---

She didn't get very far before the pain grew too strong to bear. With the world warping and bending like a spinning kaleidoscope around her Erthë drifted unsteadily down towards the earth and landed heavily, the jolt of nauseating agony through leg and shoulder nearly enough to make her pass out. The mere thought of loosing it now however made her suck in a deep breath, fear of one horror overpowering another; Rikyn might be on her trail ready to finish her off but he might also not be. If she passed out however, she would be done for, in more ways than one. She would never be that weak again, hadn't she swore it to herself only weeks ago?

No fainting. No dying. No giving up or giving in to panic; she had to think, because wasn't that what she did best?

It was awfully hard though, because much needed blood that was supposed to fuel her brain was dribbling down her leg in a red stream, rivulets breaking off here and there to drip from the belly instead. Once again her pale coat was dyed crimson, and for every time it happened Erthë loathed the color all the more.
Summoning the last flickering remnants of her magical gift, she focused on the deep wound in the shoulder and let the energies flow out towards the blood. It was barely enough; slowly the oozing liquid froze, turning the river of approaching death into a crimson rose blooming out of her flesh. It woudln't last long, not in this climate where even the last days of Orangemoon saw hot winds and brilliant sunlight, and the only real difference could be seen in the drying pools and river beds and the cold, dry nights.

Disorientated Erthë turned her head in sluggish swings from side to side, straining to find something in the landscape that was familiar. The smoke from the Heart rose in a black plume behind her, and the sun, still high on the sky but past zenith now, was on her right side. Good, that meant the ocean was dead ahead... only, not so close that she could see it, hear it or smell the salt upon the breeze.

Damn.

Not good. Not good at all.. She was further away from the Throat than she had hoped, closer to Rikyn and more pain and anger than she wanted to be, and so terribly, terribly far away from home and help. Last time she was attacked she'd been worse off but closer to home, badly injured but able to use her wings. Now... Sighing she looked down at the blood-splattered feathers that clumped together around the wound, misaligned and dirty and utterly useless. Even if they had been pristine, there was no flying on that wing.

This was bad. Really bad. It was a real mess, all of it, and she really couldn't (though she tried very hard) blame anyone but herself for it. Not even Rikyn.

She was in trouble, and it was her own fault.

Think, girl, think! Use your head, find a solution, discover a way out. Gotta think...


She stood quietly under the dazzling rays of the sun, barely noticing when the ice that capped the wound began to melt. Cold drops of bloody slush slipped and slid down slender curves, tracing the slender girth until gravity got the better of it; with a wet splash it smacked into the ground, a wet flood gate bursting open that slowly, steadily drained the life from her body.