amplifying the pain in frames and glass

The distance stretching between them, it's more than the miles beneath her feet. Hazel is gaunt, more wiry than she'd been among the Armada. No longer well fed, surviving on spite alone. There wouldn't be any mistaking this for thriving, but she's here. She's alive. Still, with her latest contact with the worms, she doesn't want to get any closer to the boy. There'd be no endangering them, at least if she could help it. "I missed you too." Her tone is somber, jaw set.

Drawing into one of the empty stalls, Hazel finds she still knows this place. Feeling like a ghost within it, something resting heavily on her chest. "When I left, it was with intent to find her. She's safe, with Warden and Sedna's family, but--" there's a sudden sheepishness to her tone. Still, no one else could deliver the news. It has to be Hazel, and Hazel alone. "She can't travel anymore. Arthritis came on fast and strong, her movement is... limited. She sends her love, her apologies, all of it." Hazel's gaze casts away, chewing at the inside of her freshly-wounded cheek.

"The trip back would have killed her, but staying away is k--" is killing her too. She can't bring herself to say it. "Is weighing on her more than you can know. I'm sorry, Wylan." The words fill the space between them, her tone hushed and gentle. For as much as she doesn't want to introduce any grossness the worms have brought to her system to the Armada, she has to reach. To offer the hug, if he'll take it. Clarity in just how bony, just how ragged Hazel actually is, under her relatively well kept coat.

Hazel, The General