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Isella

The first thing she noticed was how tired she was. Then she realized that she was very, very cold. She opened her eyes.

The man that had transformed into a beast was standing next to her, rubbing her cheeks with his hands. She caught herself just in time to spare a scream. The armored man, who had risked his life to fight the dragon, was standing nearby, and she knew he wouldn’t sit placidly watching if this man meant her harm.

Instead she looked around. Ice covered her from her shoulders down to her feet, and she was plastered to the rock she had leaned against. She blinked, long and slowly.

I wish I wouldn’t keep doing that. Time-bending is exhausting.

Just to her right she caught sight of the girl that had helped her, eyeing them with a mixture of distrust and compassion.

She caught Isella looking and turned away, her sea-green eyes turning to ice.

She doesn’t like me. It was barely a conscious thought, but once she’d noticed it, Isella couldn’t make herself believe it wasn’t true. I wonder why.

She made a mental note to try and make friends with the girl, but right now she was too tired to care. The man finished rubbing her cheeks and walked away, but Isella still couldn’t move.

She looked down. Ice still held her arms and legs, but it was slowly receding. She couldn’t feel her fingers or toes, and wondered if it would recede fast enough to avoid frost-bite.

When it was gone, though, she almost wished it back: the effort of holding herself up was so great it was almost worth frostbite to have the ice do it for her. She shook herself. It doesn’t matter if I liked the ice or not, it’s gone, so there’s no use thinking about it.

When she tried to move she found she could. The man was engaged in talking with several people at once–a smiling, girl who stood bouncing on her toes, the girl who had helped Isella, and the man in armor. Isella mentally noted him as a knight.

she looked farther back. in the recesses of the cave were other people, hooded in shadow so that she couldn’t see. The one still leaning over the body of his sister.

Isella shuddered, but she couldn’t go to them yet. Not far away from her lay the man who had freed her from the dragon, bleeding from the wound that animal had given him.

Maybe even dead.

She shoved the thought aside and started toward him as fast as her wobbling legs could carry her. If he were dead, I would have felt it.

The man with the water was standing over him, unsure of what to do, his face contorted in a look of horror and disbelief.

She smiled sadly.

“Friend of yours?” She asked as she hurried up. He turned his eyes toward her. they were big and glassy with confusion and fear that seemed to ask her to help him. He was a young man, and obviously attached to this wounded person.

She smiled as encouragingly as she could, but as she knelt beside the man she wondered, What can I do? And especially without my hunting gear!

Once more she looked around for Cirian. It was in his saddle bag. If she could just find him–then she remembered. I was in hunting clothes when I left. She looked down in consternation at the silky silver dress she was wearing.

Under her breath she cursed fate.

 

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@irishcelticredflowercrown IDk if this is what you want to be happening/in character (or if you have time to write in college), but if you want to interact, there you go! Otherwise just forget about the circumstances I’m entrenching your characters in, lol.