"Why have I not left this place yet? Why did I promise Ash I would aid her friend?" Dru asked herself these questions aloud, covering her face with her hands for a moment. Her wrists, being as weak as they were, made putting any form of pressure on anything, quite near impossible.
This was fine. She found only little comfort in squeezing the light away from her face with her hands. It was rather childish anyhow. But it was not only this that was affected by her loss of ability to use her wrists.
She had dropped a glass. Another one. In the middle of the Prancing Pony. After it shattered, she felt positively mortified. Even more mortified at that than at the sudden pinching of her backside. She knew he had been poking at Davamir, and so it was slightly less mortifying. But the action had caught her entirely off guard, causing her frail wrist to lose its grip on the glass Dav had provided her.
She had to escape the inn; it felt as though every eye in the room was turned to her in shock. She could feel their thoughts, laughing at her. The once-strong woman was still reduced to constantly wearing hoods, gloves and long sleeves, and could not even hold a simple glass anymore.
She shook her head, attempting to rid herself of the memory from earlier just that day. But alas, she had no other way to process all that had happened, than to dwell on every bit of it.
She had hurried outside, her face a deep red. No, she did not cry. She never allowed herself to cry over such foolish things. Tears were signs of her own weakness...and she had plenty of those already. She simply calmed herself as she stroked the manes of horses outside. That always seemed to help.
Upon re-entering, she saw Hawke strike Dav with his fist. Dav stumbled back, and then went for his throat, wrapping his fingers about it. Dru simply stood there, watching in shock. She had only just snapped out of it when Davamir noticed that she had returned. He loosed his grip and stepped back, stuttering some form of excuse which Dru could not make out.
Disappointment. It hit her as though her chest was Davamir's face when Hawke punched it. She was not used to being disappointed in a person, as she always held little faith in most people. Those she had standards for, always seemed to rise above them. It was not that she judged those that did not, but that she simply expected nothing of them.
But she had hopes for Davamir. Somehow, she saw potential for him to become a great man. There were always glimmers here and there, despite his endless picking at her. Truth be told, sometimes she enjoyed his picking, so long as she could provide a comeback.
But in that moment...He looked like "everyone else".
