Her world had gone black. Screams and roaring flames resonated in her head, until the sky broke in rain and the gentle drizzle brought her back to this life. A groan escaped her, looking up in the face of the pony that had obstructed her attack on the golden devil. His eyes were kind, sincere concern resting in his mismatched pools. She wanted to say something, but was overwhelmed by exhaustion. Her body was one single, throbbing burn, but she was strong; she had always been strong. Eyes slid close once more, sleep seemed like a welcome relief, but at the same time she was worried that if she closed her eyes, she would never open them again. A voice broke through to her. Of all the idiotic things, that was the worst I have ever seen. Ever. A grunt was emitted from her, eyes opening as consciousness returned to her, staring into the face of d’Artagnan. "And what did you do, boy? Standing there, looking pretty?" The savage growled in her rasping voice, tossing her head in his direction, hoping to shove him with her antlers, only she was too weak and the motion was making her hurt. At least she still had her sharp tongue.

Foolish – was that all they would call her, after she had just risked her life to save them and their home? Inside, she felt a coldness creep over her. Clenching her teeth, she wanted to get up and walk away, return to her lonesome wanderings and let time do its work. She cared not for scars, she had so many already, and she had never been given a pretty face to worry about. While the doctor went to work, she hissed as the useless Kou removed vines from her body. Korra didn’t care for her presence; she didn’t care for what nasty thoughts they, her own brothers and sisters, would think of her. When the healing was done, she felt better, but the exhaustion was still upon her. Gathering her strength, she got up in an abrupt motion, stiffly staggering a few steps before shaking her hide. Looking down her side, she noticed the new scars on her brown pelt, and dry, cackling laugh escaping her. The barbarian’s eyes went to d’Art, a little hard in their depths, but she nodded respectfully to him. "Thank you, boy," she growled and turned away.

She strayed to the edge of the forest, moving slowly. Most of all she wanted to be gone from the gathering, with a wounded pride that she needed to nurture, no more pitying eyes or preaching words. Her glance went to Mauja, but that pony was still with him, and she didn’t feel like looking at his smug face. It was bad enough he had knocked her over; what’s worse was that she probably owed him her life. Korra did not like to be in debt with anyone.