Lark had changed a great degree over the past months. It had been a quiet (for Sosaldt) village for decades, shielded under the protection of nearby Todesfelsen, and after a brief shootout during the rise of what would become Mittelsosalia, the village had swollen into a town, largely to service traffic heading in and out of the former city-state. A role it had played to a degree in the past, but the amount of cooperative travel had exploded since the territory had been united under one banner, the roads patrolled by a singular power, and though currency was still a mix of whatever was available with a preference to East Valsten or Vynmark’s trade-backed money, as Republican Soldiers could be found in outposts all over, force was increasingly a less valuable commodity within the borders of a new nation enforcing peace within its expanding borders.

Most of the same people who had been in the town before remained still. The martial types had never been ones to remain there rather than seeking greater opportunity- and most did not return. Save for a select few.

“Urgh.” Anya was laid up in bed, with a book. The worst part of being wounded- and she’d been told that it might take a <span class="mu-i">year</span> for her arm to get back to normal after the surgery. <span class="mu-i">”If it’s ever normal again.”</span> Hogshit, it’d get better. She always did, like that time just before where she’d had a knife struck right into her chest…but for now, she was down an arm, and though she was good with both hands…there wasn’t much she could do with just one, that had any lasting zest to it. Complaining about it to Alina led to a stern reminder that the normal in Sosaldt for the sort of injury she’d suffered might very well have been an amputation, rather than the most advanced surgical treatment that the Archduchy could procure. Hell, at least that would mean she wouldn’t have to lie around, waiting for the nagging, burning stinging to get tiring enough to stand a hit of morphine.

Anya was afraid of that innocent looking dark glass bottle. The release was sweet- so sweet, she remembered, that her mother’s mind was destroyed by it for as long as she could remember.

“I have food for you, Anya,” Alina came in through the door. This place was a little cottage that Anya’s money had bought- though some sponsorship from the Republic had come too. Appreciation for what Blind had done, since Mittelsosalia didn’t have any shiny medals banged up to give out yet. “What’s that look for?”