This land is strange to her, though she first approached the forest’s edge some time ago (days? She isn’t sure, and doesn’t care to be). She has wandered beneath the bough’s mottled shade for all that while, not in any one direction, and not in hope of coming out the other side, simply for the sake of movement. But time wears on, as it’s wont to do, and she has grown weary in all it’s passing, and her pace slowed to an amble, and then a plod.

Now she simply stands among the tree trunks. There is grass at her feet and a stream burbling quite merrily mere feet from her, and though she thinks something to eat or drink would do her good she makes no effort for either. She is tired (has been tired for longer than she cares to think about) and it’s good to rest, now that she has accomplished the goal her guide had given her.

In the shade softened heat of late afternoon, Nadir lets her wings drape and cocks a hind leg to rest. She’s a sad sight to be sure, for though she has been gaining weight her ribs push against her skin, and her face is still a touch too gaunt. Furthermore, her wings are disastrous, and it’s hard to say if the way her feathers rest in utter, uncared for havoc is worse than the empty spot where her primaries ought to be – and evidently will never be again.

But preening isn’t a task she’s prepared for, even though she has come to accept the loss of her primaries and so her flight capability. In her mind her wing’s still ache, and phantoms shift, sending quivers down feathers that will never be again. She knows that in trying to preen she will set herself up for pain when she unerringly, thoughtlessly, goes to preen away the ghostly ache and finds nothing but air and scar tissue. She has accepted the loss, yes (that part was inevitable and undeniable) but every time she is forced to stare her crippled state in the face her chest goes tight with the agony of it, such that the mere thought causes her skin to shiver.

So maybe she’s a mess in more than one way – she has been wandering the Threshold with no care for time and without enough drive to progress further after all – she knows this, but she’ll pick herself up soon enough. She just… she just needs a little bit more time.

And maybe… maybe a friend?