The world rolled past her like a snail. Reality said the trip took only a mere day. Her mind extended into a week. The landscape morphed as slowly as dripping sap, and her vision felt limited to each individual stone her nose passed. Every snap of a twig was a potential bear, and every rustle of grass, an assassin. Her paws never felt so sluggish, nor her mind so drained. A trail of blood was left for some time after leaving Diveen’s outskirts, but since the heavy bleeding from the wounds Orion inflicted on her had coagulated. Instead, she left globs of sticky, black and crimson glue on tall grasses she couldn’t avoid. Easy enough to track, and easier to dispatch should she be found prior to reaching her destination.

She failed in felling the Angel hive, but Grimoire in her reflective walk, was equally as pleased with the outcomes. She promised the Fortitude she’d make an enemy, and she had. It would be sometime before active villainy was with her limbs again, but for the moment, she’d kept her word and now returned to him to report it. The scent of his markers filled her nasal cavities with anxiousness. Once, she’d come to Eden needing advice… now she came needing medical assistance and rest. The thought made her skin tingle with unease. Needing things was natural, but having those needs provided for by others was thoroughly disturbing.

The disturbance brought a bit of intelligent fire into her instinctual drone-like trance. Relief flooded her mind after; the alpha of Glorall disturbed her, and for that, she was continuously brought back to him. As surely as Wraith stole her viciousness, Eden ignited it. Grimoire sucked in her panting tongue and forced her head atop her shoulders. A grimace laced her features because the movement pulled the sensitive gashes near her jugular vein.

Her fur was matted along the right side of her neck and chest with cracking, drying blood. The wound on her right hind, lower thigh, was nearly disguised by the dark scabbing against her ebony fur. However, it exposed itself because of the irregularity of the texture of the scab compared to the fur of her leg. The last gash was the minor slicing of her scruff, which was skin deep. The Demon female sighed when her head reached it pinnacle and she stepped wide with her forelimbs; a howl resonated in her throat. She expected the stench of her blood to attract her fellow predators in Glorall, so her howl was a formality rather than necessary. Truthfully, Grimoire wanted to see Eden and he deserved the classy treatment of being summoned properly. Despite her dismal health, no amount of pain would keep her from acting as a noble lady before Eden. Briefly, Grimoire hid her pink eyes behind black lids to seal pain into a temporary box while her flesh waited for assistance. Grimoire’s breath came in short, shallow breaths that moved her ribcage with noticeable strain, but it was the only sign of her struggle.