Nikkohydrangea had been recovering in the witches den for two weeks. He had barely held on the first week and by the second week he was finally regaining consciousness instead of being overfed with poppy seeds. He spent the first few hours groggily lying still, his vision coming in and out of focus, his thoughts were barely a whisper in his mind. Slowly he came out of his drugged trance, back to the frosty cold world around him. In his nest it was warm, but he could taste the familiar winter breeze of home outside the den. He tried to move, but stumbled. His entire body ran cold realizing that his entire leg was gone. He licked at the stump, but the area was well healed at this point.

He repeated in his mind something he told himself a thousand times, get over it, get over it. Because if he let himself panic now he would lose his mind. Easing carefully onto his front paws he used all of his strength to get up onto his back paws. It was night by the time he got the hang of walking just enough to step over to the prisons. If he had all four legs he would easily skid down to the bottom to be with Shadowbard, but currently he couldn't think of a way to do that without breaking his neck.

Eventually Shadowbard could hear the loud sound of him hitting the bottom of the prison, his entire body tumbling to the bottom in a roll. He let out a shaky sigh as he slowly tried to get up. There wasn't any concept of how much time had passed besides from the fact that his wound was healing well, so it had to have been a week, maybe two. "How long have I been out?" Nikkohydrangea asked casually before collapsing back to the ground. He wasn't great at getting up yet.