@headmastering
She doesn’t know where she’s going. The one clear thought that rises above the thick fog of confusion is that she has to find Pyrrha and make sure that Pyrrha is safe from Cinder (the real one, at least). Nothing else matters. She staggers, reaching out her arm to support herself against a coarse tree trunk. The pain of the bark pressing against her injuries does not register. Her head spins—she breathes, quickly and shallowly, but tries to deepen each breath. Clarity, she thinks, I need to think clearly.
She moves closer to the tree slowly and turns around, resting her back against the trunk. I’m tired. The blood on her face, which has already dripped down onto her neck, glistens; it looks worse than it really is, but the pain intermittently pierces through the confusion of her mind. She cannot spare the time to remain still. She pushes herself away from the tree, standing upright as best as she can. The world wanders into a haze—
She thinks she sees someone. It can’t be Pyrrha; the figure is too tall. She opens her mouth, trying to say something, but her thoughts meander and she merely gasps. The figure becomes clearer and clearer, and it takes her some time to realize she has been walking toward him slowly this whole time— silent, disoriented.
“Mr. Ozpin?” She does not think to verify if it’s really him. Her voice floats, as if she’s dreaming, and she asks, “Have you seen Pyrrha?”