[i]Nightgate Inn - Night[/i]

	Long after dusk had fallen, the sight of Nightgate Inn came into view. For Sevine, it brought back memories of the flight from Windhelm. So many had succumbed to the Kamal, and they were lucky to reach the inn unscathed at this point. Together, Jorwen and Sevine had taken command of the group, her being placed in second command if Daelin’s condition...worsened, and Jorwen fell too. In truth, she rather enjoyed the sudden, yet temporary, promotion. Her tasks were simple, help keep the group in line, and keep an eye out for any changes in the surrounding landscape during the march. The Kamal’s had left the scorched encampment without much prying, and to her relief, Rothvar, Keegan, Rhasha and her were still alive. She had done her best to tend to her wounds by herself, but with the ever-present ash in the area, it made it difficult to properly bandage and cleanse the wolf bites. Settling on wrapping the wounds in strips of her tunic she had torn off, Sevine waited until they reached the inn to take better care of herself. After all, she had something to live for… [i]someone[/i] to live for that is. It served as a source of motivation to keep her feet moving, even though her left leg throbbed with pain.

	Once inside, [b][u]Sevine took the liberty of purchasing one of the inns for the night[/u][/b]. She wanted to unwind in privacy, and nurse her injured pride for being taken down so soon in battle. She made a mistake, plain and simple. By trying to draw attention away from the group so that they could fight with ease, she had over anticipated the ferocity of starving wolves under the influence of a Spriggan matron. Her plan certainly did draw attention away from the group, but at what cost? In part, she felt she was to blame for her reckless actions in the heat of battle. Were Leif there, he would have pointed out a different way to attack, just like he always had back in the war. Whether it was the blood loss, the inflamed wounds, or her sore attitude for feeling like a failure, she wanted nothing more than to be alone at the moment. And quite certainly, the idea of curling up next to Do'Karth sounded more enticing the longer she thought about it. As she stumbled into her rented room, her hand clutched the amulet he gifted her. Sinking down onto the straw mattress, she kicked off her boots, and slipped off her trousers. There, she undid the strips of red tunic around her ankle. A wave of pain flared up as the fabric clung to the edges of the wound as she tore it off with a quick yank. Just looking at the inflamed and punctured filled flesh of her calf made her nauseous; the outer edges of the bite marks radiated an impressive amount of heat. Pressing the pads of her fingers into the raised portion of the flesh elicited a sharp hiss from her. It looked as if her leg was ran through a meat grinder from the way the fangs tore through the muscles. Carefully, she plucked the water skin from her rucksack by her feet, and loosened the cord around the lip, using her good hand to hold it steady. With a trembling hand, she fought to control the flow of water pouring down her calf. As if to make matters worse, the water skin slipped, and emptied its contents onto her leg, and pooled around her foot. Groaning in annoyance at the difficulty of the situation, Sevine sat there in self-pity, wishing that for once she had Do’Karth, or even Leif with her.

	With what she could manage, Sevine knotted her leather trousers, rolled up her pant leg with one hand, and hobbled out of the room barefoot to the bar, rucksack slung over her shoulder. There she plopped herself on the stool and waited for the barkeep to attend her. When the bald head of Hadring the barkeep approached her, he cast a curious look at her, one that wanted to ask what happened to her. So she beat him to it. “Wolf attack. Nasty business that is.” Sevine gestured to her right arm, still wrapped in red linen. 

“...Right. What can I do for ye?” He asked his eyes darting to the arm she held in her lap. 

“Spilled my water skin, so I’ll need it refilled. Perhaps, if you’re so kind as you look, could I bother you for a pitcher of water? Along with a pot, and a bottle of your finest rum?” Sevine asked, sighing with defeat. 

	After slipping Hadring the coin that she owed, Sevine made her way to the cooking spit, where she hung the pot, and filled it with water. Then, she hauled over a stool and plopped down with a grunt. Restarting all over again, she washed the wound on her calf once more, and then with care, poured the rum onto the raw wounds. She hissed in agony as the liquid seared her inflamed skin like white-hot iron. By now, the water in the pot began to boil, so she tossed in the cheesecloth that she had kept from the last bit of food she had packaged during the first part of the journey in the reach. Over an hour and a half passed, and Sevine had painstakingly cleaned, disinfected, and bandaged both the wounds on her right forearm, and on her left calf. Even now, as she gripped her forearm with her left hand, she could feel the heat radiating from her wound. So she sat there, sipping on the rum that she hadn’t finished, and found herself thinking of Do’Karth. She prayed that nothing ill had befallen him, and that they would soon be reunited again in Dawnstar. More importantly, she found herself recalling the distinct features of his face; the exact shade of amber that his eyes were, the gravelly sound of his voice, even the softness of his fur under the palm of her hand. Abruptly, in her recollection of thinking of him, she felt overwhelmed with longing for him. She wanted nothing more than to find comfort in his arms. A lump formed in her throat while the bottle of rum began to shake in her left hand as she fought a wave of emotion.