Lyria had a plan. It was not a very good one, she knew, but it was just about the only one available to her. Nightsblush was the natural antidote to the Goddess’s gifts to wolfkind, a fairly rare plant that had many uses besides containing and suppressing a wolf’s essence. She would never manage to escape, or shift, inside a cell lined with its tendrils. Her only option was to be sick, or injured. If she could feign it well enough, they might then take her to a Healer. There was always a chance that Gertal would bring a Healer into the cell, but if the injury was too great, she would have to be treated in an apothecary or workshop.
Either that, or they would have to let her die.
“This is going to hurt,” she whispered to herself. It was late at night, the sun had long set and fireflies do
