For Laxago

Laxago was healthy these days - at least physically. It was no measure of her own accord, however, and it was by little more than luck that she remained alive, doted upon by her sweet lover who was the only thing to keep her going. She couldn't help her mental state, which was unstable to say the least, and while some days she seemed almost better, almost ready to face the world again, but then she would slump and revert back to the black abyss of her mind and dragging her back from the deep was easier said than done. She had awoken some time ago, but was uninterested in moving from where she lay curled at the back of the den, her pale forest eyes blinking slowly as she watched the sun's rays dapple on the water's surface - a rather beautiful occurance if Laxago had been interested in such things. Instead, she huffed and rolled over to face the wall of the dugout, wondering if she could catch a few more minutes of sleep before Deteste came to rouse her.