Asta gazed into her flickering campfire, procrastinating getting cleaned up until the last possible second as she lounged on the dirt in the forest.
The drying troll blood in her mouth was absolutely foul, but other than the taste and the stench, she was warm and comfortable.
Her thoughts, as they often did when she was feeling exceptionally lonely, wandered to her oldest (and only) friend Bilba.
She hoped she was still safe and cozy in her luxurious smial, and the thought gave the human comfort in her solitude, that if she couldn’t be entirely happy, at least her dear friend could.
Unfortunately, her mind continued to wander on, and she began to recall different flashes of her life before her eyes.
She shuddered, coming back to herself quickly. The attack by the diseased warg haunted her nightmares enough, there was no cause to think on such events during waking hours so many years later.
Unbidden and unwanted, however, the memories resurfaced once more.
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