remember not our faulty pieces

It had been a relatively eventful morning. She'd just gotten back to patrolling after finally being cleared by Halo to do so. Finally, only after being sidelined in the raid (something she was still pissed about), could she actually get back to training. Training, and dispatching coyotes, apparently. What was it with those relentless little bastards? Three of them, today, along her route. In what world was three versus one a fair fight, those fuckers. Whatever, of course, she'd dealt with worse. Though relatively unscathed, Hazel couldn't say the same for her breastplate.

Honestly, Hazel was tired when she finally made it home. Halo had given her some crafting supplies (along with other things, like soap and snacks) to keep stashed away, and the yearling was glad that she wouldn't have to go down and ask for a needle and some sinew to make the repairs. There was no telling just how Halo would react, and the worrying was enough to make Hazel feel more guilty than usual. With a shrug and a heave, the girl shed her breastplate, finally able to sit down and assess the damage.

Figuring she should actually make use of the midday sun, the yearling set to work on the repairs.
"Speech"