It has been five days since Bluvink, and Natalia waits in bed, the book she had received from a nurse this morning already through with.

If one were inclined to wordplay, they might call her an impatient. Natalia, however, famously has no sense of humor; just ask her.

She's just about to see about moving, wounds, threats, and instructions be damned, just to see if she can reach a library, when someone walks in.

... who...? Natalia pats around her bed for a weapon. "Identify yourself," she croaks, as intimidating as an injured, cornered, abandoned puppy.