The manner in which the monster of a woman mended the door was not without noteworthiness, for the same nails, rusted and aging as they were, found themselves employed yet again; whereas Diagorides' immense strength and precision ripped them clean from the wood they had been struck into some time ago, Sakaala's own pushed them back. From outside in the dark evening, ducking under the overhang, she settled the door and its stripped frame back into itself, taking each nail from it first. Satisfied with it being sufficient enough, she wedged each of the small metal spikes into the few slots that had not been mounted before, driving each rough nail firm into the wood with but only her immense palm. The force, strength and concentration needed to perform the feat was no issue for a creature such as her, but the intensity she did it with - the dedication in its application - spoke greatly as to her current frustrations.

It was not long after she returned herself to the interior of the building, one arm as limp as ever and the other's huge palm and digits flexing ever so slightly as she relaxed herself, content that the door would hold. Not a carpenter in any regard, her closest knowledge being basic woodwork and bowing, she was sure however that unless the inn was burst into once more, it would hold against the elements and patrons to come for some time. Walking to the corner not far from the fire, the leonine figure removed a bed roll from the side of her pack that Regina seemed to keep herself to.

The disfigured warrior shook it out once, water skittering into the flames and dispersing before she rolled it once more - this time the inside out. Cleverly, she bundled it together and set it to the back of her neck as she reclined, eyes watching the bar and its patrons; her sizable sword, by the standards of men, rested against her lap to which her hands fold over with the lame arm beneath the other. It was the sort of posture that threatened, even while asleep. One that clearly presented itself not to be disturbed and moreover, not trifled with...

She slept as light as ever and awoke periodically throughout the night as the instinct in her wished to keep a watchful eye about. It came and went with the few hours that passed, but the old ranger turned sorcerer never let on she was anymore awake or asleep than she really was. It struck her a bit odd however, as dawn drew nearer, that the first to return from their rest was this would-be assassin, but this was no greater concern; she feigned sleep as she had before, left to think to herself and concentrate upon the events of the day prior and what all was to come based upon the so little they knew.

[@ArenaSnow][@Belwicket][@IcePezz][@Jon Y][@vietmyke][@Zero Hex]