Healing and Hurting

by **Ayatah** on March 23rd, 2013, 8:00 pm

|| 44th Spring, 512AV ||

It was the first time Ayatah had seen the blockade since the storm.

She recalled how everything had fallen so still and silent that day, how the rest of her fang had picked up on the unnatural quietness of the jungle. She momentarily thought of Tinnok, and how her friend could communicate with plant and animal life. They must be speaking a whole new language now, she thought, staring at the mass of ever-expanding greenery. Everything had grown so suddenly; the jungle had swallowed up entire villages and destroyed the pathways that the Myrian people had engraved into the earth over the millennia they had lived there.

But their home was another place now, and it was one that Ayatah did not recognise. Yes, the jungle had changed and flourished at an alarming rate, but that was not all. When she had last guarded the entrance to Zinrah, the pureblooded Myrians that had joined their fangs had completely disappeared, leaving their armour and weapons like a child discards an unwanted toy. But the two half-breeds and Kelvic on patrol had not been so lucky; they were left half-crippled and forced to make their way back to Taloba. And it had not been an easy journey; the jungle had expanded, but the animals had also changed. They were crazed, bolder and pissed off -- to put it lightly.

By the time the three outcasts had made their way to Taloba, the damage they had suffered had been extraordinary. But they were not alone. The Sightless had joined them as victims of the storm; sons and daughters of Myri had had been blinded. They claimed to see nothing but pure whiteness, and had become something close to useless because of it. So far no progress had been made to restore their sight, and Ayatah had spent enough time in the infirmary to know that it was like to be a loss cause.

Other things had changed too. The people Ayatah had known so well were now barely recognisable; her cousin to start with, who accepted her own blindness with frightening ease. Even Ayatah’s comrades within the military seemed to be on either end of a single spectrum; emotionally numb and cold, or completely engulfed by rage, and obsessed with revenge.

And then of course, Aytah herself had changed. But that single thought was the most uncomfortable, so she was glad when they finally reach the entrance to Zinrah and her mind was preoccupied with duty. The blockade was being rebuilt, but unfortunately the snake people ambushed and attacked so frequently that it was common for the blockade to be destroyed in the skirmish. Progress was therefore painfully slow.

The fang came to a slow stop, quiet and looking warily around themselves. The current patrols greeted them stiffly with nods or strained smiles. Everyone is still on edge, Ayatah thought, and Myri only knows when everyone will be at ease again.

The weaponry and armour of the disappearing Myrians had been moved weeks ago, but every now and then a patrol would stumble on something, expecting it to be a rock but finding an axe or shield hidden amongst the long grass. Ayatah could almost picture the lost ones now, standing in the exact the same formant that the current patrols stood. She grimaced at the thought of taking their place: it will be like prancing on their graves.

Fortunately, the leader of her current fang suspected her discomfort at returning to the scene of horror, so when it came to giving out orders, Ikeena sent Ayatah on a patrol of the perimeter to check up on the rebuilding of the blockade. She moseyed her way down the length of the row of Myrians, eyes trained on what was ahead of her. A bonfire had already been lit, and some of her comrades sat around it, talking quietly and roasting fish. A woman stood up to greet jer, and the half-Eypharian recognised her as the leader of the other fang.

”Well met, Eypharian,” Pitma held a fist above her heart as she spoke, and Ayatah mirrored the action somewhat indifferently.

Old habits die hard, so she was not surprised when the other woman had greeted her as the name of her paternal people. The word carried less offence to her now, though; being a half-breed had saved Ayatah’s life, so for once, she was appreciative of the fact.

”Pitma. How is the rebuilding?”

”As good as you can expect.” The woman stretched her strong arms out and then spat on the ground. Ayatah remembered that Pitma of the Silent Walkers was one of the many to react to the Djed storm with little more than rage and hate. ”If it isn’t the fucking Dhani it’s the jungle itself. Sent two kids out earlier and they got petching lost. Had to send out another three decent recruits out just to find the little fuckers.”

Nice to see the new recruits are still treated kindly as ever.

And yet, Ayatah could not help but feel the tiniest bit smug; all new recruits had to go through the ‘treated-like-shit’ phase of their training. Most recently though, numbers had been so low that even the newest recruits were forced to join on patrols - even if their training was not truly complete. The end result was greater numbers, but greener patrols who lacked the confidence and discipline.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

by **Ayatah** on March 26th, 2013, 10:12 pm

When she turned back to Pitma, Ayatah saw that the other woman had softened her expression. The words that followed were also put more delicately, ”How fares the work with the Sightless?”

”As good as you can expect,” they shared a strained smile. The answer suited a variety of current situations, apparently. ”They have not found a cure as yet, but --“

… But they are hopeful in their attempts to make progress.

… But it’s a loss cause.

Ayatah let her words hang in the air, allowing Pitma to finish the sentence in however way she deemed fit. The half-Eypharin certainly knew what her own thoughts were, if nobody else’s.

Pitma coughed uncomfortably, before unsheathing her dagger and investigating the point of the blade. With a furrowed brow. "I can imagine your glad to be out on patrol again, and not stuck in the infirmary with dying men."

Who says my company here is any different?

But Ayatah forced out a strange laugh that was as false as fool's gold and said, "yes, I am glad to be back in the jungle." In actual fact, the jungle was the last place she wanted to be, but to ignore her duty would be cowardly -- and it would probably arouse suspicion and questions from people she would rather remain silent. Keeping quiet about something was one challenge; to lie outright about something was quite different.

”Well…. We have our hope.”

Hope would indeed have to be enough, though Ayatah suspected that good will alone would not do. There was a sense of desperation in the air everywhere she went, and each night came as a strange kind of reward: well done, you’ve survived another day.

She slowly moved away from Pitma, keen to keep her mind busy. Still, as she walked down closer to the dank hole that served as Zinrah’s entrance, the memories and thoughts could not be barricaded out of Ayatah’s mind.

That was there they stood. Runpik, Zezrah, all the others… Her eyes scanned down the row of men and women, looking at the faces of those who stood there now, but seeing the patrols who had disappeared. And I was there. She looked straight ahead now, staring at the space she had stood with her two friends. They had all been uneasy, as had their other comrades. They knew something was coming.

But they had not known what, and when the storm hit….

There was nothing we could have done.

It was a fact Ayatah had known, and one she had painfully repeated to herself as they clambered through the jungle back towards Taloba. But nothing had ever made her feel so helpless as she had in those first moment, or as guilty. They had walked away from their comrades - or rather, they walked away from their comrades’ belongings. Regardless, it had gone against everything they had been taught; to walk away from one’s fang members was a disgusting and unforgiveable act. They had disappeared, but that didn’t mean they had gone.

But the need for survival had outweighed loyalty, so the two half-breeds and the Kelvic had fled.

Some had criticized them, Ayatah knew. She could tell from the frosty glares and whispered questions; how could they just leave? Didn’t they even try to find the others? I couldn’t have just run away… Others had not believed their reports: Myrians do not just disappear - something strange obviously happened but those petching half-breeds are keeping quiet about it. In the end, though, it was not the doubting looks that disconcerted Ayatah. It was the desperation in the eyes of family and friends of the warriors who had disappeared. They wanted answers - but no such things existed yet. Nobody knew where the disappearing Myrians had gone, but they were not coming back anytime soon.

And the Dhani…

Knowing that their old enemies were no longer watching them, the snake-people had leaked out of the ground like a poisonous gas. They flooded into the jungle, and only now were finally beginning to be put back in their stinking place. Though not without many losses suffered by the Myrians.

Our home is turning against us… Ayatah thought as she watched a young male recruit drag his dagger across the bark of a tree, engraving a ‘P’ for Pitma’s fang. Such etchings had become the easiest way for their people to signify who had been there, and what path to take through the expansive greenery of the jungle.

An arrow thudded into the young lad’s stomach, and all hell broke lose.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

by **Ayatah** on April 5th, 2013, 1:28 pm

”DHANI!”

Ayatah did not see who cried out the unnecessary warning; she had dropped to the ground like all the other patrols to avoid any subsequent arrows. Another erupted from the jungle foliage a chime after the first, but this one landed in the willowy bark of a mikmik tree instead of the chest of another Myrian warrior.

She could see him now, slowly coming forward but already Ayatah could tell the abomination was in his Dhani form. She guessed his height to be close to eight foot… but he was not just tall; his shoulders were impossibly broad and his chest thick. Even where his waist narrowed and skin turned to scales, the snake-man was a frighteningly large specimen.

Her comrades had already grappled their weapons out of sheaths, and two archers trained their arrows onto the hazy figure in the green shadows. To Ayatah’s left, Pitma lunged a spear right into the undergrowth, but to no avail. The woman swore loudly before shrugging off her bow and releasing an arrow. This time a beastly cry responded to her attack, and Pitma smirked. Another three arrows followed her own.

And then everything was silent for a moment.

Ayatah didn’t see the recruits behind her have their throats slit, but she did hear their final struggling breaths. When she turned around at the queer sound, she merely saw two tall women standing over the dead bodies. And blood. There was so much blood.

”Ssstupid flesh-eaters.” One of them slurred, a disgustingly entertained smile on her ugly face. The Dhani said something else, but Ayatah could not hear her words over the war cries of her comrades.

Move, you need to move!

But something stopped Ayatah from doing just that. It was fear, panic and absolute dread. This all felt too familiar. The last time she was here, she had been ensnared by a similar sensation.

The big male Dhani slid of the jungle, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder blade, but three Myrians fell onto him straight away. He would not go down easy, and as Ayatah remained in her petrified state, she could have sworn she heard bones crunching and men screaming for Dira’s mercy.

Everything was happening around her; men and women were dying and fighting, and all she could do was lie amongst the long grass like a dead body. She heard a pathetic noise, an animal-like whine. For a moment Ayatah thought it had come from her, but when she heard it again she realised it had come from the young man who had been shot by the first arrow.

Keeping low to the earth, she shuffled closer towards him, moving quickly and lowly. He had fallen behind a tall plant with thick dark leaves, and after Ayatah had crawled around it, she realised they were completely hidden from the rest of friend and foe alike. It was the perfect hiding place.

The arrow erupted from his abdomen, though there was close to no blood leaking out of his body. That was no good thing: it had to spill from somewhere, and if it was not leaving his body, the boy could drown amongst his own blood.

He was still alive, though Ayatah guessed not for much longer.

It was then that her hands began working on their own accord, her mind thinking so fast she barely understood it herself. If he doesn’t die from his wounds, he will die from being struck by a Dhnai axe, and my body will end up right near his. Oddly, the prospect of death (and being quite so close to it) did not terrify Ayatah any more than simply being in the jungle did. In fact, there was something numbing about be so bluntly pessimistic and honest. If she was going to be killed, she might as well have a go at saving the life of another.

”My name…”his voice was broken, weak. Ayatah recognised that sound; it was how a dying man spoke. ”…is Gunser. Of the -- Toxic Arrow.”

It was so beautifully ironic, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Beyond their pointed green curtain, four Myrians lay dead, as well as one of the Dhani women, but two more had joined the battlefield. ”Hello Gunser. My name’s Ayatah. I’m going to try and keep you alive.”

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

by **Ayatah** on April 9th, 2013, 10:21 am

It was most likely hopeless, Ayatah knew. Chances were this young lad would be yet another loss, another life snuffed out. And all because of the storm…

No. She would not allow it. Others had died before him, and more would afterwards, but she would not allow this boy to die. He was someone’s son, and although he was old enough to train in the army, he was still young enough to seek comfort in the arms of his mother. He was not a man yet. I will not let someone else’s child die in the jungle.

Her breaths were coming rapid now; Aya’s chest sunk and rose almost as panicked as her patient’s. ”Okay. Okay...” The words were for her own comfort, not his. She needed to get her head sorted, to get her thoughts into life-saving mode, as opposed to cowering with a dying boy like some scared pup. ”You can breathe, and there’s no vomit, no faeces.” She knew that heavy blows or arrows to the stomach or gut tended to result to… something coming out either end.

”I don’t -- tend to -- shit-myself-in-front-of…” His face contorted into sickening pain, and he let out a growl, ”….women.” With his final word came a great sigh of relief, and a strange smile. This kid clearly had a sense of humour that expanded even into situations that were - quite literally - literally life and death.

”That joke was hardly worth the effort,” She muttered, hoping her voice would be drowned out by the clangs of metal on metal, the shouts and war cries from Myrian and Dhani alike. She needed to work fast, but Ayatah was also aware that rushing this job would probably kill the poor lad quicker than the arrow itself. Dexterity, efficiency and calm nerves were needed. Oh, if only…

Taking a moment to wipe the dirt off her hands, Ayatah shuffled closer to her patient, her hands brushing his stomach lightly as she considered her options. Moving around a huge amount, especially standing, was not really possible; she’d tower over the flora that was shielding them, sacrificing both of their lives to the Dhani beyond. But there was no water nearby, nothing to ease the pain for Gunser. If she was going to remove the arrow, she’d have to do it without numbing the wound. And despite the cries from the battlefield a few feet away, a dying boy in absolutely agony was sure to catch unwanted attention.

She had to either go in search of water or some painkilling plant - and risk being seen by the Dhani and killed… or remove the arrow without anything to numb it - and risk being heard by the Dhani and killed. All in all, not a fantastic scenario.

As it turned out, Ayatah needn’t have worried. Whilst she was watching Gunser, he seemed to be watching something else. His eyes went wide, and for a brief moment the half-Eypharian thought that her pathetic attempt of saving his life had failed before it even began.

Then she turned around, and saw the monstrosity that stood behind her.

”Playing hide and sss-seek, are we?” Another female, with dirty blonde hair and ashen skin from living in that stinking hole for so long. She wore the same sickening grin that her accomplices had done after they’d snuck up and slit the throats of those two Myrians. And like them, strangely, she was in her human form. They think this will be an easy game, Ayatah realised, so they’re not wasting time or energy shifting to their strongest form.

Having scrabbled to her feet, Ayatah faced the Dhani, who towered over her by a good half-foot. A black-handled, short katana hung at her foe’s hip, the fine blade arching slightly upwards before coming to a thick point. It was Myrian made, she was sure. No doubt the petching abomination stole it from the collection of weaponry and armour that had been left when the pure bloods disappeared. If she lived through today, Aya vowed to return the blade to the city, and perhaps even the rightful clan if there were any helpful engravings.

When she would come to describe what happened that day in the jungle, the half-Eypharian would quickly become confused with her own tale. She would be told be later that day that Gunser had been in such a state that if the arrow had been left in him for more than thirty chimes, he would have died. But her battle with the Dhani-bitch seemed to go on forever - yet Ayatah managed to slay her foe and save the boy at the end of it all.

Time was a funny thing when it came to chaotic events like this one.

It was the Dhani that made the first move. She drew her katana in a smooth swing, flicking it up and out once the blade was fully released. It was not a purposeful attack, but a show, to emphasise how her blade was far greater than the Ayatah’s own double-bladed daggers.

Size isn’t everything, bitch. Plus, those two or so inches couldn’t make that much difference, right?

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

by **Ayatah** on April 11th, 2013, 9:17 pm

The Dhani jerked forwards, katana jabbing outwards and to the left. Had Ayatah not leapt away, the battle would have ended there and then, with her entrails hanging out.

Fortunately, though, it didn’t. Her foe retracted her arm to strike again, but the half-Eypharian managed to land a pathetic punch to the side of the Dhani’s ribcage. Her hand throbbed afterwards, but the snake-woman didn’t seem to have hardly felt the blow.

She recuperated quickly, ducking low as she saw the pommel of the katana rushing towards her head.

But something else connected to her stomach, pushing the air right out of her lungs and making Ayatah gasp and splutter.

That petching smile was back on the Dhani’s damn face, though her urine-coloured eyes watched Gunser’s heaving form. Excessive fury could distract a warrior from battle, or make them act without tactic or thinking. But when she saw how that Dhani looked hungrily at Gunser, a flash of pure Myrian rage coursed through Ayatah. It was her job to protect the dying boy, it was her duty. She would not let him die at the stolen Myrian blade.

She rushed toward her taller, bulkier foe, colliding their bodies together. The Dhani stumbled to the side, more confused than anything else. If I was pureblood, you would have felt that. There were times when her slighter frame really didn’t help.

Her left hand came up, dagger in hand --

- Only for the Dhani’s own to lash out like a cat’s, grabbing Ayatah’s wrist in a white-knuckle grip. The half-Eypharian yelped, tried to twist away, but her foe held on so tightly that escaping would mean leaving the rest of her arm behind.

That stolen katana came towards her, so quick she barely it.

The rounded pommel struck the side of Aya’s head, and for a moment she could not see. But she did feel the Dhani’s hand leave her wrist, only for her legs to suddenly go weak and buckle under her. She fell, and the ground rushed up to meet her like an old friend.

Goddess, her head pounded! For a second Ayatah could fe4l every heartbeat, every pulsate within her brain. She could see now, but for some reason her body was rebelling. What are you doing? Stand up! With still-wobbly arms and legs, Ayatah lifted herself to her hands and knees.

It appeared that the Dhani had other ideas. With a swift kick, she knocked Ayatah to the ground once more. Then she glanced to the young lad behind her, slitted eyes glinting with cruel entertainment. Even when in her human form, the creature moved in serpentine fashion. She leered at the young Myrian at her feet, who stared back up at her with dull, feverish eyes. ”Perhapssss you would like to be put out of your miss-sery?”

”Leave him alone.” Her voice came out as far more authoritative than she expected, and Ayatah found herself struggling to her feet. Her head was bleeding, her lip was swollen, and it felt like one of her ribs was fractured, but she was standing. ”Leave him.”

The Dhani’s head snapped around, staring at Ayatah incredulously. Gunser’s eyes had rolled to a close, but she could see his chest raise and fall shallowly.

”Excussse me?”

As the she-snake came closer, Ayatah’s dark eyes never left those reptilian yellow ones. Tinnok had similar eyes, she knew, but her friend never looked so repulsive, so cruel. The Dhani glanced from Ayatah to Gunser, then back again, trying to figure out what bond lay between them.

”You are too young to be hissss mother…. Mayhapss you are hiss lover?”

But Ayatah barely heard whatever had followed the word ‘mother’. For obvious reasons, that word touched a nerve, and for a brief second, her eyes left the Dhani’s to flutter downwards.

I am no one’s mother.

The tiny subconscious gesture was all the other woman needed. A low chuckle emitted from her throat, and it made Ayatah’s skin crawl. ”I sssee. Tell me, half-breed, do you want me to cut your baby out before I kill you?” The tip of the katana pointed towards Ayatah’s stomach as the Dhani spoke, her other hand chopping horizontally to demonstrate was she meant.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

by **Ayatah** on April 15th, 2013, 10:30 pm

There were many word that Ayatah knew suited her well: proud, bookish, witty and loyal were just some examples. But she was not maternal. It wasn’t that she disliked children, but they were messy and noisy, and left sticky fingerprints everywhere - even if they had not recently eaten. She loved her younger siblings, and was happy to care for her cousin’s infant sons and daughters, but she got just as much joy out of returning the squalling children to their rightful parents. She had always assumed that one day she would have mini Myrian-Eypharian mixed children of her own, but in the far, far, far future.

But when that petching Dhani said those despicable words, Ayatah felt a burning rage unfamiliar to her. Maternal instinct, perhaps? She knew that female tigers would throw themselves between their cubs and hunters to protect them, but this female had no cubs to save.

Her chocolate eyes met those golden ones once more, but she said nothing. Her face was blank, despite the fury that burnt away at her insides like acid. This was no longer a Myrian rage: the coldness and harsh brutality was purely Eypharian. Controlled, cool, merely seeking revenge for what the Dhani had said. She would annihilate the enemy, or die trying.

It was simple, really.

The rest of the fight was nothing but a fast, silent blur. Ayatah saw the Dhani swing for her, but as she dodged and darted out of the way, she could have sworn her body was being controlled by some other force, not her own mentality. When she raised an arm to block yet another swing, she barely felt the flat of the katana blade smack into her forearm (of course, come the next morning, she wouldn’t be so pain free).

Her right hand came up in a forwards grip, aiming the point of her dagger towards the soft torso of the Dhani. But the she-snake jumped back, eyes narrow and suddenly suspicious as to why this Myrian warrior was suddenly acting so blasé, so cold... So un-Myrian.

The Dhani struck out her left foot, colliding it with Ayatah’s kneecap. She stumbled down to one knee, and saw the look in her foe’s eyes as the katana was raised above her head; assumed success.

How stupid of you.

The half-Eypharian fell to the side, tucking her head down to her chest so it was the rounded part of her shoulder that hit the ground first. Her right leg pushed the rest of her body to follow suit, and rather clumsily, she managed to perform an off-angle forwards roll.

She leapt to her feet, found herself standing to the side of the Dhani, and embedded her dagger into its side. The she-snake wailed, throwing her elbow out in protest and connecting it with Ayatah’s chin. That blow hurt like shyke, but now Ayatah remembered the sweetness of killing something.

It had been too long.

Her left hand plucked the second dagger from her hip, somewhat wobbly. Her dominant hand was the right, which had the strength and dexterity the left lacked. But practise made perfect, and it would surely be sweet practise to bury her second dagger into this petching pile of scaley shit.

That damn katana came across the Dhani’s body, aiming for somewhere close to Ayatah’s chest. She ducked and slashed her left blade straight down the middle of her foe, though the cut was not as deep as she would have liked.

Fortunately, her right hand made up for it by sinking the point of her other blade directly into the other woman’s throat. When she retracted the dagger, blood spurted out of the wound, spattering her face with warm, red droplets.

The Dhani opened and closed her mouth, though no words came out, only more blood. The katana hit the ground with a dull thud, and the snake-woman fell to her knees.

”It’s wrong to take things without asking,” Myri, was that Ayatah’s voice? It was so… cold and distant. She picked up the katana, inspecting the fine black handle and thick blade. ”You shouldn’t steal.”

She ended it all by inserting the point of the katana into the Dhani’s heart; with accuracy only a medical student would know.

And that was that.

As quickly as it had come, Ayatah’s fury was extinguished. She had just made her first kill since the storm, since she had lost her child. Exhaling a long breath, she took a chime to gather herself. Something felt lighter; as if she had been carrying around a great weight and only just released herself of the burden.

She looked down at the body of the Dhani, but it was the Myrian weapon in her own hands that caught her attention. There were no inscriptions on the handle or blade, so finding the clan of it's rightful owner would be close to impossible. But now Ayatah had another idea in mind for the blade.... Every member of the Scattered Bones has a birth weapon, she thought, rehearsing the old words of her clan as she checked the balance of the weapon. You may not have been born, but that doesn’t change anything.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

by **Ayatah** on April 16th, 2013, 9:51 pm

When she turned around, Ayatah saw a figure crouching over Gunser. Her eyes narrowed and her fingers gripped the katana a little tighter. She stepped forward, feet silent as she crept up behind the--

”He’s still alive, but barely.”

That was not the voice of another foe. ”Pitma!” She lowered the katana with a startled look, almost embarrassed that she had not recognised her military superior. ”How--“

True to her cool professional manner, Pitma did not allow Ayatah to finish the question before answering. She’s never one to waste time.

”Three dead, not including those first two. Or this one. Few injured, but barely scratches in comparison.”

Ayatah winced, and hurried to join the other woman crouching beside Gunser. His breaths were shallow and shuddery, muscles twitching with each painful exhalation. ”He’s not dead yet.” She licked her lips, hesitant to give orders to the seasoned warrior who was her superior in so many ways. Not necessarily medicine, though. ”I need some dark moss, you know the stuff? And water and dressing.”

The Myrian warrior eyed Ayatah suspiciously, as if deciding whether or not snipe at the mix blood for being so out-of-place bossy. Then Gunser gasped and spluttered, and suddenly inter-military hierarchies didn’t matter so much. ”I’ll get the recruits to fetch plenty of water. You’ll need a stretcher, yes? To get this boy home.”

To get him home… Ayatah had only thought about keeping him alive, let alone trudging through the jungle with him on a stretcher. ”Yes. Yes, I will.”

”Shout if you need anything.”

Pitma stood up and left, and Ayatah found herself in the same position she had been in before that Dhani-bitch attacked. But now her mind was clear, full of adrenaline and suddenly very efficient. Her hands moved with something close to autonomy, whilst her eyes watched Gunser carefully, seeking any sign of his condition worsening.

Talk to him! Even if he can’t hear you, talk to him. If these are to be his final moments, they shouldn’t be filled with silence and suffering.

”Hello Gunser. It’s me, Ayatah, again. I’ve dealt with that minor distraction, so now I’m back here with you.” She told him briefly of Pitma, the rest of their respective fangs and their plans to carry him back to Taloba. When that was done, and still there was no sign of the moss or water she’d requested, Aya panicked and began talking about herself.

The lad never replied, but his eyes twitched towards her voice under his heady eyelids. When she slipped her hand into his, Ayatah could have sworn he tightened his grip around her fingers

Pitma returned with three skins of water, a roll of bandages and a startling amount of moss. Just as the older woman started to leave again, the half-Eypharian called her back, suddenly forgetting about who was senior over whom.

”I need you to hold the skin around the arrow, like this. No, don’t pull! Yes, more like that, but keep it taut.” She didn’t see the glowering look from the other woman, as Ayatah was far too busy dripping the cool river water into the lad’s raw wound.

The sudden coldness on his flesh made Gunser gulp, but he was so weakened from his injuries that his twitches of distress were barely noticeable.

”Gunser, I’m going to remove the arrow now, okay? This… might hurt.” She glanced to Pitma, who nodded that she was ready. Then, excruciatingly slowly, Ayatah began to slide the arrow up. The boy’s eyes flickered open and close, his head lolling to the side and his face screwed up in silent suffering. But Ayatah continued, even when Pitma began cough uncomfortably and wince herself. ”I need to do this slowly, and carefully, in case I tear his organs or veins….” She murmured, keeping the lessons she had been taught in the infirmary fresh in her mind.

The arrow was out, but as soon as she had discarded it to the side, Ayatah saw fresh blood filling the wound, creating a well of red liquid in the boy’s body. For a chime she simply stared down at it, completely unsure of how to precede. It was good he was bleeding, but… perhaps not that much.

Goddess, she was nowhere near qualified for this!

”We have the stretcher!”

Ayatah glanced in the direction the cry had come from, but did not respond. She needed to clean and pad out the wound; else there wouldn’t be a boy to put onto the stretcher.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

by **Ayatah** on April 17th, 2013, 6:28 pm

”Pitma, can you tear off pieces of moss? About the size of the wound, but a bit smaller would be perfect.” As the other women handed her small handfuls of the rough moss, Ayatah washed them in the streaming water, turning their rough texture soggy. After that, she placed them carefully into the narrow tear of Gunser’s flesh, patting them down as she did.

Finally, she leant back on her haunches to inspect her work. The job had taken about five or so chimes, but even that may have been too long. ”Let’s bandage him up…”

They worked together to do this; Pitma rested Gunser’s head on her lap so his torso rose from the ground by a few inches. Ayatah slipped the dressing underneath him and wrapped it across his middle three times. Then she paused, and made it four times - just to be safe.

She had done all she could, so why did Ayatah feel so… dejected? The desire to keep the young lad alive had been extinguished by her own pessimism. Sighing, Ayatah stood up and nodded for the other recruits to bring the man-made stretcher over. They had fashioned it out of solid tree branches, animal skins, and vines. It was well made, but even so, when they slid Gunser’s glistening body onto the soft furs, Ayatah could not stop imagining the structure collapsing in the middle of the jungle and his limp body breaking in two as he fell to the ground.

But it didn’t, and when the two recruits stood either end of the stretcher and yanked it up, it held together and Gunser remained suspended on the pelts.

”I assume you are going with them back to Taloba?”

Ayatah’s eyes never left the weakened body of the young boy, whose life had suddenly seemed so important to him. Her fingers gripped the black handle of the katana, and she nodded. ”Yes, I will.”

oocBleh, so I never know how to end these things unless I have a specific idea in mind. So… ta-da.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||