHEN: Some backdated to Harvestmere 4th/5th, some current.
WHERE: The healing tents or Sina's tent in the garden.
NOTES: Warning for some icky injuries and pretty severe downers!

"Adelaide," comes a cry from the gates, and the newly-conscious Sina removes herself from Herian's horse to stumble towards the healing tents, the darkness staved off by her glimmering shard, which is definitely brighter than the last time anyone here saw it.
"Adelaide," she wheezes again, her voice thin and desperate, an injured fawn bleating for its mother; but with this part of the courtyard filled with only unfamiliar faces, she finds she's not strong enough to keep looking. Sina drops to her knees and hugs herself, keeping the palms of her hands away from her arms in strange clawlike poses. "Ghi'lan," she sobs, her voice growing quieter.

This is only the beginning of a long month in which few hear from or see her, as Sina is spending it curled up in a ball on her bedroll. She resists eating, won't talk to anyone without persistence on their part, and ultimately seems at a total loss of spirit.

[If you'd like a starter, hit me up!]

Comments

[nadasharillen]

She'd been sitting perched on the end of her cot, waiting, for hours. Days? Ever since she heard word that Sina was in the healing tents, and ever since she'd been turned away by a kind but no-nonsense apprentice who'd said that the First of Dahlasanor would see no-one. All she'd been able to gather was that the mission that Sina had been so blase about when she left Ashara had failed, and badly.

The waiting left her a lot of time to think, to pick at her calluses endlessly until one started to bleed, to scold herself, to bandage, to think again. What to do, when Sina's pale face finally appeared through the tent flaps? The over protective fussing had passed its time, she'd tried self-recrimination and found it did more harm than good, the old fall-back of retreating into their shared culture and the comfort of Elvhen was...

She clenched her fist, watched sullenly as the pressure made red spread slow and small on the bandage, let hate for the betrayal make her vision fuzz.

Harellanen. Traitors all. And Sina--Sina loved the People. Sina believed. Or she had, anyway.

A small noise at the tent flap derailed her thoughts, and then it was too late for more thoughts. Her clansister had returned, wan and weary. Their eyes met briefly before the younger elf turned away to curl small on her bedroll. Nahariel wanted to embrace her. Curl up behind her as she had sometimes when they were young. She waited for a while in the silence. Then she moved to the other side of the tent just to sit, her back to Sina's, not touching, but close enough that she could feel the tingle on her back that meant someone was there behind her. And then she waited again.