Sabit struggled under the weight of slumber, reluctant to awaken. She knew that a dull, throbbing ache awaited her in the waking world—her injured shoulder a nagging reminder of her failure before the sorcerer.
Sabit hated failure. There was nothing commendable about hiding from her failures in the deep semi-doze of a healing sleep, but Sabit could not find the passion to care. In this moment, lying on her belly in a soft bed–the sharp scent of medicinal herbs filling her nostrils–was her only desire. What else could be so important to draw her from this refuge?
“Will she recover?” came the hushed voice of Meriama, founder of the Sisterhood of the Lioness. Sabit had joined the Sisterhood for a chance to kill her. It seemed a thousand years ago.
“The healers say she is strong, but it will take time,” Dessine, the chief huntress of the Pride, replied. “She will be unable to hunt—or fight—for many days. Despite her actions against the sorcerer, the Pride has no place for her until then.”
How could Sabit bear such an insult? Dessine would be a sorcerer’s plaything at this very moment if not for Sabit’s “actions.” She let out a shout of rage—
—or, rather, she tried to. Sabit’s jaw twitched and a soft groan issued from her throat as she struggled against the numbing effects of the healing herbs.
“Send her to me when she is well enough to walk,” Meriama commanded. “I will oversee her recovery personally.”
With the strength borne of a hundred battles, Sabit forced her heavy eyelids open. She lay upon blankets in an empty hut. Dessine and Meriama had already left.
Wayfarings of Sabit: Sisterhood of the Lioness is copyright (c) 2017 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every weekday. You can support this and other stories on Patreon: https://patreon.com/michaelsmiller or http://ipressgames.com/fiction/