Bab 633: An Elf's Tale, Part 39

When Eshwlyn next opened her eyes, it was the ridges and grooves of the ceiling of her personal cabin that greeted her. It took only a few blinks, a few moments, before the many wounds she sustained began to flare and sore as a painful reminder as to how exactly she had attained them. 

The ship was now in a constant calm sway, and the outside was absent with the incessant buzz of rain. Her cuts and bruises had been diligently tended to, her tattered clothing replaced by the clear-white of bandages and a simple weathered tunic that only barely stretched to her thighs. Beside her bed, her sword was propped against a wall, returned once more to its leather sheath. 

How long has it been?

Eshwlyn rose to her feet and left her room, slowly creaking the musty floorboards below deck, an arm pressing firmly into her waist, still feeling the edge of a blade deeply embedded.