50 Frost 123
"No," the man ordered, heavy footsteps coming closer to the raised pallet, "Save the medicine."
A warm hand touched a sleeping woman's, large unseen fingers, prodded gently, exposing her neck and then her ears, tucking strands of red hair back to reveal pointed tips. Long, delicate, pierced. There was a beat of silence, a moment to reveal this expectation, "She's a Hytori."
"A Hytori?" another asked, shock sounding on their lips. It had a feminine rise to its end, "Out here?" they asked. There was doubt on their tongue, a hesitation.
"Sure as I've ever seen one. She won't fall to infection." The voice was assured, as deep and cool as any river. Upon the bed, the patient's eyes moved behind closed lids, fast asleep. Sweat beaded her brow, and she had been cleaned and dried. Dark bruises discolored the left side of her face, royal purple, and her bottom lip had been split where she had bit her flesh. A silver scar revealed itself, so faint and delicate that it was only caught in a certain light, was suspended just below her right eye, a wound long since healed.
The man didn't speak again, and so the second voice continued, a hidden panic in its voice, "And she was just out there, running through the dark woods like a Fae? A witch?"
A hum of confirmation was given as an answer.
"I have a bad feeling about this, Rydon."
Again, no response.
"You saw her. She's near naked, no weapons, no herd! Just running around in the middle of this cursed winter, snow up to her knees! She's brought wolves to our door-"
"The wolves were here already," he corrected, "You know that."
The second entity huffed, but remained dissuaded, "-As if we didn't have enough worries already," they finished sharply, sternly, "I'm tellin' you, something's not right about her!"
"She's vulnerable, Kanna. The wolves are starving."
"The wolves!," a sucking of teeth, "As are we!" Kanna snapped. There was stomping, followed by the sound of rummaging, "We can hardly feed ourselves, half the time were relying on those damn grackles anyway! Trade was one thing when we were just passing through these fields, but now? Krogo will be nursing those wounds of his for who-knows how long thanks to her, and for what? She's just another mouth to feed," her voice was sharper now, the whisper critical, urging, "She is a danger to us all."
"She's barely alive."
The cot shifted from a newly added weight where Rydon sat beside her, and she stirred slightly. Even in her haze of dreams and rest, Yeva could feel the pressure of another sheepskin added to the growing pile already upon her.
Kanna continued, pretending not to notice the intensity of which the Chieftain watched over the little lambkin, "Look-" she urged, "I'm not saying we sacrifice the girl to the night lurkers... just... just... get her on her feet, and send her on her way. We've done the same to others for far less." Kanna's voice moved closer, pleading in her voice. Her eyes were searching for his, but he never looked up, "She's not one of us."
He hummed, deep and low, almost guttural. Pensive, "Where would she go?"
And to any witness who might look upon the scene, the giant bull was speaking so softly, so tenderly that he appeared to be another man to those who knew him. Merely a few hours earlier, he had come back with the other shepherds, the guardian dogs still roaring and barking as they chased and killed the last of the wolves. Cold air had puffed from flaring nostrils, and blood coated the entirety of his broad chest, down his thick coat and sheepskin trousers. Chunks of fur and viscera still clung to his stained horns, whereupon he had snatched up one of the unfortunate wolves by the scruff, as if picking up nothing more than a pup, and impaled it upon his crown. He had torn the body free, nearly ripping off the head in the process, and left it there to bleed into the snow.
Returning in the light of dragonshard torches, carrying in his arms a limp body, too small and soft to be recognizable, was this strange woman. Her hair was twisted and wild, drenched from snow and tears. When Kanna first saw her, she thought the girl was nude, the thin cloth that might have constituted a skirt covering ripped and barely tucked between her thighs. Her feet were without shoes, and her legs, all the way up to the side of her ass were bare. The scanty top she wore was that of an undergarment, barely a band around her breasts, which rose and fell with shallow breaths. Like those that emerged from the battle, she was baptized in the gore.
Healers rushed to offer assistance. The whole camp was awake from the commotion, some half-prepared for wolves, others for darker, stranger beasts. They witnessed her arrival. Kanna could only pray for departure.
"She'd go back wherever she came from. Once she's healed, can walk again, why not?"
The man did not speak for a long time, "It is not that simple."
To this, Kanna's voice sharpened and she scoffed, "How many bonded have we turned out, when they could not fit into our life? You would give this stranger privileges' we do not even afford ourselves?" she spoke faster now, as if being given the last chance to persuade him, "She is not even Rathari kin!"
"When the time comes, run her off Rydon," Kanna begged, "Please."
"I have made my decision."
She stays.
Anger sparked in the woman's eyes, frustration. She said nothing, lest her temper get the best of her.
Rydon sighed, finally looking up. He reached beyond the elf's head, to the pillows where he had always slept, "We found these with her, in the field."
In a drawstring pouch, one of the cords had been snapped. A dark and large scale of metal, like a dark and illustrious plate, and a sword...or what once was a sword. Now, it was a hilt and a bit of jagged metal, intricate and strange glyphs etched into its side. They continued up the length of the blade, which had been broken, and the remainder of it lost. Kanna's mouth dropped as she examined the items in his possession, voice faltering. Her anger was gone, now a fear seeped into her speech, "Is there more?"
The bull nodded, opening the pouch with one finger, and wiggled its mouth free. Inside was a stack of thick cardstock, and from what little light made itself inside, she could see shadowed images, two broken sticks, a red marble, a scrap of purple, and a pinch of something herbal, smelling of smoke.
Rydon tried to pass the oddities to Kanna, but she reared back, nearly tripping over her hooves, "No!" she shouted, so loudly that the elf began to stir. Her brow furrowed in her sleep and she turned her head. The two looked sharply at the slight movement, and Kanna's head shook vehemently, hissing her next words, "I want nothing to do with whatever she is. That blade... that's not.- No," she was backing towards the door. Mages were rare in these parts, and they always brought nothing but trouble, "You want to keep her in your tent, fine! But I'll not tend to her."
With that, Kanna stormed out, leaving a heavy absence in her wake. The sounds of confused inquiries were faint beyond the flap of the tent's door, and Kanna's brusque dismissal of their interest cut across the distance. The bull examined the etched weapon once more, holding it up for closer inspection, before setting it on the turned stack of crates used to make an end table. The drawstring bag he dumped out into his palm. Why would she collect these things? These... invaluable remnants? She carried no food, no water, no protection from the cold. There was no compass, waterskin, not even a scrap of flint for fire. Who was she?
He returned the apparent trash to the bag, furrowing his brow at the deck of cards.
He turned the stack over and began to thumb through them. They were not the kind he was familiar with, made of images more complex and compelling than diamonds and spades. Figures, male and female, of various races were captured in differing scenes, some hold cups. Some fighting. Some bearing injuries. There were staff, coins, and royalty, all participating in some grand story he did not yet understand. When his searching fingers halted, frozen on an inky black image that made his hair bristle, he glanced around at the dim corners of the room and hurried to return the deck as it had been. Paranoia crept upon him, nearly dropped the bag in his rush to seal away the woman's belongings.
He tried to shake off the discomfort and stood.
Deep within the dark clutches of slumber, and flushed with fever, Yeva smiled.
"No," the man ordered, heavy footsteps coming closer to the raised pallet, "Save the medicine."
A warm hand touched a sleeping woman's, large unseen fingers, prodded gently, exposing her neck and then her ears, tucking strands of red hair back to reveal pointed tips. Long, delicate, pierced. There was a beat of silence, a moment to reveal this expectation, "She's a Hytori."
"A Hytori?" another asked, shock sounding on their lips. It had a feminine rise to its end, "Out here?" they asked. There was doubt on their tongue, a hesitation.
"Sure as I've ever seen one. She won't fall to infection." The voice was assured, as deep and cool as any river. Upon the bed, the patient's eyes moved behind closed lids, fast asleep. Sweat beaded her brow, and she had been cleaned and dried. Dark bruises discolored the left side of her face, royal purple, and her bottom lip had been split where she had bit her flesh. A silver scar revealed itself, so faint and delicate that it was only caught in a certain light, was suspended just below her right eye, a wound long since healed.
The man didn't speak again, and so the second voice continued, a hidden panic in its voice, "And she was just out there, running through the dark woods like a Fae? A witch?"
A hum of confirmation was given as an answer.
"I have a bad feeling about this, Rydon."
Again, no response.
"You saw her. She's near naked, no weapons, no herd! Just running around in the middle of this cursed winter, snow up to her knees! She's brought wolves to our door-"
"The wolves were here already," he corrected, "You know that."
The second entity huffed, but remained dissuaded, "-As if we didn't have enough worries already," they finished sharply, sternly, "I'm tellin' you, something's not right about her!"
"She's vulnerable, Kanna. The wolves are starving."
"The wolves!," a sucking of teeth, "As are we!" Kanna snapped. There was stomping, followed by the sound of rummaging, "We can hardly feed ourselves, half the time were relying on those damn grackles anyway! Trade was one thing when we were just passing through these fields, but now? Krogo will be nursing those wounds of his for who-knows how long thanks to her, and for what? She's just another mouth to feed," her voice was sharper now, the whisper critical, urging, "She is a danger to us all."
"She's barely alive."
The cot shifted from a newly added weight where Rydon sat beside her, and she stirred slightly. Even in her haze of dreams and rest, Yeva could feel the pressure of another sheepskin added to the growing pile already upon her.
Kanna continued, pretending not to notice the intensity of which the Chieftain watched over the little lambkin, "Look-" she urged, "I'm not saying we sacrifice the girl to the night lurkers... just... just... get her on her feet, and send her on her way. We've done the same to others for far less." Kanna's voice moved closer, pleading in her voice. Her eyes were searching for his, but he never looked up, "She's not one of us."
He hummed, deep and low, almost guttural. Pensive, "Where would she go?"
And to any witness who might look upon the scene, the giant bull was speaking so softly, so tenderly that he appeared to be another man to those who knew him. Merely a few hours earlier, he had come back with the other shepherds, the guardian dogs still roaring and barking as they chased and killed the last of the wolves. Cold air had puffed from flaring nostrils, and blood coated the entirety of his broad chest, down his thick coat and sheepskin trousers. Chunks of fur and viscera still clung to his stained horns, whereupon he had snatched up one of the unfortunate wolves by the scruff, as if picking up nothing more than a pup, and impaled it upon his crown. He had torn the body free, nearly ripping off the head in the process, and left it there to bleed into the snow.
Returning in the light of dragonshard torches, carrying in his arms a limp body, too small and soft to be recognizable, was this strange woman. Her hair was twisted and wild, drenched from snow and tears. When Kanna first saw her, she thought the girl was nude, the thin cloth that might have constituted a skirt covering ripped and barely tucked between her thighs. Her feet were without shoes, and her legs, all the way up to the side of her ass were bare. The scanty top she wore was that of an undergarment, barely a band around her breasts, which rose and fell with shallow breaths. Like those that emerged from the battle, she was baptized in the gore.
Healers rushed to offer assistance. The whole camp was awake from the commotion, some half-prepared for wolves, others for darker, stranger beasts. They witnessed her arrival. Kanna could only pray for departure.
"She'd go back wherever she came from. Once she's healed, can walk again, why not?"
The man did not speak for a long time, "It is not that simple."
To this, Kanna's voice sharpened and she scoffed, "How many bonded have we turned out, when they could not fit into our life? You would give this stranger privileges' we do not even afford ourselves?" she spoke faster now, as if being given the last chance to persuade him, "She is not even Rathari kin!"
"When the time comes, run her off Rydon," Kanna begged, "Please."
"I have made my decision."
She stays.
Anger sparked in the woman's eyes, frustration. She said nothing, lest her temper get the best of her.
Rydon sighed, finally looking up. He reached beyond the elf's head, to the pillows where he had always slept, "We found these with her, in the field."
In a drawstring pouch, one of the cords had been snapped. A dark and large scale of metal, like a dark and illustrious plate, and a sword...or what once was a sword. Now, it was a hilt and a bit of jagged metal, intricate and strange glyphs etched into its side. They continued up the length of the blade, which had been broken, and the remainder of it lost. Kanna's mouth dropped as she examined the items in his possession, voice faltering. Her anger was gone, now a fear seeped into her speech, "Is there more?"
The bull nodded, opening the pouch with one finger, and wiggled its mouth free. Inside was a stack of thick cardstock, and from what little light made itself inside, she could see shadowed images, two broken sticks, a red marble, a scrap of purple, and a pinch of something herbal, smelling of smoke.
Rydon tried to pass the oddities to Kanna, but she reared back, nearly tripping over her hooves, "No!" she shouted, so loudly that the elf began to stir. Her brow furrowed in her sleep and she turned her head. The two looked sharply at the slight movement, and Kanna's head shook vehemently, hissing her next words, "I want nothing to do with whatever she is. That blade... that's not.- No," she was backing towards the door. Mages were rare in these parts, and they always brought nothing but trouble, "You want to keep her in your tent, fine! But I'll not tend to her."
With that, Kanna stormed out, leaving a heavy absence in her wake. The sounds of confused inquiries were faint beyond the flap of the tent's door, and Kanna's brusque dismissal of their interest cut across the distance. The bull examined the etched weapon once more, holding it up for closer inspection, before setting it on the turned stack of crates used to make an end table. The drawstring bag he dumped out into his palm. Why would she collect these things? These... invaluable remnants? She carried no food, no water, no protection from the cold. There was no compass, waterskin, not even a scrap of flint for fire. Who was she?
He returned the apparent trash to the bag, furrowing his brow at the deck of cards.
He turned the stack over and began to thumb through them. They were not the kind he was familiar with, made of images more complex and compelling than diamonds and spades. Figures, male and female, of various races were captured in differing scenes, some hold cups. Some fighting. Some bearing injuries. There were staff, coins, and royalty, all participating in some grand story he did not yet understand. When his searching fingers halted, frozen on an inky black image that made his hair bristle, he glanced around at the dim corners of the room and hurried to return the deck as it had been. Paranoia crept upon him, nearly dropped the bag in his rush to seal away the woman's belongings.
He tried to shake off the discomfort and stood.
Deep within the dark clutches of slumber, and flushed with fever, Yeva smiled.