Ash angled his head toward her and let the cave's hush hold the space between words.
"How are you doing now?" he asked, voice a cave‑whisper, "Can you move yet?"
Veyra blinked up at the flowstone ribs and the thin blue wash of lichen, slowly attempting to feel and move her limbs.
But after a few seconds of tense slow movement, she turned back to him.
"Too hurt to move, even less to be in combat," she said, a dry breath of a laugh that wasn't a laugh, "If I try now, I'll probably tear something we can't mend."
"Hm…" Ash hummed as he observed her body, clearly weary and still far from being operable, "That's not good…"
"Anything you can use to heal?" he asked.
She shifted, winced, and slid a palm to her sternum.
"I do," she said, "But it's been a while since I've been this injured."
"Do it," Ash said, dipping his muzzle, "We'll need you in fighting condition as soon as possible."
Nod…
