Even Amazonians had their limit; Diana just hadn't expected hers to happen so suddenly. No one had. Almost as soon as she had set down on the all too familiar balcony, she felt like she wanted to collapse, like her legs were made of melting wax. Adrenaline could carry a person far and that distance, it turned out, was to this particular balcony. It was reassuring in a way to make it there; that's probably why he was who he was. Why people looked up to him. There was still pride there, the pride of her people - one of the reasons she had come here - and such pride meant she would stand...just long enough for her to brace herself with a wall. Diana was weak from...everything, but to show such vulnerability...such weakness...it would be unfitting for one in her position. 

But Diana could tell from a simple glance that her guise was seen right through. It was obvious even to someone without enhanced vision; she was limping as she stepped inside, gasping as if she were an asthmatic out of breath, one hand was clutching her abdomen and there were various cuts and scrapes along her arms and legs; and that was to say nothing of the tired look in her eyes, that glassy expression. It wasn't the distance that had her looking so haggard. 

She was still there, at the scene of the...massacre. She could still hear the clash of blade on blade...the screams first of battle then of pain and mercy. The scent of smoke and something...different still burned at her nostrils. Someone had to break free. Someone had to regroup. Though she wore the scars of battle, the most painful thing Diana did was leave at such a tumultuous time. But who else could? 

"Clark..." she managed to stammer as she stepped further into the room proper, her legs shaking, wobbling, but her resolve refusing to let herself collapse. "It's...Themyscira..." she didn't get to say much more than that as her journey caught up with her, and despite her pride, Diana fell sideways.