There was a dragon roaring in the distance. It was a sound Drache heard regularly while in Pyresia, but here it seemed to stir her back to consciousness. Somewhat randomly she was able to tell that the owner of the hoarse bellow was male, but beyond that there was nothing she could surmise. In a daze, the crumpled half-dragon shifted about, wallowing a bit in the loose hay that had apparently cushioned her fall. A low groan erupted, repeating as she swam through both the straw and the daze that made her woozy. 

Everything hurt. She could smell blood and knew that it was her own. Bruised limbs throbbed and minor cuts burned like acid up her belly and down her arms. One of her eyes would only open part-way. Threads of smoke were beginning to form a haze inside the barn and the horses being stalled there started to prance and whicker skittishly as the stack of hay smoldered with the flames that hadn't quite extinguished on impact.

Swaying, Drache felt off-balance. Her left wing felt cold. She tried to twitch it up to match the other and was met with an explosion of agony that took her to her knees, gasping in shock. Slumped on the dusty floor of the stable, she twisted to look at the damaged wing, a cold dread seeping down her veins.

[color=ed1c24][i]"Ruined."[/i][/color] She had to say it out loud, convincing herself it wasn't a dream-vision. The limb wasn't terribly mangled, but it was hanging at an odd angle and looked lifeless. The tattered hole in one of the membranes oozed hot red blood messily onto the floor and there was a break in one of the long phalanges that was already turning an angry purple, yet those things she didn't seem to feel. The true horror was that her radius and ulna had both snapped and were protruding from the strong muscles that attatched the wing to her back. There it dangled uselessly, bleeding a rivulet that crept down her back and thigh. 

Drachiathoryx was far from being a Healer of any sort. Her magic could not fix this. No skill she possessed could undo this damage. Winng injuries were somewhat common in the dragon city and she'd seen what kind of damage could be overcome and what couldn't. With a nauseating hollowness she realized that not only would she never fly again, but the wing would have to come off before she bled to death. Even if the injury could be patched up there was no way it wouldn't plague her painfully the rest of her life.

A choked sob erupted from her throat and she tilted her snout back, fighting the hot tears of pain and anger that threatened to overflow. She could have handled the loss of an arm or even a leg, or even her long lovely tail. But to be deprived of flight?! Drache felt a grief coming for her as inexorable and terrible as a tidal wave. But not yet. She couldn't afford to sit there and bleed. She knew no one in this battle-hardened town and those that she had come with were none of them Healers, magical or otherwise. What she wouldn't give for an ally. 

[color=f26522]"What are you going to do?"[/color] Cinder. She'd almost forgotten him. He had made himself as small as possible and though his eyes were always fairly emotionless she got the impression that his fiery face was sympathetic, worried even. 

Stumbling slightly as she headed for the light of the open stable door she shook her head slowly, still disoriented. [color=ed1c24]"The only thing I can do, my friend. I must find someone to cut it off before I bleed out. My dagger was in my pack and I may never see that again, else I'd do it myself."[/color] She had no way of knowing where her belongings had ended up.

Tucking her arms across her chest, not out of any particular sense of modesty but more to keep herself from falling apart with the sick dread of what she had to do next, the half-dragon shuffled uneasily out into the light to find someone. Her amber eyes, somewhat dull now, hoping to catch sight of Mojavico. But anyone with balls and a sharp blade would do.