Location: Near the Upper Farm, dawn. @manojoaquin
The bruises slowly faded, but they were replaced with something worse. Memories, fleeting glimpses of what not-Harry had gotten up to in her body. They came to her like fever dreams, distorted and fuzzy, out of order and rarely making sense. She'd spent a lot of time in the Labyrinth, leading people in only to abandon them. Harry's isolation meant that she didn't have to deal with facing those people just now. What could she say? She wasn't going to apologise for something she didn't do-
-- But you could do it. It was so easy, and didn't it feel good, taking their trust and hope and showing them how naïve they were, how stupid. --
The thoughts were another disturbing development. Harry, already grumpy by nature, was dark by morning, sleep-deprived and in pain. But she'd uncovered memories of being at the farms, visiting them each in turn in the quiet hours of the day. And despite her reluctance to help, Harry couldn't ignore the siren call of wanting to know what not-Harry had done, nor could she resist the possible praise if she managed to fix it.
Harry slowly, slowly, emerged from the edges of the jungle, where she'd made her camp the past few days. She was limping again, but her whole body still ached from the vines, from not-moving. She had to stop several times to cough and cough until she had no air in her lungs and had to gasp in air that felt like razor blades. Maybe if she'd been faster she would have been able to avoid anyone at the Upper Farm, but lo and behold, familiar footsteps came lumbering towards her.
Harry couldn't run away. She stopped walking, rooting herself upright with her powers. "Sisco..." she weakly greeted, words so unfamiliar on her tongue that it sparked another coughing fit, one that had her bend over and take deep, whooping-cough like gasps of air.
