Lingering Effects

*Thistle* · 01-17-2020, 06:57 PM

Ashen Empire, huh? Well didn't that just sound... ominous and awful. Still, it wasn't like Thistle had much choice. Thistle wasn't sure whether she really did sit at the edge of the stranger's territory or had blundered blindly over the border and this woman was simply too prim to make her pay for it in her current state. Either way it seemed like she was good for now. Mercy and all that. When the woman beckoned her onward, Thistle was posed a choice that wasn't really a choice at all. Follow and maybe die, or stay put and die from either rudeness or exposure for sure. She rose, groaning, and followed. It wasn't a long walk but she was slow moving and the journey felt like torture. By the time the pair arrived at the sandstone cave, hollowed out by erosion ages age, Thistle felt fit to collapse. In fact she did sink against the cave's wall and sank to the cool floor, excited to no longer be moving even if she had expended every last drop of energy in her pitiful, measly body.

The thought occurred to Thistle that maybe the woman was some sort of sadist and had lured her there just to leave her with a glimmer of hope before ending her, but whatever, right? Let it happen. She was stationary and out of the wind, so not really the worst way to go. "I mean this with all due respect," she began. "But you are a cruel task master." Was the woman going out of her way to help her? Yes. Did she have any real reason to go out on a limb and offer Thistle aid? Absolutely not. But that didn't mean Thistle couldn't internally complain about it.

At this point whatever Thistle was offered she would accept, be it water or the pointy end of the woman's fangs. What was life really worth in the midst of dehydration, exhaustion, and general ailment? She had herself half convinced that all she needed was a good night's sleep, but on the flip side of that coin slipping blissfully into the void didn't seem that rough of an alternative. Wouldn't her mother be proud? Thistle slumped sideways and sighed. "Do your worst. At this point you could set a passel of hogs on me and I'd thank you." It hadn't occurred to her that she might owe this woman something for her service. They hadn't even exchanged names, and Thistle wasn't exactly the sort to consider the wants and needs of others. If the stranger had left her to wither with amidst the sands, fine. If she left her right now, fine. If she tended her boo-boos and brought her water and served her a meal, fine. She could tear out her throat, fine. All Thistle really wanted was to sleep.

"Speech"

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