Troublesome Women (Vanator)

[Calavera]

Troublesome Women [b]68th Day of Fall, 512 AV The Sea of Grass Open to Vanator "I'm going for a walk!" Dahlia's voice rose above the high winds sweeping over the grassland surrounding them on this deserted stretched of road. If one could call it a road. She had been traveling to Riverfall with this small trade caravan even since Syliras. They kept her around for entertainment, which was fine. It was her job, after all. They were about a day away from the Akalak city and of course, bad luck struck. A strut on the rear wagon had broken when they'd hit a rut in the almost invisible road. She didn't know how they kept from getting lost, even with the Drykas guide leading them across this endless plain. It was no wonder they called it the Sea of Grass. The Drykas guard leading them to the city, Wren was his name, broke away and marched toward her, a familiar look plastered on his narrow face. It was the look many people had before telling her 'No'. They all soon learned that word was not in her vocabulary. Or maybe she was just extremely stubborn. "No!" he said, planting himself in her path. She smothered a smile, quickly fixing her face into a mask of severity. "It is far too dangerous for you to go wandering off by yourself. Predators roam this area. I doubt you would return to us if I let you leave. Which I don't plan on doing." Dahlia looked the man up and down, one of her finely sculpted brows arcing up high. A more subtle show of defiance. "I hope you don't expect me to listen to you. You're doing a fine job of guarding us, but I'm not exactly with them. I appreciate the concern, but I can take care of myself." She placed a discreet hand over the blades hidden in the folds of her brightly colored skirt. She was never without her ribbon daggers. Not since a violent incident in Ravok. They were camouflaged nicely; the ribbons tied to their ends wrapping gracefully around her waist like a sash. No one knew she carried them, which was what she wanted. The Drykas' face flushed unhappily at the contradiction. "Please go back to the wagons. Now." With that order he pushed past her, marching back to the group of merchants fussing over their broken wagon wheel. "Fine, fine. Whatever you say," she said just loud enough for him to hear. But instead of following, she turned back to the open grassland and pranced off to do what she wished. They were at the base of a very large hill, which they had just crested before the accident, so once Dohlia was at the top, she disappeared over the other side without a second glance. With a loud giggle she darted across the sea, feeling exhilarated by her disobedience. She was never one for orders. The wind whipped her raven curls up in a wild dance, as if to tantalize her. She smiled and swayed against the gales, swiveling her hips to the stoic audience that was the grass surrounding her. It seemed to follow her movements, swirling wildly. Her laugh was caught by the wind and carried into the clouds scudding across the bright blue sky. She sidled along the flattened track of foliage the wagons had been following, absently twisting a lock of hair around her index finger. "I'll be glad to be in the city," she said to the wind. "There's not much out here." But she was wrong. The Drykas' warning had been horribly true. Eyes watched the dancer as she strode along, oblivious to the deadly creature just meters away. The night lion was so hungry. His bones protruded in grotesque angles brought on my malnourishment. One of the lion's legs had been lost to a trap. After being held by a snare for a full day the beast had chewed the limb off, unwilling to die of starvation. He had survived the healing process, and wandered miles in search of easy food. The irony of his situation was that he had amputated himself to keep from starving, and he was doing just that. Starving. A vicious hunger that had driven him to do something very dangerous. Hunt humans. This would be his third; the other two had been Drykas children playing too far from safety. Luck had allowed him to escape and not be found. His mouth watered as he watched her move further away. His pelt had dulled to a lusterless black. It seemed to swallow light and give nothing in return. A flat, ugly color riddled with burrs and tangles. He stalked awkwardly along, only just recently getting used to his missing appendage. The time to strike was upon him. His stomach was rumbling painfully, telling him to launch. He was mad with it - the hunger. He threw himself in her direction, growling with the insanity that had taken over his mind. Dahlia turned around, eyes wide with surprise. She was frozen for a moment, shocked by the sight hobbling at her. And then she screamed. It pierced her own ears, but the high winds ripped it from her, shredding the sound until it was nothing to anyone but her and the lion. It was like the wind had locked them into their own little world. But Dahlia was an extremely fit and healthy woman. Her muscles shuddered into movement; feet propelling her backwards a few yards until she could hike up her skirt, turn, and run full tilt in whatever direction she ended up going. It was a blessing from the Gods that this lion was crippled. His speed was dramatically reduced because of his handicap, but not enough to where she could outrun him. She would be able to keep the lead for a while, but her stamina was not without its limits. The lion's hunger and madness was a more powerful driving force than her fear. Dahlia was fumbling desperately at the folds of her skirt, trying to dislodge the daggers hidden there. Shyke, shyke, shyke! She ripped the ribbons loose from around her waist, holding her skirts high with one hand. The labored breathing was growing louder behind her, so she redoubled her efforts. Finally, the daggers came free, swinging loose in her hand. "Ha!" she screamed, knowing she could defend herself now. But she made a fatal mistake; being blinded by her small triumph. She'd stopped running. The weight of the lion slammed into her back, sending them both crashing to the ground in a screaming and growling heap. Her layers of clothing offered some small form of protection, but soon the fabric was ripped apart by raking claws and snapping teeth. Dahlia had been rolled onto her back in the scuffle and she beat at the cat's face, clawing at its eyes and screaming bloody murder. One of her blades was lodged into the cat's hip. It had fallen on it in the tumble. The other was somewhere in the thick grass close by. In the process of throwing another punch to the eye, the lion had gone for a killing blow to the throat. Her arm saved her life. Instead of her neck, it bit into elbow, puncturing the fine skin and searing right to bone.

[Vanator]

Vanator had kept the caravan just in view for most of the day. They were following the road to Riverfall, a small group of wagons and a guide. The guide was Drykas, Van knew, for even at that distance he could tell the posture of a rider of the horseclans. The Denusk was in no mood to be social, but he maintained frequent visual contact with the travelers. They appeared harmless, but they also seemed defenseless. A pair of eyes and a Strider in the grass would serve them well.

He had lost sight of them, so he guided Sirocco in a wide circle back until he caught a glimpse of them halted on the road. Vanator shifted in his yvas, the leather riding pants getting warm even in the crisp, brisk fall breeze. He shrugged his shoulders to reposition the chain mail shirt . Break down, he surmised as the reason the caravan stopped. The Drykas lingered a chime or two, deciding to continue on, when he glimpsed the dark flowing mane and brightly colored shirt of the girl traipsing off into the grass.

Fools. They would soon learn the law of the grass in a terrible way. The girl's brightly hued clothes and headlong gallop through the grass would draw every predator in half a league. With a sigh, he pressed his knees into Sirocco's barrel and started to trot in a route to intercept the wanderer. Then he saw the dark shape moving through the grass behind her. Lion.

With urgency Vanator drove the Strider forward, the horse's hooved devouring the distance. Van drew the short bow and nocked an arrow as they closed in. The stranger began to run, swiftly for an outsider. It was then that the Drykas saw the night lion's compromised condition, hampering his ability to run down the girl easily. But it was dertermined, and the girl was losing steam. Van raised the bow to take a shot. But the girl had slowed as she pulled blades from her belt, and before the horseman could get off a shot, but it was too late. The male night lion leaped onto the woman. With a growl the Drykas abandoned the bow and slid the battle ax from its loop. Sirocco and he had met and bonded over the blood of lions they killed together, and neither faced this one with fear.

Thundering hooves brought Vanator quickly to the scene of the attack. Vanator slid from the moving strider, stumbling only a few steps before picking up a running charge. He roared to get the lion's attention, but it was intent on subduing its prey. With a two handed swing, Vanator struck at the lion, aware that his momentum would most likely drive him directly into the attacking beast.

[Calavera]

Vanator was right. He ended up straight in the fray. But as his swing carried forward, the lion's fervent attack was causing a lot of erratic movement. It shook its malnourished body, jarring Dahlia's arm and nearly ripping it from its socket. Her head snapped back and forth and her teeth clacked like stones being beaten together. The lion's movement pulled it further from the battleaxe so instead of the deadly metal head biting into its jutting ribcage, the sharp point sliced through a thick portion of its back leg, cutting clean through and taking a wedge of flesh with it. For a moment the lion was stunned, frozen over the woman's body. Then its jaws came free from her arm and it shrieked, a maddened sound from hunger, pain, and rage. It would make someone of weak courage's blood freeze. The night lion swung awkwardly to face its attacked. Without hesitation it blindly struck out once it caught its first glimpse of the Drykas enemy. He lunged forward on that one injured leg, front paws outstretched and reaching for flesh. His great red maw was open, showing yellowed fangs that wanted a throat. But his maimed leg wouldn't properly hold his weight. Before full contact with Vanator could be made the appendage crumpled, sending the lion barreling into the Drykas' stomach. They both went to the ground, the lion snarling and twisting, trying to find some skin to grab with its scrabbling claws. Dahlia was free now, searching for a sign of the two with a grimace of pain as she slowly wiggled parts of body from fingers and toes inward. Nothing was broken, except maybe her elbow, which was bleeding steadily. She had quite a few long gouges down her arms, legs, and across her chest. She could feel some on her back as well. They didn't seem extremely deep, though. But they burned like fire and she winced as each one was strained as she slowly sat up, curling her injured arm against her bloodied chest. She couldn't see the man that had charged in to save her at the moment. He and the lion had been swallowed by the grass next to the path, and it was too high for her to see over while sitting on the ground. Petch! she thought vehemently, gritting her teeth against the wave of pain that consumed her as she carefully inched toward the sounds of the fight. This was similar to the incident in Ravok all those years ago. She might have been injured even more than she was now, but her memory was failing at the moment. If only I could get my hands... or really, hand, on a blade. How much help she could be was yet to be seen. On Vanator's end, the lion had him pinned in the grass sheerly by its weight. Its back leg had given out and it had crumbled in a heap on top of the Drykas, crushing him against the ground. The lion was malnourished but still massive. Its breathing was labored already. Lack of proper meals had made it incapable of exerting energy for long. It plunged blindly, grazing a shoulder with its long teeth, ripping clothing and the first layers of protective flesh. Its attempts were almost pitiful now. The human woman had put up a fight where the Drykas children hadn't, and now that he was wounded in several places it was almost too much for him to handle. If he killed Vanator first, he would in turn likely die of his own wounds; the missing portion of his only back leg and the dagger now lodged deep in his side.

[Vanator]

The night lion was in poor shape, not as healthy as the lions he, Larik and Sirocco had confronted just a few days ago. But those had been grassland females. this night male was was bigger, much bigger. Vanator felt a moment of satisfaction when his axe head cleaved the predator's haunch, though it was not the killing strike he had hoped for. Nor did it totally incapacitate the beast, for it managed to hobble a lunge at him, its sheer weight carrying them both careening into the grass. The Drykas held his ax in both hands above him, trying to keep the struggling lion from sinking its fangs into him. He prayed the mail shirt would hold against the dagger-like claws.

Gritting his teeth, feeling the sting of claws beginning to find flesh, Vanator squirmed beneath the heavy cat, trying to kick and knee it wherever he could land a blow. The ax was too large to bring to bear, the creature too close to maneuver the weapon. As the two opponents fought, Vanator saw the colorful ribbons of the girl's dagger dancing as man and animal struggled. He strained to reach the strands, grasping with one hand while using the ax haft in the other to ward off the gaping maw of the big cat. If he could wrap his hand around the ribbons and yank the blade free of the lion's hip, the Drykas would try to draw the blade into his hand and stab at the beast wherever he could.

[Calavera]

When fingers gripped and managed to pull, even a little, the dagger's ribbon, the lion let loose a shriek. The blade wiggled in its flesh, easily slicing more muscle with its razor honed edge. Forgetting the neck it had previously been aiming for, the animal snapped at the outstretched arm grasping for the blade lodged in his side. Fangs wrapped around the forearm like a cage. He managed to stagger off Vanator's body and drag the Drykas a few feet through the grass until thundering hooves brought Sirocco to the struggle. The strider trampled straight over top of the night lion, sending him reeling. With the lion behind him, the stallion struck out with his hind hooves, sending the predator to the ground. With his hind end injured as it was, the lion was unable to crawl back to its feet properly after that. It's ribs now cracked, it hissed from its position on the ground. Awkwardly, it managed to push its upper body up so it was in a strange, half-sitting position. But it was going nowhere now. Sirocco took a defensive position near Vanator's side, snorting and tossing his head in a challenge.

[Vanator]

Vanator yelled and growled as the dark beast's fangs closed around his arm, his own teeth gritting against the pain as the lion managed to drag him several feet. The ribbons slipped from his grasp, and he struggled to get the battle ax maneuvered for an attack, the weapon in his left hand dragging behind him. The Drykas felt it in the ground first, a vibration followed almost immediately by the sound of pounding hooves. Sirocco appeared in a blur of buckskin and black, slamming into the lion and tromping it beneath his hooves. The creature's teeth were torn from his arm, and Vanator pulled it close to him as he struggled to get to his feet.

The lion was gravely wounded, Vanator looked over its mangled body and desperate eyes. Though it tried to kill them, the animal was one of Caiyha's creatures, and it was not fitting that it should die a lingering death. Kovac managed to get to his feet, raising the ax in his left hand as he held the injured arm against his chest. With a high arc, Van brought the heavy iron axhead down onto the lion's skull. The threat now over, Vanator gave Sirocco a stroke of gratitude across his neck, then turned towards the girl.

"Are you alright? Let me see you." He moved to examine her wounds.

[Calavera]

Dahlia had managed to rummage long enough to find her dagger tangled in a clump of flattened grass, but she was of no real use, even armed. Men she could handle. When she'd dance in the cities east of the border, the occasional hand might wander out from the crowd and try to grab at her. That was no issue, but when men became drunk, their actions tended to get them in trouble. She'd had to defend herself several times in the past. People didn't expect her to be armed, let alone be able to use her weapons. But while men were manageable, starving beasts in an unfamiliar country were a whole other matter. She cursed herself violently for wandering off. That Drykas escort had been right, and here she was, bloodied and beaten then rescued at the hands of this stranger. He probably thought her a fool, which really she was. With the lion dead, Vanator approached where Dahlia crouched in the grass assessing her wounds. Her face flushed with both pride and shame. "I'm fine. Alive. Thanks to you." Her voice was on the verge of breaking. He was bloodied and battered as well. All her fault. "I'm so sorry." Her throat burned like it did when she wanted to cry. "I wandered off." The explanation was a terrible one. "I was with a caravan that broke down, and I was... well, I was bored." Here he was, chivalrously checking on the woman he charged in to save, who put herself into a stupid situation. She was obviously not from Cyphrus. Hoping to show that she wasn't a dainty, terrified little maiden, Dahlia pushed herself to her feet. Her legs trembled violently for a few moments but she didn't crash back down to the grass. "He cut me up bad. It'll heal." She looked over at the black body lying in the red stained grass. Its massive head was cleaved open and oozing blood. It was a gory sight. "Are you alright?" She couldn't meet his eyes anymore. "You were hurt because of me, and I can't put into words how sorry I am for that."

[Vanator]

Vanator ripped a length of cloth from his tunic, leaving his washboard stomach bared. Wrapping the rag around the gashes in his forearm, the Drykas took a quick look over the girl. She was able to get up, crouching before him. Her clothes were shredded, raven mane disheveled. There was blood too, though there was no indication of an immediate life threatening injury.

"Yes, I saw you run off from the others. Stupid. Did no one tell you how dangerous it was out here? You should be dead, that lion, as lame as he was, would have killed you." Vanator held up the ribbon dagger he had dislodged from the dead lion. "Though, I admire your spirit, you would have made him pay for his dinner." The Drykas had little patience with outsiders, especially those who took the Sea of Grass so lightly. But he could see she was hurt, and upset, and his heart softened.

A warm smile cross his lips, dark, gold-flecked eyes meeting hers. "We need to look at those wounds." Siroccco stood nearby, large brown eyes watchful. The Drykas turned to the yvas, pulling free a small pack from his baggage, then unslinging the waterskin. "We can get these cleaned up quickly, then I will take you back to the caravan where they can tend to you properly."

The first aid lessons Elem had given the Denusk came to mind. Shock was a possibility. "Lay down." Van gently laid his hand on her shoulder, the other on the back of her head, coaxing the girl to lay in the grass. Without concern for the woman's modesty, Vanator carefully sifted through the woman's ripped garments to view her wounds. "My name is Vanator. What his your name?"

[Gianne Basete]

OOCFinally hopping in as a guest mod. Very sorry about the delay! I deserve to be flogged and throw out to the glassbeaks. His words were a harsh truth, and they cut her like a lash. She was stupid, thinking that she would be fine out here despite her Drykas escort's constant warnings. But this wasn't a city or bar with drunken men. This was the wild, with all manner of beast and monsters. At least he didn't think her a total fool. And his smile helped things; made her feel like less of a silly foreigner. "I don't see how much those fat traders would be able to help me very much. And our escort is about as incompetent as they come." Her voice was strong, despite everything. "All they've got in those wagons is fabrics and other wares. Bare minimum medical supplies. I'll bet you not a single one of them could even pull a splinter." Dahlia didn't want to go back and have to face the arrogant face of that Drykas. Something about him made her want to break his nose. Despite her bickering, she did as she was told and laid down on the grass with the help of Vanator's gentle hands. It was a slow process. Moving stretched her wounds and cracked the drying blood, reopening some smaller ones so they bled sluggishly again. By the time she was on her back her teeth were gritted so hard that they ached. Most women would have blushed at the situation. A man's hands buried under her clothes roving over the skin; but she knew it was necessary. She might as well be naked anyways with how ripped all the fabric was. Dahlia didn't know the first thing about medicine, so she wasn't going to try and argue. She was quiet for a long moment after Vanator introduced himself. "Mine's Dahlia." Another much shorter pause. "Northwind." The last name she'd given herself on a whim years ago. Suddenly, his probing fingers touched the deepest tear on her body, right down the side of her ribs. She hollered and flinched away, then scowled and held her side protectively. "Just dump me in a river and scrub me with sand, why don't you?!" Her nostrils flared against the fierce stinging of the cut, but eventually she let out a gusty sigh. "Sorry, I'm not the best patient you could ask for. I'm more of a rub it with dirt and get over it sort of gal." She smiled meekly, knowing that was completely illogical under the circumstances. "Tell me about your horse?" Hers had passed away a few years ago from colic. She'd cried herself asleep for a week. Vanator talking about his beautiful strider might take Dahlia's mind off the stinging of her skin and the itchiness that was settling all over. She looked at it over his shoulder, and it peered back with intelligent eyes.

[Vanator]

Vanator's snap assessment of the woman had produced a few quick observations. First, she was a willful woman. Her bold dash into the grassland and her stinging critique of her traveling company suggested she was not exactly a delicate flower. Second, she was cut up pretty bad. Not life threatening, once he could staunch the blood, but he would need to bind many of the wounds. Third, he decided already that he liked her. She had guts and a strong personality.

"Hello, Dahlia." Vanator offered without looking up, his examination of her wounds continuing. The Drykas' searching hand ran along a gash in her side, and her reaction gave all indication that it was the most significant injury, along with her arm.

"Just dump me in a river and scrub me with sand, why don't you?! ...Sorry, I'm not the best patient you could ask for. I'm more of a rub it with dirt and get over it sort of gal."

The horseman chuckled. Yes, he liked Dahlia, she had spirit. "Well, since I don't want to get clobbered in the head with your fist, I won't be rubbing any dirt in that wound. But it might get a little uncomfortable, in a few ways. I will have to clean these." He didn't want to tell her yet that he would have to remove the remains of her shirt to bind up the slash in her side. Tearing another strip from his shirt, Vanator wadded it up and gave it to Dahlia. "Hold this against your side with your good arm, to slow the bleeding."

Unstopping the waterskin, Van poured water over the bite marks in the woman's forearm. As he gently wiped away any dirt, he answered her question about his horse. "His name is Sirocco. He is a Strider...a special breed among the Drykas. He and I bonded earlier this season. Oddly enough, it was during a lion attack. I saved him, and he saved me." Vanator glanced up at his mount, giving the bay a wide grin. "He is smart, and a bit ornery." Sirocco snorted and shook out his mane.

The grasslander drew a small metal container from the bag he retrieved, dipping out a salve and smearing it on the deep puncture wounds in the woman's skin. Another strip was torn from his garment and he wrapped it firmly around the injured forearm and tied it off. "That will help stop the bleeding and prevent infection."

Van washed off several more small lacerations along her arm, applying only a dab of the healing unguent to them and binding a few up with smaller strips made from the rest of his shirt. Through the tatters of her blouse, Van could see the crimson claw marks on her torso. "Dahlia. We need to clean those cuts on your chest and that gash along your ribs. Now, if you are more comfortable, I can leave you the waterskin and this salve, and you can do it yourself." City women seemed to be more modest than those of the horseclans, and Vanator did not want to embarrass her. "But I will probably have to help you wrap the wound in your side." Van was afraid he might have to stitch it up. Something he had only had to do once, for Hex, but Elam had helped him practice. Once it was clean, he would decide.