This was just... not the way things were done. Ziv could do nothing but stop and stare at Malcoda a moment, confusion etched on every inch of her young face. What was there for her not to understand? If he wished to keep her alive because he planned to torture her further, she could understand that. If he planned to kill her in the seclusion of the dwelling, she could understand that as well. But him not killing her... this was not something she could understand. And the fact that he could not tell her why, that his answer was so shrouded in mystery, made her wary to walk into his house. Maybe what was in there, what Malcoda had been involved with for so long now, was not something she wanted to be a part of. Maybe it would change her, too.
But then again, maybe it would give her insight. She was not weak, she refused to be. Maybe Malcoda's hubris had made him weak. Maybe inside that house, Ziv would find they key to his downfall. So she followed in, doing her best to look as though she was not hurt, that her limbs were not screaming in pain and her brain growing hazy and dark. She didn't want to show weakness to an elder, even a shameful one. So her head was high even though her gait was slow as she slunk by him into the room he indicated. It was... a little gross. All wood and human-y. Not home like enough for her. Still, it was a place to be right now, and she laid herself down right in the fireplace, curling up all except for her damaged, useless leg. It might heal, or she might be damaged for life. It was hard to say at the moment. Her wings, though.... She whimpered softly as she folded them close to her body, part in pain and part in sadness. She would never fly again. Scar tissue did not allow for flight, especially to the extent Malcoda had left her.