Alma did not look around while they traveled, having only two things on her mind: get the quiver and rest. The parts of her brain that worried about the rest of the clan had shut down, replaced with a single-minded goal that she struggled to maintain focus on. She realized they had reached the guesthouse only when the two in front of her had gotten off the horse.
She climbed down, hesitantly placing her toes on the ground as if she thought she would lose her balance. Once she was able to stand up straight without wobbling, she let go of the horse and headed inside. In normal circumstances she would have looked around to see who else was injured, but as it was, she was far too relieved to pay attention. The rust coyote saw a free chair and sat down, crossing her arms in front of her. She was vaguely aware that Emmanuelle had gone missing sometime between getting off the horse and sitting down, but didn't think much of it until she returned.
The question, although not directed at her, sparked the cogs in her mind to turn once again. She looked from Ezekiel, to Emmanuelle and at last to her own meager wounds. "I'm just tired," the orange woman said as she leaned against the chair, "He looks more injured than me." Her eyes darted to the Aquila, then to Enkiel and Emmanuelle.
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