Elena sits at the edge of the bed as she observes Lillia. She SEEMS okay, but she knows that a heron’s needs are quite a bit more delicate than that of a beorc’s. It never hurt to ask, even if their language barrier made things challenging at times.
❝ Is Lillia all right? Clean? Hungry?❞ Their talk is ALWAYS simple, as it made communicating between them easier despite Lillia not being familiar with common, and Elena not knowing ancient.
@songofserenes ♡’d for a starter for Lillia || Elena
When Elena entered her cell, Lillia’s eyes slowly found her. With each day that passed, the young heron grew more and more listless. The air was stale and oppressive, the energies that surrounded her were hostile and cold.
Only Elena-- the name was one Lillia had been able to latch onto-- offered gentleness. She was a comfort, and the only source of kindness that Lilia could feed her seid blood on.
Slowly, the princess tried to pull herself up. She laid on the small, filthy bed most days. Her spirit was weakening, Lillia knew it, and most of the time, it was easier not to fight.
She flinched as she moved, her wings had grown tender and aching in confinement. Herons were not high soaring laguz like hawks were, bu they were not meant for captivity. It quickly made them sick.
Lillia knew she was getting ill already...
“Elena...” her voice thick with the accent of her people, but she knew the priestess’s name. It was one of the few words that she could pick up on in the common tongue.
“H... Hurt...” she muttered, reaching a hand up to gesture at her wings. Her feathers were matted and bent in some places. Where she had laid on them wrong or had no room to stretch.
