The aching hound lay on her back, gazing at the white ceiling of her hotel room. She was tense, and the reasons were myriad. On a physical level, the surely-broken ribs didn't allow for any kind of deep breathing without pain. Understanding the dangers of addiction, Caspa had avoided her home-made painkillers. She was happy to give them to others, whose dose and duration she could control, but although her self-control was well trained she could not face weakening in the face of this latest challenge.
Outwardly there were no dramatic marks - a broad scabbing split on her bottom lip and florid but fur-covered bruising. Her hunched gait told the story of pain, however the Baroness was determined that she didn't need help nor to let the recent misadventure take over her life that it could so easily have taken away. Lying on her floor waiting for sinew and bone to knit, dwelling on her strategy once healed, was no way to carry on all the time. She remembered the fun she'd been having, days that seemed lifetimes before, meeting Skoll and Charlotte, inventing with Terra, creating their magic show. She'd kept the other wolf's coat afterwards, meaning to make decorative amends to it - by consulting the resident tailor, of course. She had no talent for ornamentation, and she had no excuse to go on avoiding the fact that Strelein was the man for the job. Any avoidance of that fact would have been irrational, and Caspa never allowed for irrationality.
She stood gingerly up, one arm crossed across her chest as if holding in the pain and moved to the hallway, taking the coat from where it hung on the door. It was a good coat, a dark aubergine purple and plush and long but a little tattered around the edges. It was wasp-waisted with flamboyant flaring sleeves. She wondered if Terra would prefer it dyed red or brown to match her fiery fur, but thought the purple was a brilliantly magical sort of hue. She held it to her chest and walked gingerly up the corridor, remembering that she and the Dauphin dwelled on the same level. When she came to his workshop, Caspa didn't allow herself a moment's hesitation to reconsider but announced herself with a low woof, "Anybody there?" She had no idea what to call him, having not spoken to the man in a very long time - since before his promotion. They had been on first name terms momentarily, but Caspa guessed she'd probably damaged whatever beginnings of friendship they'd had.
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