Smoke from the burning thicket still hung thick in the air, black and acrid with a stench like guilt or, if one was more morbidly inclined, burning flesh. Though an illusion brought forth by her own mind for the most part, Erthë moved with the distinct impression of being coated with ash, the kind of thick, oily residue that just didn't wash off but rather rubbed off on everything she touched. She felt dirty, tarnished in a way that four battles had not managed to accomplish, and the memory of the magical thickets last words played on repeat in her head over and over.

"It's not my fault I have thorns! It's not my fault I have... It's not my fault, it's not..."

Moodily, the young mare kicked a pebble that littered the path and watched it bounce off into the underbrush, the rustling of dead ferns and dry grass grating in her ears. No, it hadn't been the thickets fault that it had to die. So who's fault was it? Was it the Lady's for directing them to destroy it? Was it Tembovu's fault for wanting a barrier just in case someone in the future might want to attack the Edge? Or, could it be her own fault for not saying more, for not doing more to prevent what had happened?

The thing that really disturbed her about the whole affair was how easily she had been swayed. First by the words of the enemy (it was hard to think of the innocent white doe as an enemy, but Erthë forced herself to use the term anyway), reasonable and pleading. Her heart had softened then, given in, allowed dark roots to take hold within her soul. Then Tembovu had spoken, and Alune, and her resolve was shaken yet again. She had raised her bow once more, had aimed it at the pure illusion, had intended to let fly the arrow even though her heart still wasn't in it...

Erthë sighed. She was beginning to understand what the Lady Moon had been talking about, when she said it was hopeless to try and please everyone. She hadn't wanted to make the thicket sad, she hadn't wanted to disappoint her King or teacher, hadn't wanted to let the herd down... so in the end she was letting herself down by doing half-assed things for half-assed reasons. It wasn't even the fact that she had intended to kill the magical creature in the end that bugged her, but that she had moved to do it because someone else said she could.

It left a bad taste in her mouth and an itch in the throat that had nothing to do with the smoke.

In the heat of the moment, she had made several poor decisions. Most couldn't be fixed, but maybe there was one thing she could set right. Intentionally or not, Erthë had been rude to Alysanne and Rohan and the lingering guilt over that in addition to everything else was making her stomach sour. Apologies usually wasn't something she did, but in this case... It didn't do to have bad blood with the new Queen, nor with the Sergeant.

Now, where to find them... The pale young hybrid wasn't too familiar with either person. They were faces in the crowd, people she had seen and registered but never really talked much to. It made it harder to seek them out, but Erthë was persistent, and determined to comb the entire forest if that's what it took.

This was the only way she could think of to make amends... laziness on her part would not be permitted.

Big girls cry when their hearts are breaking

Some brown, slimy thing lurched about in her stomach when she finally spotted the painted mare, accompanied by the very sergeant she had been looking for. Was this luck, or bad luck? She would be able to get this over with in one go, wasn't that a good thing? Perhaps, but it did not feel at all good to hear Alysanne call out to her; the kindness of her voice made everything seem a hundred times worse. Erthë hesitated, then bowed to the inevitable and changed direction, heading straight for the pair with a serious expression on her young face. Her bow as she came to stand before the high ranking pair was polite bordering on formal, with the head slung low and wings extending gracefully. She did not bend knees though; with her legs it would be less than elegant, and though it felt as though she was marching straight for her own execution the hybrid born girl was realistic enough to realize she might be scolded or given some dreadfully boring chore as punishment, but probably wouldn't be exiled. Maybe.

"Hello, Alysanne, Rohan" she said, returning the greeting without a smile - it didn't feel appropriate, all things considered. "I'm... well enough. And you?"

Ugh, it was so awkward! How did you even do this shit in the first place? Should she let the queen address the issue, or should she bring it up herself, or just say sorry and run... No, no running. That was the cowardly way out, and whatever else she might be Erthë refused to be deserving of that kind of epithet. Biting her lip in thought, she ended up lowering her eyes to the ground, opting for offense rather than defense; if she rushed in blindly she would at least not have to see the killing blow, right? Dumb was in a way worse than cowardly, but stupidity could be rectified whereas gutlessness was incurable.

"I... was hoping to talk to you, both of you, if you have the time? About what happened back by the bramble."

As she waited for a response and listened to the heavy beating of her heart, Erthë hoped fervently that they wouldn't need reminding of just which bramble she was talking about. She really didn't want to talk about the outcome of that, nor about her own wibbily wobbly resolve. She hadn't come to terms with it herself, and if she were to discuss it with someone she'd much rather have it be with Alune, or at least someone she wasn't talking to for real for the first time.

Big girls cry when their hearts are breaking