Geneva had finally given herself leave to wander the territory. She had grown tired of her self imposed exile from the outside world. The truth of the matter was that things had changed; she had changed, and the fact was undeniable. Her appearance was altered by her accident. Her cheek slopped unevenly, pulling the skin of one side of her face so that it stretched unnaturally in places. And while her jaw was aligned once more, it was now also slightly uneven, ruining what was once a nearly flawless, delicate profile. Geneva was still small boned, petite, but now energy radiated from her that was not quite as gentle as it used to be, although she was still as quiet. The only difference now was that her silence was crowded with unspoken, bitter words.
The Whilom herself had changed. Upon regaining the ability to speak, Geneva had not said very much to her mate. But her first coherent words had told him in no uncertain terms that she was unfit to help him lead. The fall had not just fractured her body; it had shattered some part of her soul. Her personality was in flux as she tried to figure out who exactly she was now. She no longer understood or knew the woman looking at her when she spied her reflection.
She had come to Mirror Lakes in the middle of the territory. She did not have the heart to walk the borders of the pack land, to relive the shame of her failure over and over again. For now all she could do was try to reintegrate herself into her home, but it seemed like a foreign place out of a dream now.