Her head was fuzzy when she woke up, the ceiling blurring into view far too familiar whilst she struggled to get her bearings. Her brain felt like it was made of mush, the world seeming very far away as she wrestled with her body to get it to move. Every part of her ached, even her eyelids, and that wasn't a good sign. The last time she'd felt like a bus had run her over was... that time.

Silently she prayed she hadn't done it again, her memories slipping out of her grasp when she reached for them. Dimly, she remembered something about a Jacob Thistlewood and that was about it. Nothing else out of the ordinary. No red tint staining her memories.

Which meant she hadn't done it again.

Instead, the pounding in her head told her she'd likely been hit on the head – and she must've been hit hard, because not much could give her a concussion let alone a good deal of memory loss. Even the monk's tennis balls hadn't done that much damage to her, and he had a very powerful throwing arm.

"You're awake." Flint stared down at her, his partner noticeably absent. "That's good..."

"Wh—" Her voice cracked.

"Easy," he mumbled, holding a straw to her lips. "You've been out of it for a good few hours."

She sipped at the water, sighing as it cooled her dry throat, pausing for a moment or two before she fired off the questions which'd been building ever since she'd woken. "What happened?" she asked, already knowing it must've been bad.

It had to have been, considering how quickly she usually bounced back after everything.

"It was bad," he said, sitting down on one of the chairs by her bed.

She was on what she assumed to be the main ward of the hospital, judging by the hustle and bustle around them, though the flimsy blue curtain had been pulled around – giving her some semblance of privacy.

"To be honest, I have no idea how you were still conscious at the end of that fight," Flint said, yanking her out of her thoughts. "You seem to have an insane pain tolerance and coming from me that says something." He shook his head. "You're mostly healed up, though I'd recommend taking it easy the next few days."

"How bad was it?"

He shrugged. "It was bad enough we had to use some of our... specialised methods... in order to keep you from being hospital bound for a while."

"ARYA!" The blue curtain was wrenched back, Velvet storming into view. "Lydia told me everything," she said, all but elbowing Flint out of the way. "I can't actually believe you met Jacob Thistlewood and actually lived to tell about it."

"Velvet, keep the noise down, would you?" Rian called, eyes briefly meeting Arya's own as he strode through the ward at a furious pace. "This is a hospital."

She rolled her eyes. "OK," she grumbled, begrudgingly lowering her volume. "But seriously... you do know how many people that guy has killed, don't you?"

"A lot?"

"Five hundred and fifty-six," she said, sitting down on another of the hospital's chairs. "Though I suppose he's never killed any children before..."

"I'm a teenager!"

"Sure, sure."

"Oy!"

Velvet laughed, her face turning serious only a few seconds later. "Lydia said you were the worst off."

"I'm fine."

"Sure."

"Hey!"

"Lower your voices a bit, you two," Flint said, glaring pointedly at Velvet. "Otherwise Rian will kick you out."

Arya struggled to a sitting position, clapping a hand over her shoulder as pain spiked from the injury there. Silently, she mulled over everything she could remember, trying to recall exactly what could have given her the thick cut still running across her skin. There had been a lot of glass... and the wound was certainly deep enough not to have healed within a few hours... but it unnerved her all the same. She wasn't used to stitches and bandages.

Sure there'd been the rare occasion back at home where she'd needed a stitch or two, but those moments were few and far between.

Sighing, Arya lay back down, wincing as she jostled her shoulder. The next few days wouldn't be fun, that much was guaranteed. If an injury hadn't healed in hours she knew she was in it for the long run. Her body was apparently picky about what injuries it left her with.

Besides, a stitched up shoulder couldn't prevent her from doing too much... could it?

Flint's words soon proved otherwise.

"No exercise."

Arya's face darkened. "But—"

"This isn't negotiable, Arya. Rian's orders," he said, shaking his head at her expression. "Excessive movement might ruin all our hard work."

"Everyone else was injured too," she grumbled. "I don't see them being banned from exercise."

Flint flicked her forehead. "Everyone else didn't decide to get into a slugfest with Jacob Thistlewood."

Arya's expression darkened. "It wasn't a slugfest."

"Then what was it?" Flint folded his arms.

"That's the reason I need to train, idiot!" she yelled, slamming her hand against the railing. "I'm not strong enough..."

A loud sigh sounded from the bed next to hers, Lydia appearing at her side soon after. "Honestly, Ari... you don't need to be strong. You can rely on me and Jakey-boi for a bit – till you get back on your feet."

"You're far too weak."

Arya scowled.

"Always relying on others to protect you..."

"No."

"But here... it's just you and me..."

They thrashed under her skin, always there, always ready, itching to break out at the thought of that woman.

"So why don't we have a little fun?"

"I need to get stronger," she growled, throwing the covers away, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "I'm not weak! Not anymore..." she whispered, barging past Flint, sprinting out of the hospital doors before anyone could stop her.

Her shoulder ached, but she didn't care. Nothing mattered. Nothing except getting stronger.

She'd never be at her mercy again.

Never.

Her feet slapped against the tiled flooring, moving on autopilot as they carried her towards where she needed to be – the nearest training ground. There was only one problem though.

Flynn was on it.

"Arya?" He stared at her, big brown eyes wide with confusion as he took in her bedraggled appearance. "Aren't you supposed to be in hospital still?"

"Shut up," she hissed, grabbing the nearest sword off the rack of weapons lining the side of the large courtyard.

"What are you doing?" he asked, backpeddling as she stormed towards him.

"Fight me."

"What?"

Her eyes narrowed and she swung the thin blade at him. "You heard me," she said, scowling as he deflected her swing. "Fight. Me."

"You're not even supposed to be out of the hospital yet!" he said, parrying each and every single of her blows. "Just calm down, Arya..."

"Don't tell me to calm down!" she snarled, meeting his blade with her own, pushing him back with all her strength.

"You're bleeding," he said, eyes flickering to her shoulder, his gaze narrowing on the blood seeping through the thin material of her hospital gown.

"And?"

"Stop dammit, Arya!" he ordered, knocking the sword clean out of her grasp.

Not that she'd had a very strong grip on it to begin with.

But she couldn't let it end like that.

After all, if she couldn't beat Flynn then she stood no chance against Jacob Thistlewood. Her hands curled into fists, lunging towards the frantic blonde. "I'm not weak!" she yelled, fury written across her face. "Stop treating me like I am!"

"Arya!" Rian's voice echoed around the courtyard.

"What?" she snarled, turning to face him. "I'm in the middle of something here," she hissed, panting as she glared at him and his disapproving expression.

"You aren't well enough to be running around," he said. "Flint should've made that clear, but I suppose I can't leave it all up to that idiot."

"Listen to him, Arya," Flynn whispered. "He knows what he's talking about."

"I'm fine!"

He didn't understand. He didn't know how pathetic she was. He didn't know she needed to change that fact – and she couldn't wait. Who cared if there was a little cut on her shoulder?

Rian sighed.

Arya smiled. "Just go back to the—" Vines lashed around her legs, thorns pricking her skin in seconds, and the world fractured.

They were a dark blue.

They were green.

They stung.

They hurt.

He stood in front of her, grey eyes narrowed with worry.

She stood in front of her, green eyes alight with laughter.

Her skin reddened, heat surging within her chest as she held herself in check. She wanted them gone. They weren't supposed to be touching her. They weren't supposed to draw any more of her blood.

Purple engulfed her vision, and then the horrible thorns were gone. Blue—green—turning to a pale ash.

The ground cracked again, more blue vines reaching for her, wrapping around her legs, thorns pricking her skin again, and then Rian was in front of her.

"It's OK," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her as the world swayed. Sleep pulled at her eyelids, the fight draining out of her as she slumped into him, exhausted. "Just go to sleep, Arya... and forget all about this."