WIP Wednesday... only a day late this time
Tagged by the lovely @ann-bg3-lol, @deianestormborn, @emmy-and-the-tieflings and @bladesingerlily - consider yourselves uno-reverse tagged, as well as no pressure tags for @defira85, @optimisticgrey, @babydinosaur930, @dr4gonwriter, @kt-catt, @wasteful-sam 💖
Not with the writhing of the tadpole that she'd long since gotten used to, but with the abysmal realisation that she had drank far, far too much.
Her clothes clung to sweat-dampened skin and the world seemed to spin on its axis even as she lay motionless, barely covered by the fabric of her bedroll. She groaned as she shoved herself upright, stomach roiling with the movement.
The light was still dim outside — early morning birdsong worsening the ache in her skull. She needed water. If she was quick enough, nobody would have to see her.
With a shaky breath she steeled herself, pulling herself up to her feet and opening up the tent flap, wincing against the light.
Frigid mountain air wrapped itself around her. Goosebumps rose on her arm, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she glanced around the campsite.
A fresh fire was lit beneath the cook pot, sausages already beginning to sizzle in the heat, and she heaved as the scent of them caught on the air.
Before her brain could catch up to wonder where or who the cook was, Gale emerged through the line of trees at the edge of camp, clutching a waterskin. His hair - usually immaculately swept back or half tied up - was noticeably disheveled, stray locks curling around his ears or flying away in the breeze. His robes bore the crumples of being haphazardly thrown on in haste, and dark circles lined his eyes. Still he smiled when he saw her.
His voice came low and gentle, as though mindful of her condition, and for half a second she softened, letting his voice wash over her comfortingly.
Before she remembered that she must look like she'd crawled her way back from the fugue plane, soul barely in fact.
Another wave of nausea gripped her stomach.
She'd hoped to claw the edges of her dignity back together before seeing him again. Of all her companions to see her looking so out of sorts, he was the one she minded the most. Foolish, really, when he'd already made it abundantly clear that he was not interested in her. More foolish still to imagine a reality where anybody would be interested in her after the embarrassment she must have made of herself the night before.
No, it wasn't just embarrassment she felt. It was mortification.
She'd offended him. Vilified their goddess — his ex-lover, even — for a divine charge she had no business interfering with, and with far sharper words than she would have dared utter sober. Gods only knew the details of everything she'd said. Their conversation returned to her only in sharp fragments, the edges of each memory stinging far worse than the headache ever could. But the look on his face... that was etched onto the back of her eyelids. His eyes wide with hurt. His brow knitted with frustration. His mouth agape — either in sheer disbelief, or like he was moments from reprimanding her.
A fate she no doubt deserved.
That he was still even speaking to her was a miracle. The soft smile he offered was a mystery.
"You're up early," was all she could think to say.
areudirty
titsay
romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
