The next time she woke, she felt refreshed, almost purged of her struggles. Water was on the night stand, a wedge of lemon perched on the edge of the jug. She poured a cup and drank it greedily. Water spilled out of her mouth and trickled down her stomach. She drank a second, and a third, remembering all the times she'd had only a brackish puddle by the side of the path. A mouthful that did nothing more than whet her thirst.
There was porridge on the mantel. It was soft and creamy. A touch of honey added sweetness and it was studded with fresh berries that popped on her tongue with bright bursts of flavor. It was the best thing she'd ever eaten.
A bright mirror stood against the wall. She didn't want to see what she looked like. But her glance kept landing on it. At last she gave in to curiosity.
Gone was the soft, delicate creature she'd once been. A girl who went to dances wearing silk dresses and fine kidskin slippers. Her skin had tanned and hardened to a richer brown. Old bruises and scars marked her naked figure. Far from braided in a tidy coronet, her hair was a matted corona framing her face. She suspected it was still golden brown, but it was impossible to tell under the mud and twigs. Her fingernails had ripped and split. There were calluses from digging. <Thing to note. I described Acacia as having a corona of hair later, and Cora's hair is also golden brown. Probably will reserve those for Ruby.>
And her feet. Her feet that had carried her for so long without fail. They were battered and misshapen. The toes lay at odd angles from each other. She wondered if they might have broken and healed without being set. Despite that, they were strong. While she mourned the buffed smoothness and the delicate high arches, thanks to them she had accomplished something she'd doubted many times she could ever succeed at. She was grateful to them.