wilting flowers

"Don't follow me, stay,"  were the last words he had spoken to her days ago, and it was the last time she had seen him too. Though she knew better than to leave the spot he'd instructed her to stay in, she'd never been left alone overnight before. And certainly not for three nights. Her stomach roared and she whined, though she knew better than to leave her spot. The last time she had was enough of a reminder, and she still had the scar to show for it though she was thankful it remained hidden. The infection was worse than the injury itself though, but she still knew better than to anger him.

And so she waited, and waited, and waited. Without food or water, the girl was getting weak. It may be the cusp of winter, but the sun was still harsh and parts of her face began to naturally blush with the heat of a sunburn. It wasn't something she wasn't used to, but she didn't have any of the aloe she needed to soothe her burn or any of the paste to prevent it from getting worse. She could only hope that he would be back soon and seen that she had been good and done exactly as she had been told as she curled up tight in what little shade the wall offered her as the sun rose from behind it.

"Speech"