Inkheart
JUST LIKE FIRE, BURNING OUT THE WAY
IF I CAN LIGHT THE WORLD UP FOR
JUST ONE DAY WATCH THIS MADNESS
COLORFUL CHARADE NO ONE CAN
BE JUST LIKE ME ANYWAY
IF I CAN LIGHT THE WORLD UP FOR
JUST ONE DAY WATCH THIS MADNESS
COLORFUL CHARADE NO ONE CAN
BE JUST LIKE ME ANYWAY
Just because she had heard of the queen's healing powers, didn't mean she knew anything more about the sovereign of Terrastella. And so when the night and snow painted mare approaches, hurrying to catch the weakened Friesian, Inkheart does not realize that she is the queen, or even her name. There are no introductions, no ceremony passing between them. Only the healer there to help the injured. The shoulder propped up against her wounded side makes her wince, but she lets a tired wing drape over the pretty paint.
But as soon as Inkheart has trusted the other mare for support, the paint moves away to grab a bottle from a pile, and she groans as she has to aid herself again. Warily, she parts her lips at the healer's behest, prepared for a nasty flavor. She swallows, but sputters and wishes there was some way to take back the act. Oh Solis, what fresh hell is this?! It tastes like bitter tea leaves, with a hint of death. It burns in her throat, and she wonders if she can feel it eating away at her organs. Perhaps that's just her imagination? She coughs, trying to clear her throat of the horrible-tasting potion.
Golden eyes lift to meet green ones and there's an unreadable glint in them - a reaction having something very foul in her mouth in addition to her wounds. Through tight lips she manages to respond. "My right leg - above the knee. I think something is broken." She glances at it, and thinking that perhaps it would be better to give herself a rest, she crumples to the ground as delicately as she can. The leg in question stretches out before her and she lies on her side, nares flaring as she tries to stay calm through the pain. Until now she'd managed to stave it off, but as if her leg somehow knew it was the subject of their talk, it throbs just a little harder. "You must be the sovereign. I - I'm sorry for the intrusion, I just..." She doesn't finish the thought. There's no need to. Inkheart does not like being weak, being at a disadvantage. Certainly she does not wish to need anyone else to care for her, and yet here she is begging like a pauper.
