Home is where the floor is

The giant brute began to stir to her less than gentle rousing and soon his eyes opened, tears streaming down his cheeks. Of pain, or of loss for his treehouse? Marina could not tell. But they didn't have the luxury of lying around mourning. They had to get up and get aid lest they perish out in the blighted woods. His breathing was shallow, but a quick triage didn't reveal any obvious wounds to his torso or chest. Bruised and battered probably—painful, but nothing severe. Wylan mentioned he couldn't move his wings and Marina turned her attention to his back, pushing and pushing with all her might to move the debris off of him. When she finally revealed his wings, she grimaced at the sight. They were bent in unnatural ways, clearly broken and bloodied, but thankfully still attached to him. Marina knew nothing of avian anatomy, so healing his wings would be well beyond her skills.

"They're still on you, big guy," she reported to him with a sigh of relief. Broken could be fixed. Amputated could not. After pushing some more broken planks off of him to free his body, Marina's strength in her injured leg finally gave out. With a yelp of pain and surprise she collapsed under her own weight, hitting the ground with a thud. Teeth clenched and ground together as she grimaced against the pain. Her whole leg felt like it was on fire, but removing the piece of wood impaling her thigh would have been a death sentence. Fuck, they had to get some help. "Gods dammit! Can you get up, Wylan? Are your legs okay?" If both of them were immobile, then she might as well start looking for some wolfsbane to end it all now.

"Marina"