She sat on the front stairs, her hands over the bandages on her ribs. It had been worth it, to be sure her pack, her family was safe. They had defeated Maska, imprisoned him. Soran, Fia, Jaz, they were all safe. She wasn't too happy with her boy; he had packed up and left to found his own pack, away from the lands he'd lived in his whole life. But such was life, really. She yawned and stretched, then winced and put a hand to her ribs. That secui had done a number on her. The memory of his eyes still made her feel discomforted. It had been too familiar, too...
She shuddered. She totally didn't want to think of that male, that nightmare. She stood up slowly, her bi-colored eyes looking around. For a moment, she thought longingly of the bottle of whiskey in her room, then she pushed the thought away. She hadn't taken a drink since... Lucifer. She didn't plan on drinking anymore. The drink had cost her too much, too many friends, too much family. She sighed softly, and began limping her way up the stairs to the manor. She wasn't old by any standards, but today she felt it.
The thought of Budha brought a smile to her face. He had told her she was only as old as she acted. She tried to keep up the acting young, but the cracked ribs made it hard. At least her ribs weren't broken. Broken ribs could kill her. Cracked and bruised ribs were miserable, but not deadly.
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