Elsa felt oddly empty, as if she had emptied the contents of her soul and had none left. Could one run out of magic? The flames she had produced had not been that large, it seemed ridiculous that such a modest display of magic would turn her legs to water. Just a few days ago she had produced more powerful spells without feeling anything but elation. She decided then, sitting on her folded knees staring desolately on the ground before her, that maybe there was techniques to this she did not know, methods she needed to learn. She was doing something wrong right now, and she had an inkling that if she tried right now, she wouldn't even be able to produce the smallest of snowflakes.
It surprised her when a hand appeared in her line of vision, the surprise cutting her depressed thoughts short. With a frown she looked up at Imenry, noting that the female warrior had sheathed her sword and both her hands were empty. For one calculating moment, Elsa thought it was all a trick, some stratagem the other woman had come up with to plague her further. When nothing happened, Elsa accepted the offer for help, realising as she stood slowly, that she did indeed need Imenry's strength. Legs wobbling unsteadily, she pushed some escaped tendrils of hair out of her eyes and studied the other woman.
"I understand," Elsa said, eyes studying Imenry's face. She saw passionate love and strength there, just not of the kind she had thought the other day. She had no friends she could recall, indeed, no person she had met so far - except maybe Brennan - had even enticed a want in her to have friends. "I would be suspicious of me too. Brennan ought to be glad to have you"." Elsa closed her left into a fist to stop herself from dragging it over her face tiredly. Not only was it an unladylike gesture, it would also betray too much weakness to Imenry. They might not be opponents quite any more, but to Elsa wariness was second nature.
Schooling her face into a neutral mask, she followed Imenry's lead as she showed how to wield a dagger. It was easier this way, having her on the side, being able to mimic her movements and try to copy the subtle nuances. She found that her skirts were still in the way, but it helped to know what she was doing, that she was not improvising blindly.