~Grace~
Sweat rolls down my forehead and clings to my lashes. I am so out of shape.
After three long days of training, my body is sore and screaming at me to stop. If only I'd taken my training more seriously maybe then the physical exertion would be enough to drown out my aching heart. I can't stop wondering why Sucre hasn't returned. He hasn't even sent a letter. Down south, digital luxuries like cellphones don't exist; there are only a few scattered landlines, none of which have the reach to cross the border.
I lower my head and bring the hem of my dirt-stained tank to my eyes, huffing as I wipe the beads of sweat from my face. I'm filthy. And sadly, it's the most normal I've felt since my wolf awakened. Freye won't give me any breathing space when she's present; it's always about getting stronger. Training. Leveling up. Apparently, our survival in the coming war depends solely on my strength.
