Rosin

1- Azure's Monster

The first thing she became aware of was that her body had not ached like this since... since gods knows when. The forest did not have mercy on any creature— many times had winds too strong cast her to the floor, had the sun scorched her skin to a frightful pink hue. She had dislocated her shoulder once and that had been a pain she did not know possible. To feel the slip of your own bones, the inherent wrongness of them being out of place, your skin warped, your insides stretching. It was beyond horrible. The pain was the least of it.
That unfortunate injury had also been a cause of the woodland's natural dangers. Rain had blurred her vision until she had flown straight into a tangle of low-hanging vines. Wrenching herself forwards had done nothing but pull her arm from her shoulder.

Kristin had popped it back into place for her when she finally made it back to Hawthorn. It is barely an injury, he had said to her with his usual severity, nothing broken. Only moved. His words had made her feel rather a baby for having to resist tears. Maybe the man had been able to see that. Though he offered no babying with his words, he had fetched her warm juice, picked the brambles out of her plaits. In the following days when she was forced to rest uselessly in bed and let her body string itself back together, Kristin had made it a regular thing to suddenly appear at the foot of her bed and speak to her in his language. Such dulcet, expressive tones, all of the sounds flowing into each other. She would try to mimic him and blush at her efforts. But he had never laughed. Not once.
Fent-il, Rosin Magnolia. Dudin ril yat-en strien, aiv. Tomorrow. You must sleep now and heal well. Sleep now.

When Rosin came to, she at first thought the warmth underneath her head was Kristin. She made an attempt to speak his name.
"Rosin?"
Her mind had not yet registered the fact that Kristin... that she had not seen him for many years now. That she would never see him again.
"Rosin?"
It was a tremendous effort to raise her aching arms and rub the glue out of her eyes, but she managed it. Ow- the girl became aware of a pinching on her wrists as she tried to move. Her eyes peeled open. The face upside down and leaning over her was not Kristin, rather Aspen. The sight of blonde hair jolted her closer to being awake. Aspen? Even in her half-awake state Rosin realised she had never seen such an arrogant, irritating boy look so scared. His green eyes were shiny and rounded, his hands were knitted into the sleeves of her clothes.
"Rosin?" Aspen hissed once again. She heard the urgency in his voice for the first time.

The ache of her body as Aspen heaved her upright only helped her in remembering all that had happened. This soreness, the cuts she saw when she looked down at herself, all had happened so quickly.
The Hollow. The human.
Her breathing whistled despite herself. The last thing she remembered was some mass of rock and wood being flung at her. Being pummelled with those debris had felt strangely as it does when she washed her hair. Except, instead of warm water dripping over her, chunks of impaling wreckage had knocked her from the sky.

A darkness to follow. A loss of consciousness, which now reddened her neck to think about. It was shameful. You should be stronger than that. But that was then, and this was now.

Now seemed like something out of a nightmare.

Rosin and Aspen were inside a pit, of sorts. It was made of a coarse material that scratched her bare legs, curling underneath her to then slope upwards to a height that was almost double her own. There wasn't much room despite the height of the thing; she could stretch out both her hands and touch either side at once if she tried. Not that I can move my hands. The girl had realised that her wrists had been pinned together by some sort of white wire. Thin enough to give her paper-cuts if she slipped her skin against it.
Rosin tried to ignore the churning feeling in her stomach. 

Where in the gods am I?
There were three of them at the pit of the giant pouch; her, Aspen and another figure she had only just come to notice. A girl was curled up into the folds of the scratchy fabric, as if trying to sink into the shadow of it. Her hair was stuck to her damp face, her bare knees were scratched and lightly bleeding, and her eyes were open wide. Brown eyes that followed Rosin's every breath.