branches burst abloom pv: george fin

Them both falling was fair. Fair. That was what it was to be a Hufflepuff right? The strange shared bond between them. She remembered something of the hat mumbling that, but she had been so much of anger during the ceremony, all vague and directionless and thrashing out, the bitter scratching of a wounded cat, that she barely remembered any of it. It didn't help that dull waves of pain rumbled in her head, the ongoing premonition of a headache, making the world, and thinking as a whole a fuzzy whirl.

She panted, continuing to lay on the ground next to this strange boy, hearing the slight rustle of his movements in the muddle of leaves they had alighted upon. The calm was a blessing as she paused, continuing to attempt to collect her breath, assess what damage had been done (for one could not deny that damage had been done) and watch the faint traces of afternoon orange bleed out of the sky, beginning to give way to a soft twilight. It had been a sticky situation all right, a whole rigmarole, but she couldn't be mad that it happened. She had gotten herself into it and she had gotten out (albeit in a manner not quite of her choosing. The wind had chosen for her).

Poking at her wrist, she winced, feeling the shooting pain of something wrong. Faint memories of her trying to break her fall with it filled her head and she frowned. It was a rookie mistake, made by little kids and people unaccustomed to falls. Cracking her neck, she turned her head to look at George. A deep feeling of thankfulness filled her as he pulled himself up, suggested that they go see the nurse. She wasn't the one that had to admit that something was wrong.  "Yeah, we should- we should go," she croaked back, her voice still a hoarse rasp.

She picked herself off of the ground, trying to be as delicate as possible, her legs feeling somewhat akin to jelly as they supported her weight. Heaving under the difficulty of the action she paused, hands against her knees, and then rose, wiping the leaves of of her as she did so. Her steps were like that of a fawn and she moved as it any moment she would trip. And trip she did. Leaves fluttered where she stumbled and the wind, less fervent than it was high up, had an easier time of pushing her around. There was absolutely something else that was off that wasn't her wrist, and the sooner that they got to a nurse, the better.

The promise of soft hands and a lack of pain and a warm place filled her with the will to continue on. She held out a hand to George, both wanting to offer support and be supported. "So. Do you know the way there?"

@George Henry 

Asteria leaves the thread.