Naethra... felt at peace. There was a stinging sensation with each fruit picked, but it was oddly pleasurable. Losing them was exhausting, but fulfilling at the same time. It felt good, in more than just the mad lustful way her other wounds had.
Other wounds... belatedly, she realized she was still suffereing the effects of the dryad's poison. Or was it a dryad? Somehow, Naethra doubted it was a true fae. It just... felt like a facsimile. Probably someone warped by this place. Just what was she doing to her?
Being a tree felt nice. It was peaceful and solid and reassuring. She knew her comrades would eat well of her fruit, even if it cost her to lose them. She could grow more. All she'd need was sun and time and water and...
No, no, this wasn't right. She should break out of this. Or try to, at any rate. Shouldn't she? But... what if she was wrong, and that was an actual dryad? What if they'd struck down one of the fae, and she was trying to shrug off its gift? She'd... dared to hope she might be blessed them. Elevated...
No, she wasn't a tree. She was a tiefling, temporarily transformed. Duran would probably free her, any second now. Best to just wait it out. This fight had been so tiring.
And, at least, Gwyn wasn't likely to go running off face-first into doom and danger if her team-mate was rooted to the ground. At any rate, it could buy the party a few minutes to think. While she rested, of course, soft loam beneath her roots...