wiedzminka: (one hundred & seventeen.)
ℭ𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 𝔬𝔣 ℭ𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔞 ([personal profile] wiedzminka) wrote in [community profile] abraxaslogs 2022-06-15 10:02 pm (UTC)

[ Ciri slides her arm under his, hoists him up the rest of the way, and seems determined to drag or half-carry him as necessary. If they stop now, if she lets herself lie down on this beach, she is not getting up for several hours at least. Drenched and bedraggled, they stagger toward the silhouettes of buildings visible beyond the beach, their formation vaguely familiar. This isn't the part of the bay she'd stayed in twice now, but she recognizes it. ]

Near Aquila.

[ The answer comes clipped, unfocused. Exhaustion pulls at her with every step, and now that a safe place in sight and the adrenaline is starting to seep away, every cut and bruise and aching muscle vies for attention with a vicious insistence.

At least one of these buildings on the edge of the beach has to be an inn. A bed and breakfast, at the very least. Or owned by a sympathetic person.

It's still the middle of the day (somehow, though it feels like many hours should have passed with everything that's happened), and there are people about. Unfortunately, they make for such an alarming sight that most shy away. One little girl actually takes off running, and Ciri thinks she's actually terrified, understandably, of the blood-covered weirdos washed up from the sea--

But about halfway across the sand, the child returns, pulling an older man behind her. The rest is sort of a blur, in which Ciri haltingly mumbles some story about their boat sinking and having to swim back, that they just need shelter briefly, and she can pay later. ]

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