During the day Wiflor was growing tired of the wait.  Her mind drifting between concern for Cyrus and desire for just about anything.  Even so she tried to remain at ease as Atticus packed up and set out with the wagons in tow.  The entirety of the trip she'd remain in pure silence, staring at Cyrus.  His refusal to eat and drink worried her, but she couldn't figure out how to do anything else.  All she could do was watch  till the path of dirt turned to a path of stone and the town of Atticus became their scene.<br/><br/>The people seemed to know her presence well enough ever since the first arrival.  Then stories from neighboring towns.  A gentle tiger most knew her as.  But lingering stories of brutal strength and killer instincts traveled as well as whispers could be heard.  But Wiflor didn't care about the others at the given time.  Wiflor was only interested in making sure that Cyrus was okay.  And indeed it would ease her as they at long last reached the tower.<br/><br/>She recognized the tower and remembered it fondly despite the truth of the situation the last time.  As the assistants came out and helped Cyrus to one of the beds Wiflor would follow up until the door to the room.  That's when she witnessed the people causing the unbandaged wounds to close.  Each aiding in his health and stopping his ragged breaths.  When finally she felt he was okay enough to survive she'd drop her gaze, her ears lowering at the same time, and then proceed to roaming the halls silently.<br/><br/>She remembered the last time she had the chance to explore here.  She enjoyed looking at all the things that glistened and shined, and playing her games and even pouncing Cyrus.  In fact, she'd cross the very room and give pause, looking at the door only for her shoulders to slump at the thought.  Would they get to laugh in the future?  Or did she just imagine him laughing that day?<br/><br/>What kind of trouble had she brought upon the man?  And now she was only bringing more...  She would continue her exploration of the towers, and do so until she found what she needed.  The room with the strange things people liked so much to look at and make pictures in.  Books... Pulling one after another off the shelves she'd look at them and then place them down before pulling the next.  Ten, twenty, fifty, eighty, in the hundreds she'd give pause at one book.<br/><br/>Holding it at hand she'd look it over with a slight smile.  She found what she wanted.  People always had their interest in these things so surely she could use this to communicate.  And with it at hand, with the other books she pulled still across table tops and floor grounds she would leave the room of books and seek out the next thing.  She needed Atticus...