He wasn't one to wait; his nature was a complete contradiction to the whole concept of waiting. He wanted go, but he knew he couldn't. He had to wait for his body, and yet, he felt trapped. As if he were chained, and these wounds were the chains.
Was it that he was just... excited?
After all, if he was able to learn the truth about Denial and beat the guy, then he could finally come out of the Tides.
I mean, he could finally start to clear his trial, he could finally start to live, to try and become a Seeker.
But before, he had to wait.
His wounds had to heal.
Every breath pressed inward, shallow and careful, like his lungs had learned fear before he had. His ribs refused to move the way they should; each inhale was a negotiation, each exhale a small mercy. Somewhere beneath the dull haze, something throbbed with a slow, patient rhythm, not sharp enough to scream, not kind enough to fade. His body was reminding him that height was not forgiven easily.
