(Untitled)

[an_evening_star]

When it comes down to it, she's unreasonably angry at nothingShe's just plain angry

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[tristranthorn]

Tristran is somewhere in between sleeping and not sleeping, lying on the bed with his head propped up on a pillow.

His arm is searing with pain from the still-raw wounds, but he's aware of where he is now, and has an idea, even, of what is going on. All in all, wounds aside, he isn't doing too badly.

He spots Yvaine as she comes in and gives her a small, weak smile of greeting. Now he is awake.

[an_evening_star]

She wasn't quite expecting him to be awake and it gets her to back up a little, swallowing and ducking her chin, trying to work herself back up to a proper standard of righteously indignant.

It only really makes it to somewhere around righteously disheveled.

The glass clinks onto the bedside table and she blinks down at him, "Are you alright?"

It's a pretty stupid question, as far as she's concerned, but she can't really think of another one.

[tristranthorn]

"Well, I've been better," he says dryly - yes, dryly.

There happens to be a sarcastic side to the young boy when he's wounded and there's nothing he can do about it.

[an_evening_star]

"Well, you are very clearly not fine - in fact, you are the opposite of fine," she adds. "You cannot move your arm properly, and you are very likely still bleeding - and even if you are not, you were and I have your blood on my clothing and you wanted to go on your own and leave me behind."

Her voice is a bit frantic at this point - fast-paced and nearly fraying at the edges - and her hair is in disarray, fallen from its neat knot and wild around her face.

She's rather distinctly not fine either.