cont. from: into the fire
Quinn tipped back the water and drank as Sejuani worked on her wounds. It maintained her breathing in a steady fashion and alleviated the heavy flavor of iron and sticky illness from her tongue, and already it returned a small amount of strength to her limbs by the time her wounds were bound in skins and furs situated steadily to keep her frail form from the cold of the night. Soon enough all was in place and the tribal leader mounted her great steed.
Despite all signs of annoyance earlier, Liberty situated herself on the very back of Bristle’s saddle as Quinn accepted Sejuani’s hand. The ranger scrambled up onto the boar’s back; thanks to the hide bindings on her wounds applying pressure to them, she felt no pain save for a slight tug to the straps. Once in the saddle, she did her best to settle herself in. Horses had been one thing in her youth, but on the back of such a massive beast her balance felt skewed. It was more like straddling a boat to ride it – the lumbering motions of the boar were similar enough to waves anyhow.
Just to be safe, the ranger laced her hands around the other to stay secure in her place. She tried to sit of her own accord for a time, but as fatigue set in, she felt herself drifting off again, this time against Sejuani’s back. She was tired, so tired…
Liberty nipped at her finger to wake her up from her droop. The bird knew what had happened last time she’d fallen asleep and obviously wanted it not to repeat. Her red-gold eyes contained almost a note of a glare, for an owl. Quinn gave her bird a pat on the head, which solicited an affectionate trill.
“You have a medic, back at your camp, I’m guessing?” Quinn asked. Perhaps conversation would ease her ability to stay awake.
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