The next morning, sunlight streams warm through the dinner hall's tall windows, glinting off polished silverware and the same overflowing spread of pastries and fruit from the day before.
Lula, Sera, and Raikya shuffle in groaning, leaning on each other for support like three soldiers fresh off a losing battlefield, hands pressed gingerly to thighs and lower backs.
Penelo skips in right behind them, beaming ear to ear, tail wiggling cheerfully as she bounds past the whole limping procession without so much as a stiff muscle.
She claims a seat and daintily picks fruit and vegetables onto her plate. The other three lower themselves into their chairs slow and careful, wincing with every inch, chair legs scraping a chorus of pained hisses out of all three of them at once.
"Why," Sera groans, easing back slowly against the cushion like it might betray her, "did the healers have to have the day off today of all days."
