Lingering Effects

*Thistle* · 01-19-2020, 05:27 PM

It had been a tough trek, but Thistle would be damned to collapsed in front of a total stranger. Hell, she'd be damned to collapse in front of her own mother. Long story short, it was sheer stubbornness and willpower alone than allowed her to traverse the short distance to this ramshackle shelter. (In truth it was quite well put together, despite subtle signs of recent disuse, but Thistle was grumpy so... ramshackle.)

The woman was all business, and under any other circumstance Thistle would have surely appreciated it. She was quick, concise, to the point, and delivered her opinions on the necessary care without fluttering about like a matron who had been too long without children of her own. Exactly what Thistle would want in a healer, apart from the fact that most of her opinions on the matter had be derived objectively and not when it was Thistle herself awaiting their care. She nudged her injured limb up onto a folded hide and offered her water from a gourd. It might have been days old since it was harvested from whatever stream she'd dredged it from but Thistle would swear it was the sweetest she'd ever tasted.

"Thank you," she murmured after swallowing half the thing, and with more sincerity than she was comfortable with. The way the woman had placed her beleaguered hind limb was already reliving some of the strain, and it was hard for Thistle not to show her relief. The herbs came next, and while those were bitter and foul she knew better than to refuse them. What few lessons her mother had been able to drill into her head, this was paramount: never refuse a healers ministrations, particularly if you might have succumbed otherwise. The yet unnamed woman claimed that with a bit of rest she'd be back good as new, which Thistle chose to believe with all the optimism she could muster. There had not been any hogs involved so she supposed she should be grateful. "I don't often get myself so beat up, you know," she mustered, voice somewhat stronger thanks in large part to the gourd. "Three seasons on my own and this is the worst of it."

Her littermates had be constantly seeking a healer's aid for this or that, but not her. Thistle prided herself on being self-sufficient. She did not often get herself into situations that required outside intervention, but this was the rare exception. It was some luck that this woman just happened to have a healer's knowledge to spare. "I'm Thistle, by the way. No surname so I'm not sure what good it would do you, but all the same." She settled in, drowsy now that she'd be afforded a place to rest, and eager to sleep through the next three days if the gods were gracious enough.

"Speech"

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