A sprained ankle. It's such a stupid injury, Sasha thinks. She's hunted since she was a wee kid, and now she's twisted her ankle. Her pa would be disappointed.

However, she supposes it's not that bad when it's you that's tending to her foot. "Wait- ow, loosen it up a little!" She's startled out of her thoughts when you put too much pressure on the bandages you're wrapping around her. You were one of her only close friends, she thinks. After leaving her hometown, she'd never felt so out of place. Sasha felt ashamed of her accent, hearing everyone else talk so differently. So she settled for speaking less, and if needed, she was as proper as she could be.

Until you came along. This one time, while joking around, her accent slipped, and you didn't say a thing. Now every time you were by her side, Sasha felt lighter.

"Now 'ah won't be able to sneak into the kitchen at night." Of course, thats what's most important.