[Ordinarily, she'd fight a little harder. She's Sheryl Nome. She doesn't need someone's pity.
But this isn't pity, it's kindness from a friend, and she's not got the fire in her to resist. She wraps the hide around her shoulders; it's warm and it smells like her friend.
This is probably the first time she's ever worn anything that could be accurately described as a pelt.
It's not too much later that a fire has been made and Sheryl is huddling close to it, her dress off and laid next to the fire on the grass to dry off.] You made that look easy. Perhaps not "shoot fire from your hands" easy, but easy enough.
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But this isn't pity, it's kindness from a friend, and she's not got the fire in her to resist. She wraps the hide around her shoulders; it's warm and it smells like her friend.
This is probably the first time she's ever worn anything that could be accurately described as a pelt.
It's not too much later that a fire has been made and Sheryl is huddling close to it, her dress off and laid next to the fire on the grass to dry off.] You made that look easy. Perhaps not "shoot fire from your hands" easy, but easy enough.