...this is alarming. People are alarmed.

Someone fetches someone who fetches someone else who asks around, does anyone know when Dawn-shining Taliar is due to arrive—? Two or three days? That seems like too long. They should send a messenger to hurry him up.

They do that.

In the meantime, there is considerable dithering over whether or not to move her, and in the absence of a clear decision, people end up just sort of avoiding that entire street as much as possible.

It takes a few hours for her to stop screaming.

She still doesn't move, or even open her eyes. She does tense, sometimes twitching painfully, if anyone comes too close.

Well. They'll just sort of. Keep avoiding her, then. Where is Dawn-shining Taliar. They need Dawn-shining Taliar.

Morning proceeds into afternoon, and afternoon into evening; it gets a little colder outside. Someone tries to bring her a blanket, notices her reacting to their presence, and scurries away, leaving the blanket in a heap nearby.

She continues not to move.

A little while after the sun sets, she opens her eyes, briefly.

She is in the middle of a cobblestone street, surrounded by buildings in an unfamiliar, vaguely medieval architectural style. There's a blanket over there. No people around at the moment.

She lies there and tries to make sense of it.

She reaches for the blanket, after some minutes, but it's too far away and she's not even going to try to stand up right now. She curls up tighter instead.

Golden light floods the street, touched with hints of blue and silver. It's beautiful and warm and soothing, and it carries with it a sense of personality. The person who made this light wants everyone to be okay, wants it more than anything in the world. The person who made this light is clever and insightful and honest and kind.

In the light, things don't hurt.

She gasps, and uncurls just a fraction. Some of the tension in her shoulders drains away.

After a minute or so she opens her eyes again.

The person who made this light has immense determination, unshakeable integrity—

—and he's right over there, turning the corner onto this street, with a glowing golden pendant hanging from his neck that says all the same things as his light only louder and in more detail.

He stops twenty feet away and looks at her and asks something in a concerned tone of voice and an unfamiliar language.

She squeezes her eyes shut and trembles.

...okay.

He takes a few steps back and waits.

Nope.

He can be patient.

He sits against a wall. He keeps up his healing aura.

After about forty minutes she opens her eyes again. When she sees he's still there, she immediately looks away and her breathing gets heavier - not quite panicky, but very close.

He gets up and leaves.

It takes a little while for her to notice, and longer for her to calm down.

She falls asleep.

When she wakes up she will find that the blanket has moved within reach and there is a bottle of water and a plate of food next to it.

She pulls the blanket over her shoulders and attempts to sit up; she's shaky and uncoordinated, but it goes better than she was expecting. She listens for - nope, that doesn't work, though it doesn't hurt, either, weirdly - looks, then, for something that might do for a hiding place.

Well, there are a few alleys off this street that might or might not contain good hiding spots. The street itself is unpromising.

She takes the food and water with her and tries the nearest alley.

It's an alley. All the architecture is still unfamiliar. The golden light is still all over everything. There are a few places where she could probably manage to tuck herself away out of sight.

It's probably a farce, but she'll still feel better for it. She hides, and then she eats.

The food is a little weird but not bad. The water is water. In what seems to be a handmade ceramic bottle, that part's also a little weird.

Nobody bothers her in her hiding spot.

The golden light stays.

She stays put, eating a little bit of the food from her pack for lunch and dinner. When night falls, she cautiously peeks out of her hiding spot.

The person who made the light is sitting a long way down the street, reading a book. It probably wouldn't be that hard to sneak away in some other direction, if she wanted to do that.