Wiflor's body was easily affected by the magic, showing little resistance as she remained out.  Soreness was abound indeed yet there's only so much to be done by her now.  She had frightened off a fair deal of the hatchlings, killed the dragon to lay them, and now her greatest job was just to rest.  If only it were a job she could do well with their choices.  Returning to the tower...<br/><br/>What foolishness was there?  Brought inside and left as Atticus and Cyrus fought on to take care of what remained the whispering would return to Wiflor.  Tormenting her mind even in her rest, but so little could be known on why.  To taint the spirit of an animal was much the same as poisoning the hearts of man.  To offer the bitter temptations like a fine alcohol to tea was to sway their emotion and desire alike and bring out both the best and the worse. With Cyrus and Atticus gone to work on the remnants of the tower, Wiflor would cry midst her rest.<br/><br/>Wiflor too could be tempted.  The whispering were as insects crawling into her head and gnawing at her psyche. Slowly eating away what one could call humanity, but in truth it wasn't a thing of human nature.  It was nature in general to hold some form of compassion and Wiflor could tell something was wrong even in her rest.  All she could think to do was shut down, and that was all she would do.<br/><br/>Even as she were carried up to the top of the tower she'd barely make even minor movements, her tears drying up by the time they had returned yet a series of whimpers sounding as she were at rest to show she were perhaps there, or perhaps not.  Stone, Furs, Within a tent or outside in a storm she knew nothing of her surroundings but she did know the voices once more as they reentered the tower of the emotions given that deeply scarred the lands.<br/><br/>She would do nothing.  She could do nothing.  Nothing as she were laid in the tent as Cyrus continued to work as he so desired on taking care of the dragon's body or perhaps playing with the shining metals that swayed men's hearts.  The poison found in gold.  Alone Wiflor would only hold to herself, shivering without being cold, at times offering a pained cry not for the suffering of her restored ribs or the soreness of her muscles.    But because she wanted the temptations to stop.  She wanted the voices to end.<br/><br/>But they would never end.  Even as Cyrus returned and took his place by her side and held her from night or part ways through the day she remained tormented.  Sometimes fidgeting as though about to wake, or crying without any insight as to why, or even shaking no matter how warm she was.  Several dozen times if Cyrus thought to wake alongside her he indeed would be woken by such a count.  Even as day broke and ultimately in the end Wiflor refused to wake.<br/><br/>She simply could not wake here.  Mentally she was protecting herself for she knew if she would wake, all she would see is black.  She knew if she would wake, all she could hear is the whispering.  She knew if she would wake, all she would desire is blood.  Slumber would continue even as they prepared for the day ahead...