[Mithryn and Beyond]Through field and forest.(Oriah)

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick’s survival instinct struggled with his love for Oriah as he readied his blade. Better to die here than live with the agony of knowing I abandoned the woman I want to bond with. His thoughts blazed clearer than the water in a mountain spring in his head. One of the other wolves was begging its descent and the Kelvic’s eyes narrowed. Oriah was right, they needed to cut some of them down. They would attack in turns, or try to break them up. “Aye!” Marrick responded. “Oi’ll be ready teh assist. Stay at moy back.” The Kelvic kept a mental picture of where Oriah’s footing held her, he wanted to be sure she had enough space to strike and dodge. When she stepped right, he stepped left, keeping her close enough for him to lash out with his longsword in case she was in trouble. Marrick could hear the other wolves as the lip of the ravine hampered their progress, but his focus lay on their current enemy. The big one that eyed them hungrily as it paced back and forth in the mud. The clack of the wolves jaws announced its intent better than a war cry and the Kelvic’s wrist twisted stiffly bringing his blade into a hard line with his elbow. He felt a chilled calm fil his chest as its bounding gate brought it nearer. As the Benshira’s short sword swung for the beasts hide, it twisted in its tracks and avoided her blade. A little smile alighted on the Kelvic’s lips as a feather might as it fell onto a stone. In the breadth of a breeze it had disappeared and cold murderous determination replaced it. Though that did nothing to slow the wolf’s progress. It leapt at him, its maw wide and slathered with saliva. Marrick, was ready. With a twist of his blade he crouched low, and brought the weapons tip forward, laying the broad blade over his offhand forearm, and let the massive wolf slide over the edge of his blade for the hairs breadth of a tick before the Kelvic pushed upward and swiped the blade hard along the beast’s underside. With a labored groan he let the wolf’s momentum carry it over his blade, and flung the massive beast into the stones that lined the bank of the river. A red stripe left its mark on the belly and ribs of the wolf. It yowled pitifully while its bowls began to spill into the muck of the creek bed. Another two of the wolves had managed to make it to the floor of the ravine and bounded forward, a guttural snarl in their throats. Marrick stepped into their path between Oriah, and their aggressive onslaught. The Kelvics blade was not ready this time, and the first wolf slammed hard into his side, nearly knocking him over. The wild maneuver brought kicked out one of the Dark haired squires knees. The second wolf clamped hard down on his sword arm. “GYAAAH!” Marrick’s cry of pain echoed off the ravine walls, as struggled with the wolf to release his arm. His arm was filled with pain as the wolf ground its jaws on the sleeve of his Gambeson. He tried to pull left, or right, but the beast dug its paws in and ground its teeth deeper through the padding of his sleeve, and counter pulled with its massive weight. Not knowing what else to do, he grabbed the turf of the animal’s neck hair and tugged back. His cry of agony was renewed as he lifted the beast bodily with both arms, and slammed it down on the ground at Oriah’s feet. “Get em Ori’!!” he shouted. “Gut this Pechin bastard!”

[Oriah]

Oriah was torn, alternating between watching the wolf leap upon Marrick and tracking the rapid descent of two more hungry beasts.

Everything happened lightening fast. One moment the wolf was charging for her, the next Marrick was slicing open its belly as two more of its brethren barreled down on both squires. A fourth wolf remained behind up on the ravine, pacing back and forth and snarling as it watched the rest of its pack jump into the fray, but it was a small blessing to be counted. It was only a matter of chimes before it would either recruit reinforcements or join the fight itself.

But there was no time to worry about anything other than the two new beasts now itching to tear their throats out. Oriah hadn't even the time to feel properly relieved her companion had downed the first wolf. As soon as Marrick got back on his feet and blocked the path between her and the predators, another leaped for him and slammed into the raven haired squire with bodily force.

Her heart caught in her throat as she heard Marrick cry out in pain. The Benshira looked at the second wolf, then to the one gnawing on her fellow squire's arm. There wasn't much of a choice. She would leave herself wide open, but she would not condemn Marrick to such a bloody death.

Mind made, Oriah ran toward the struggling pair, sword raised and every shred of strength and focus devoted to one purpose. Marrick had barely finished shouting for her to gut the beast when she sank her shortsword into the wolf's lower half. Screams and howls clashed against one another in the air until all but one remained. The Benshira didn't stop until she'd dragged the flailing wolf, now impaled on her sword, off of Marrick and onto the ground, where she proceeded to yank out the blade and stab one last time into the side of the wolf's throat. Blood sprayed over wolf, sword, squires, and ravine generously in vivid crimson.

This was it, then. Oriah just stood there, panting over her trapped sword, waiting for the second wolf to maul her to pieces. She shared a look with her wounded companion, regretting of all things being unable to bandage his arm before yellowed fangs ripped her to bloody shreds.

But the wolf never came. Instead, she heard a familiar twang! Then a second immediately after. Oriah whirled around just in time to see two brightly shafted arrows slam into the third wolf in rapid succession. A couple thuds and yelps of pain later, the beast was down, drowning in a pool of its own blood where the arrows had pierced it twice, once through the throat and another through the eye. The Benshira didn't even need visual confirmation before she guessed who had just saved their lives; the arrows and their deadly efficiency were evidence enough. Overwhelmed with relief, the squire sank to one knee beside her companion, her hands still gripping the hilt of her shortsword.

"Sera Mora..." she whispered between pants, "Blessed Yahal..."

But she had spoken too soon. Let her guard down foolishly when their enemies had not all been accounted for. There was a snarl behind them, and suddenly Oriah remembered the fourth wolf that had stayed out of the ravine. Only it had chosen in the end to avenge its fallen pack or die trying. And Marrick was wounded...

Oriah started pulling furiously at her sword as she whipped her head back around. "Sera, there is one left! And Marrick is--"

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick’s eyes were squeezed so tight against the pain that it was hard to see exactly what happened. The wolf filled his vision until it yelped in pain and its jaws released his arm. The Kelvic withdrew his arm with a painful jerk and a growl, only to fall over and cradle his wound. The dark haired squire looked up at the scene that unfolded before him with renewed focus and watched as the beast writhed on the end of Oriah’s short sword like a stuck pig. The Benshira held it there as it writhed against her blade until its body could only twitch violently. His fellow squire swiftly removed her blade and gave the wolf a final death blow to its jugular as he watched wide eyed. Her blade slid loose, and the Kelvic managed to turn his head in time to avoid the spray of blood hitting his eyes. The hot splash of thick fluid painted his cheek, chin and ear, and left him with a feeling of just having been marked. As disturbing as it felt being covered by the animals blood, the overwhelming rush of adrenaline kept the sensation just below the surface. The Benshira seemed to rise slowly a look of profound epiphany. The dark haired squire fixed her with a look of concern as the situation caught up to her. Like a hawk he watched as the realization of the bloody act of killing an animal dawned on her. Her eyes widened a bit, and she seemed frozen in ice or thick mud. The Kelvic knew that she would struggle to keep fighting. However, it seemed they wouldn’t need to. The dark haired squire heard the familiar thrum of a bow as two shafts glided effortlessly into the last live wolf in the ravine with them. It seemed to try and run instinctively and fell over as its legs refused to work. Like a final realization, Marrick saw the wolves eyes widen for just a tick before they froze, and glazed over. Somewhere in his peripheral the Icy eyed squire could sense that Oriah had knelt at his side and he reflexively reached out with his good hand and gave her arm a squeeze. With his wavering hand and wounded arm the icy eyed squire gripped his long sword and stiffened. His eyes rested on their savior, but it was not Sera Mora. His arm protested painfully as he tried to lift the weapon, but something halted him. He lay there on his side, face covered in mud and blood. He stared at the woman that stood on the lip of the ravine; her foot resting triumphantly on the last wolfs corpse. She was dressed in animal skins from head to toe. Fur lined for warmth and simple in their construction. In her hands rested a longbow of primitive construction, an arrow notched over her knuckle. Oriah’s words died in her throat as she realized what was happening, and Marrick had to admit that the woman had the look of a predator. Slowly, Marrick lifted himself up. His eyes never left their guardian though a broad head arrow was still leveled at them. Though his arm felt useless, the Kelvic felt he could at least serve as a shield if it came to that. The woman’s face seemed familiar. A slope of the nose, or curve of the chin. Or perhaps it was her eyes. Cool icy blue orbs fixated on him as he stood between her and Oriah. As the stranger eyed him appraisingly her bow relaxed, though that seemed to last only for a handful of ticks. The women drew the arrow back again, and Marrick inhaled sharply and flattened himself against Oriah trying to cover as much of her as possible with his broad shoulders. Just as the Dark haired squire sensed the woman was about to loose her arrow she relaxed her bow again and looked over her shoulder. She seemed distracted. Then just as quickly as she had appeared she slung the last dead wolf over her shoulder and darted into the brush. Not even a tick had past when he could no longer hear her movement through the wood as she left them behind. They both stood their frozen in time, like winter had set in early and their very blood had turned to ice. That was, until Sera Mora appeared at the lip of the Ravine her own bow in hand. Relief showed openly on her face, and Marrick exhaled as if a massive weight had lifted from his shoulders. With a wavering hand he wiped some of the smear from his face and the pain in his arm became achingly more acute. With a grumble of pain the Kelvic looked over his wound. The looks that Oriah gave him none the less made him smirk a little. “OI’ll be alroight. The Gambeson stayed the wound a bit.” With a tender hand he pulled at the tears in his sleeve only to his back a curse. “The teeth broke the skin, but the arm feels useable.” The Dark haired squire slid his sword into its sheath while his arm complained. When the hilt snapped into place he grunted painfully against the force in his hand. Marrick looked around at the carnage they had wrought, until his eyes met with Sera Mora’s. The Knight’s eyes lacked all the enigmatic mystery they typically held. Instead, the Kelvic could feel the icy anger that held him in place. He felt shame for endangering Oriah, enough that he looked away. With regret he hung his head in shame.

[Oriah]

For what felt like entire seasons but must have lasted only a dozen or so ticks, the rest of the world fell away as Oriah knelt by Marrick's side. She saw, heard, felt nothing else. Only his blood...so much blood...and, gods above, the pain in his expression. Panic fought to overtake her senses as she fumbled in vain to try and stem the bleeding.

It was until she looked up and noticed the direction Marrick was staring that Oriah thought to follow his gaze. And when she did, she was met by a sight both startling and baffling. There was a woman who was not Sera Mora, dressed similarly in skins and standing at the lip of the ravine. She, too, held a bow, though her's was a longbow unlike Mora's short, and there was a feral, predatorial energy about her that would have made an ill fit on the Chaktawe.

The woman shifted. For a moment, Oriah thought she was going to shoot them next. Evidently Marrick though along the same lines and strained himself to cover his companion, but fortunately for both of them the woman seemed to change her mind at the last tick and, throwing the body of the dead wolf over her shoulders, disappeared as mysteriously as she came.

There was little time to worry about who the stranger was, however, as Marrick began to assess his own injuries. Oriah fought the urge to hiss in sympathetic pain as she watched him pull back the fabric on his sleeve. Underneath was a rather bloody but non-fatal wound, the bitemarks still oozing trickles of vivid crimson with every movement the squire made. Oriah was so fraught with worry over the state of Marrick's wounds that she scarce heard Sera Mora walked up to them both, her presence as judging as it was silent.

"We will have to clean and bind his wounds as best we can," the Chaktawe finally said after kneeling down to inspect Marrick's injuries for herself. "Azari, there are clean bandages in my pack. I left them by a fallen tree twenty feet or so south. Retrieve them for me, as well as some salve."

Oriah nodded and bolted in the direction Mora pointed. A couple of chimes later she was back, panting, and holding her patron's entire pack in hand.

"I wasn't...sure...which salve..."

Sera Mora grabbed the pack without question and began withdrawing various items out. "Here, take this," she instructed her squire as she handed Oriah a water skin. "Pour it over his wounds. That way at least we can see them better."

With steady hands and a racing heart, Oriah tipped the water skin over where ever the blood seemed to flow most freely on Marrick's person. Once she had done this, Mora inspected the injuries one more time before opening a bottle of salve and applying them liberally. After that both Knight and squire worked together to bandage Marrick as quickly and painlessly as they could, Oriah holding him up now and then so the bandages could go all the way around and sawing off the ends with her daggers when Mora signaled one area was properly bound.

Last but not least came the wolf corpses themselves. Since just about everything in their current situation was time sensitive, the Chaktawe handled this part herself, making quick and clean work of skinning the dead animals with a rather large blade she carried.

"I will work quickest alone," she had explained before starting the messy but necessary process. "But you two can watch and learn, and I will let you try your own hand another day. For now, we must get Squire Corvis to a doctor as fast as possible. Azari, be ready to bundle the pelts as I finish skinning them. We won't have time to salvage the meat; the other creatures of the woods can take care of that well enough."

[Marrick Corvis]

Before the Kelvic knew what was happening Oriah had maneuvered herself around to his injured arm. He still cradled its tender flesh, even though he felt it was but a flesh wound. It wasn’t until the Benshira began to tend it that he realized there was quite a bit of blood. “Oh” was all he managed, as the sight of the blood began to drag his focus onto the wound, and how much it actually hurt. The Chaktawe knew her way around a wound it seemed, as it wasn’t long before she had sent Oriah sprinting through the muddy river as fast as she could manage to her saddle. Once she was out of ear shot the Kelvic looked at Sera Mora as she stretched his arm out and asked him to flex his fingers for her. “What are yeh doin?” he asked the shame still coloring his voice. “I want to make sure your fingers still work. If the wolfs teeth didn’t sever any of your tendons you’ll be doing hand stands in a week. If so, Oi’ll want to escort you back to Syliras and make sure your seen to by a Gnosis healer.” The look she shot him was almost amused if not for the cold anger that still seethed under the surface. With a huff of frustration he wiggled his fingers. The wound made it painful but it seemed that everything was still there. “Pech. It hurts, don’t poke at it.” Marricks pleas went unanswered though as Sera Mora began to prod a couple of his wounds. “Look look, Oi didn’t think we’d get into trouble. Don’t- OW!” The Kelvic was no stranger to pain, though it seemed that the Knight wanted to prove a point as she seemed only focused on causing him more agony. That was until she produced a long yellowed and bloody looking fang from one of the wounds. The Kelvic’s breathing had become ragged by then and the look that he and the Chaktawe shared seemed a little reminder to be more careful. Still, it was a surprise when she pressed the fang into his blood soaked hand. “I want to see you wearing this when next I see you Niblet, so that I know you never forget. The wilds are a dangerous place. A Kelvic should know better.” It was a surprise to hear her so bold and blatant. Marrick realized just how badly he’d peched up. Though that didn’t stop him from looking over her shoulder to make sure that Oriah hadn’t returned yet. His eyes were clearly panicked as the Knight laid a tender hand on his shoulder, while helping support his arm. “Be more careful Niblet. If you had died. You would break my Squires heart.” It was as if all the air had been let out of his lungs all at once in one great gasping sigh. Marrick knew he wouldn’t have a comeback to that. Not ever, and he suspected that the Knight knew it. She knew he would see the truth of it. “Aye.” Was all he managed to say before he nodded his head solemnly. “Oi’m sorry.” Oriah announced herself with a swift crashing through the brush, Sera Mora’s saddle pack in hand. When she drew near the Kelvic shrank a little. Of course she was running, but his arm felt so tender that the idea of another body crashing into it worried him. When Oriah tipped the water skins mouth over his wound he hissed in pain, and stifled the reaction to kick, though only just for a moment. When the sudden sting of the cool water subsided he half sighed half growled at the soothing nature of the water over his wound. They were flushing the wound. Something he had done before and he knew the wisdom of it. Hopefully any saliva or other nasty rot in the wolfs mouth would be washed out. Though, he made a personal note to washed the wound repeatedly with soap once he was back at Mithryn. The salve smelled earthy. Almost mossy when Sera Mora applied it to his wounds. But a few ticks after the pain had subsided to a dull ache in the regions she had rubbed the brown goop into the wounds. “What is that stuff? Feels good.” All the shame he had felt seemed to melt away as he watched, now curious as the knight continued to tend his wounds. “It’s called Krolar. Krolar Poultice. Made from the Krolar trees bark and wildflowers.” The knight’s answer hung in the air as Marrick tried to tuck it away into his memory. Such a compound would be extremely useful if he ever had a situation like this again and Sera Mora was absent from the picture. With a curious eye the Kelvic watched with renewed interest as the pair of them wrapped his arm in clean bandages. The first layer began to soak up any excess blood, but Marrick knew that by the time he will have made it home the bandages would likely stink of filth and dried blood. Just as with anyone who’d just sustained trauma, the Kelvic tugged at his bandages to make sure they were tight. When he was satisfied with their knots, he briefly looked at still bloody tooth in his hand. A long sigh escaped his nostrils like a lost warm breeze as he struggled to his feet with a grunt. When the Knight got to work skinning the bodies the Kelvic watched with a Morbid interest. Though his arm ached, he perched over the Sera’s shoulder. “Meh arm isn’t so bad, Oi’ll loikely be ready teh roide before sunset.” The icy eyed squire stretched his neck to be able to better see Sera Mora as she worked. Well enough we not eat the meat. The meat of a scavenger is a moight gamey.” “You would know Squire Corvis.” The voice of the Knight carried softly as she worked. “And you were bitten by one of those scavengers. Their spit will be in your wounds. You will have a fever by nightfall.” As Marrick took in and understood the Sera’s word he realized that it was possible he may actually get sick. Even though as a Raven he very well could eat the same diet. Or the wolves meat raw and been fine. In his human form though he was vulnerable. The irony was not lost on him. Marrick watched as Sera Mora pulled a long knife and made a simple long slice starting at the paw, and ran the blade up to the armpit. She did the other front leg as well and severed the feet. With carefully she began cutting along the top and bottom of the foot. It was taking some time, so the icy eyed squire made himself busy by trying to gather the dead wolves through the mud. It wasn’t too long before the three of them had gathered up the skins and packed up. Marrick however had already begun to heat up. Especially in his wounded arm.

[Oriah]

Oriah had to swallow back a wad of fear that had lodged in her throat when Sera Mora spoke of Marrick's inevitable fever. But she put on a brave face all the same, helping her patron pack the hastily skinned pelts and throwing them over Anwin's patient form. The Tiaden made nary so much as a huff of discomfort as the bundles flopped behind the saddle.

"It would be best if I rode with Squire Corvis," the Chaktawe decided, her tone brooking no argument. "Anwin is larger and able to carry more weight. You will have to ride alone, Azari, but stay close. Time is of the essence and we have none to spare for more delays."

This was, Oriah knew, about as tactful a way of saying 'you're shyke on a horse but don't fall behind' as the Knight could have managed. And though worry ate at the very flesh of her heart for Marrick's condition, she knew well enough her patron would be far more suited to watching over him. With a quick nod and step forward, the Benshira helped her superior lift their wounded brother in arms as gently as they could manage into Anwin's saddle. He was not a light man, given his constant training, and both women had to focus all of their effort on not slipping and sending him tumbling back to the muddy earth.

Somehow, with much heaving and coordinated effort, the three of them managed to get Marrick into the saddle. Mora jumped immediately in front of him, her tall and somber form shielding his pained, hunched over one, simultaneously acting as a support should he feel too weakened, and nodded once to Oriah.

"Get the other horse. I will meet you on the other side of this ravine, and we will be on our way."

With a tired but silent sight, the Benshira ran off to do as she was told. She was half afraid that, in her exhaustion and haste, she would become lost. Lucky for her the ravine was so muddy; she could still see all of the tracks they had made, from the frantic ones at the scene of battle to the less reckless, more stealthy and controlled steps leading up to the ravine. From there she was able to pass by a few familiar landmarks--a group of large, oddly shaped rocks, an especially mossy tree, and clumps of bright read mushrooms--before finally reaching Kiter's agitated form.

The Tiaden shook her head and pawed at the ground with one hoof at the sight of a familiar face. "Shh, shh, love," Oriah coaxed, using Marrick's own term of endearment. "Our friend is alive. Hurt, but he will make it if we are quick."

As always, the warhorse seemed to understand in her own strange, equestrian way. With relative stillness, Kiter allowed Oriah to untie the reigns and climb clumsily into the saddle. From there she rode steadily around the ravine, keeping the lip in sight at all times, all the while forcing herself not to kick Kiter into a gallop. It would bring only more disaster if she were to lead the horse into a ditch or injure one of her legs in careless hurry.

The Benshira was able, slowly but surely, to make her way around one side of the ravine to the other. There was a small bridge--if it could be called that, being mostly a primitive construction of stones and branches--that she had to get out of the saddle and lead Kiter across on foot, but otherwise there were no serious delays. By the time Sera Mora caught sight of her only a few handfuls of chimes had passed and they were all more than ready to leave. As Oriah trotted to her patron's side, falling just a little bit back to give Mora the lead, she placed a gentle, brief touch on Marrick's back.

"You will be alright," she tried to assure in a hushed, sincere tone. "We will bring you straight to a healer, and you will be fixed."

Not the most eloquent of comforts, but it was the best she could do, riding behind the two of them. They went on for some time in silence, save for the occasional moan or chattering of teeth from Marrick. Each time the sounds reached her ears Oriah felt the dagger in her heart twist. But there was nothing anyone could do until they reached the outpost. Would have been better if they could ride straight to the city proper instead, where Soothing Water's healers had god touched marks at their disposal, but it was too far. Mithryn would have to do.

When the entrance to the outpost finally loomed into view, Oriah near wept with relief. They barely stopped long enough to identify themselves before Ser David Whitevine rushed out himself to see to his wounded squire. A strange look was exchanged, from one patron to another, and then Oriah found herself swept along in a flurry of activity.

But all she could do, think, seek was Marrick and the pained expression in his face. She did whatever was expected of her, including helping her patron take their horses to the stables and get herself checked for any injuries or abnormalities. She even dunked herself quickly in a bath, wolfed down some food, and donned a clean set of squirely clothes. And once the Benshira had seen to her basic duties, she made a beeline straight for the room in which Marrick was being tended, in which she stayed the entire night. Curled up in a chair, fighting weariness until she could fight it no more.

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick watched as Oriah and Sera Mora hurriedly gathered the hides and other equipment. The implication that he couldn’t ride left the Kelvic feeling just a little defensive but he knew he couldn’t argue the point. Just watching the way that the Chaktawe interacted with the Benshira made the Icy eyed squire grateful for Ser Whitevine and his relatively easy going manner. For just a moment he pondered how much of that was his doing. Occasionally he caught Oriah’s concerned glances, each one was met with a smile. When it was time for him to climb aboard, the pair of them hefted his frame onto the Sera’s Tiaden like a sack of potatoes. He grit his teeth, and helped as much as he could, though one of them had planted their hand firmly on the strong haunch of his rump. He hoped it had been the Benshira. When he slid toward the other side, he struggled to balance himself. When he at last felt he was centered, Marrick found his breath had grown ragged. This wasn’t extremely new to him, though riding with a Fever certainly was. His body bowed as he felt the fever growing. His muscles ached and he hated them for it. His arm was beginning to feel like a simple wound at this point, and the Kelvic thanked Sylir for the poultice that Sera Mora had brought him. The Chaktawe climbed in front of him in the saddle, and Marick made space for her lanky frame. He couldn’t help but realize how much of a woman the Sera actually was. It was a strange contradiction to him as he had before only seen her as a superior soldier, leader, and knight. What the bloody hai is going on with me. The dark haired squire thought as he wiped away heated sweat from his forehead. When Oriah bolted to gather Kiter the Kelvic took the moment to converse with Sera Mora. “Oi’ll need meh things from the stump near the spring Sera. Ser Whoitevoine will flog me raw if Oi lose it.” The Kelvic said as he rocked a little in the saddle. “I have them squire.” The Chaktawe’s tone had grown a little weary, but her anger it seemed had passed back into the cool mystery of a desert nights wind. “I gathered them after you left.” The Kelvic heard the slightest hints of amusement in her voice as she gathered up her Tiadens reins. “They weren’ that well hid were they.” The dawning of his realization made him exhale out hard before he heard the low chuckle of the Knight he clung to in the saddle. He had never heard her laugh before and for some reason he felt that this must have been some rare anomaly he should remember. He endured the knight’s mirth in silence till her dark chuckle died in her throat and he heard once again the twitter of songbirds. For a moment the Kelvic felt a strange euphoria, which he chalked up to the fever in his blood. “Ugh, the birds.” He said with gasp of hot air. “They’re singin. Oi hadn’t noticed that they had gone silent.” The Knight looked up into the trees for just a moment before she lifted a hand and pointed casually at a bird with deep blue plumage. “That one there.” She said as she drew Marrick’s listing head to fevered focus. “That’s a Jay. They make a very distinct call when the forest isn’t safe. Wait and see when Oriah approaches.” The Kelvic ran his fingers through his sweat soaked dark hair as he considered the Knights words, and weather it was fevered or not he listened quietly. Even before Oriah had ridden Kiter loudly through the brush the jay let out a raucous jeering noise and the Knight nodded to him over her shoulder to let him know that he was listening to the correct sound. The noise felt like, a scaling knife drawing across the back of his brain, and the Kelvic leaned against the knights back. When Oriah rode up he felt her comforting hand against his back and he groaned. “A healer would be grand.” The Kelvic licked his dried lips a moment before he exhaled through his nose trying to focus away from the pain in his arm, and the burning in his muscles. The pair of horses rode hard for Mithryn. Marrick watched as the day seemed to move backwards and he wondered how much of it was the fever fostered in his body or the actual path they took. When Mithryn was in site he groaned softly and blinked through gritty eyes at the main gate. When their horses breached the gate the Dark Haired squire caught sight of his Patron as he ran up, a look of worry on his face. “What happened? Where is Marrick’s armor?” He demanded. Loudly at Sera Mora. Marrick gave his Patron a fevered smile and chuckled. “I went hunting Ser!” the little giggle died in his throat as Sera Mora gave him a little elbow nudge in the belly. “The Squires took it on themselves to leave the safety of the spring and they decided it might be fun to try and fight a pack of wolves.” The knights scathing words hit Marrick a little hard, though it all felt like pink puffy clouds flowing through his head as he listened. Only half of it made sense. Ser Whitevine watched the Kelvic with a look of confusingly mixed content. “Well, how many did they get?” The laughable response that his Patron asked his fellow knight made Marrick laugh, until he felt the icy stabbing of the fever as it peaked inside him. He groaned painfully and his body began to rack itself with each freezing jab. “David, don’t encourage him!” Sera Mora’s voice came over the staggering pain as someone pulled him gently from the saddle. As Marrick felt himself lift bodily onto what he could only assume was a stretcher he broke his sudden seizures of pain with a commentary. “Don’t… gick… foight… Mum… Dah…” Each stab of agony silenced the smile that he tried to make. His vision, and memory grew foggy. Somewhere he grasped at someone’s clothes and was forcibly removed. Something hot covered his eyes, and he was dipped in an icy bath for a handful of ticks. The clarity that the pain of that experience made him gasp feebly but the effect didn’t last long. When they pulled him from the ice he felt so relieved that he passed out. When he awoke again, he felt thirsty. Like he’d crawled across the deserts of the Eyktol. He blinked against the low light in the room and lifted a cool hand to his forehead. His whole body ached, though the fire had gone. With a soft groan he tried to sit up, only to have a hand restrain him. He blinked against the grit in his eyes until Sera Mora’s face appeared in the candle light. Silent as the hills on a sunny day, her near silent breathing mixed with the luff of her light armor and clothing as she pressed something small into his hand. She closed his fingers around it and left his side as mysterious as the sea. With a perplexed look plastered on his face he lifted what felt like a little coil of string up into the waning light and unwound it. The little leather string hung loosely in his hand, the wolf fang hung from its long line. With a long sigh he turned his head to the side, a little bit of the shame still coloring his features, he let his good arm cover eyes. No point n’ feelin sorry fer yerself Marrick. He thought with a measure of exhaustion filling his belly. As he opened his eyes one last time to take in the room, and confirm he truly wasn’t dead, he found Oriah was there. She slept awkwardly curled up in the chair her head at an uncomfortable angle. He felt a stab of guilt in his belly. But it was enough to get him up. With an effort he peeled back the blankets and kicked his feet out one at a time. He felt as if he’d been asleep a solid month, and is very bones had atrophied. A small glass of water lolled silently when his hand disturbed its rest. Marrick shook his head slowly in an effort to find his bearings. Silently he set a foot onto the floor boards with a soft thump. Slowly, either from his injury, the fever, or perhaps in an effort to be stealthy he approached the Benshira as she slumbered. The shame weighed heavily on his bowed head as contemplated what he had done that day. As his eyes at last fell on the little bauble the Chaktawe had given him the realiztion hit home that he had nearly gotten Oriah Killed. With a sigh, and a blink to focus his eyes he nodded. An affirmation to himself, as much as a vow to Sera Mora. “Oi Promise.” He said as he slowly lifted the trinket over his head and around his neck. With a quiet effort he slid the wolf’s fang necklace under his shirt and descended upon Oriah’s sleeping form. He knew she would be heavy, and the effort of lifting her bodily into his arms would be hard on his wound. Yet he felt that he couldn’t let her sleep there. It wasn’t right. He wound his arms about her carefully. Lifting her lighter legs with his bad arm, and he carried the majority of her weight with his left. With some gentle coaxing he got her to lay her head against his shoulder and he lifted her up into his arms. She felt heavier than usual, but she was not an unbearable weight there in his embrace. With a gentle lift he carried her to his sick bed and laid her down gently, making sure to cradle her head until it made contact with the pillow. That made him feel good. Good and tired. With a roll of his shoulders he lay down next to her and draped his good arm over her shoulder. Her sleep which had grown turbulent as he moved her, now had become at last placid again. As the exhaustion began to dim the light for him he nuzzled his face into her mop of blonde hair and sighed. “Oi promise.” He whispered. “Oi Promise.”