The Hunter and the Hunted (Oliver/Yassia)

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

The Forests of Balor had been infamous all over Albion to play host to many different species of animals, mostly dangerous and deadly. It was exactly the reason why at high noon, the second prince of Mercia was trolling the forests with his small hunting party of five. Ever the eternal hunter, Oliver had heard many interesting things about the Forests of Balor, and despite the protests of his father, Lord Bayard, King of Mercia, and his mother, Lady Adelaide, the stubborn prince still continued to go with his plans. He had traveled all the way south from Mercia, beyond Camelot, and to this famed mystical jungle, ultimately to find himself a cockatrice. Or maybe something similar. Yes, the prince liked living on the edge.

“What exactly does a cockatrice look like, Sire?”

“Beats me. It could be as small as a beetle or as big as a dragon,” replied Oliver as they trudged through some thick undergrowth on the way to their destination. “So best be watching what you’re stepping on, my friend.” This earned a great deal of laughter from the rest of his men. They knew the prince was joking. They couldn’t have traveled all the way south just to hunt a beetle, now did they?

“Cockatrice, cockroach…they do sound like cousins,” came a voice from behind the small pack.

Another laughter, and Oliver shook his head at the crazy antics of his friends. This was what he liked about hunting. Apart from the hunt itself, he liked the company he kept, the camaraderie. One knight had accompanied him to this excursion on the pleas of his mother. The other two were friends back in Mercia, commoners both. One was the son of the palace blacksmith. He knew his bows and arrows very well. And the other was the son of the village baker, and he willingly took care of the provisions for their trip. And then of course, there was his able and loyal servant Lot. Oliver didn’t like having a huge entourage about him when hunting. It removes the thrill of the chase as well as the lure of danger.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

She had been told not to go here. Thrice. First by friendly farmers’ wife who had been so gracious as to give her a piece of bread and strong smelling cheese, along with even a cup of this beverage they called Cider, made from apples. ‘Not the Forest of Balor, child, nasty things live in there!’ ‘You might regret that shortcut’ another peasant she had met on the road had warned her. And finally, a charburner living just at the edge of the forest had urged her to turn around if she was fond of her life and limbs. ‘These cockatrices love to havy anything moving for meal, but I have heard they especially like to devour pretty young girls’. The way he had beared his ugly teeth at this comment, black stubs like the charcoal he was producing, had made her hurry on as fast as she could. She didn’t like to be in the company of sleazy smiles… that revived too many nasty memories…

But in the end, her reasons for crossing through the feared Forest of Balor had been simple: it was she shortest way to Camelot. And with the slow tempo she only could rely on on her two feet, she better risked a little danger to reach her destiny sooner. Then again, with her luck, she probably would run into three of these rare cockatrices and not just one. The charburner had described them as giant saurian, and that it might look slow but was in fact really fast. She needed to watch her back at any given time, as they liked to sneak up on their prey…
Yassia, even though her feet were burning already, kept on a fairly fast pace, more jogging than actually walking. Maybe her speed could help her to slip through the beast’s attention? And the sooner she got to Camelot, the better anyway. Having covered the road for a few weeks now, at least she had acquired a reasonable fitness, so even though she was pushing her body to the limits, Yassia knew she could be going like this for a while, until her muscles and especially her side started to protest.

All the while her ears were alert to every sound. She waited for grunts and other sounds that could give an animal such as a cockatrice away, but she definitely had NOT expected to hear… laughter. It made Yassia stop in her tracks momentarily, and cock her head to deem its source. It was not even far away, a little to her right. Human voices… how peculiar! Hadn’t they all said that no one in his own mind roamed the Forest of Balor?
In any way, Yassia had no mind for company right now and so she journeyed on, even faster than before, moving swiftly, but sadly not so very noiselessly through the woods. She was no hunter after all and her kingdom consisted of more plains than anything…
She just hoped that she would go unnoticed by these men, whoever they were.

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

A nasty growl suddenly ripped the air, and the laughter had immediately died as soon as it had erupted earlier. Everybody froze. Oliver stopped dead in his tracks, planted himself against a nearby tree, and immediately drew an arrow from the leather-made quiver strapped across his back. This is it! He told himself as he poised for the kill. His sharp ears listened for any more sound, hoping to pinpoint the location of the beast. Was that how the cockatrice sounded? He hadn’t seen nor heard one before, though in his many readings, it does make quite a piercing shrill.

One heartbeat. Two. Three. And then nothing. It was suddenly silent all over the forest once again. The prince gestured his men to stay still, stay quiet.

“What was that about?” his servant Lot expressed as he emerged from a low bush a couple of minutes later when he saw Oliver drop his bow.

Oliver didn’t answer as he started walking ahead again, hoping to hear thumps or thuds, anything, from whatever that was that made that bellowing growl. Now that he knew that one was close by, there was every reason to be careful now. “Stay here,” he told them as he moved ahead. He could feel his heart pounding, adrenaline pumping, not out of fear but out of sheer excitement. A hungry sneer was plastered on his face as he moved his feet forward one after the other, noiseless as a jungle cat, his eyes darting left and right trying to catch even the slightest movement around him.

Another growl. And Oliver was suddenly on his feet, darting through the shrubs and trees fast as lightning, expertly ducking low lying branches as he ran eagerly after the sound. He could faintly hear someone calling his name from behind as well as curses flying about, but he ignored them all. This was it! He was not going to let it get away so fast. Not when it was already so close.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

The noises and the laughter was still loud enough for Yassia to hear, but it didn’t drown out another noise that came from some place to her left. A growl. Low, menacing. And totally too close for comfort! Yassia stopped dead and listened with a frantically beating heart. The men to her right a little more in the distance must have heard it to, because their laughter ceased immediately. Oh sweet stars what to do?! Was she really once again running into her doom? Why couldn’t she have listened to the many advices? She should have considered that coming later to Camelot was all the while better than not getting there at all because she was being eaten up by a nasty saurian beast. Congrats Yassia… and welcome to the next tight spot. Sit down and make yourself comfortable, you already know the deal after all… you’re stubborn and it gets you in trouble, now look how you manoeuver yourself out of this one!

The growl might still be some distance off, but when it next came it was definitely closer, moving towards her. In the end, she decided, there was only one option. She could not stand around and wait for it to come, she needed to run! And she best got herself some company now, human, fighting fit company – of course she couldn’t tell if they were, but only lunatics would wander around in such an area unarmed. Lunatics… or stubborn Princesses that was.
So when Yassia set out to run again, this time really trying not to make such a big noise, but by now means knowing how well she was faring with that, she chose the direction she had formerly tried to avoid: towards that group of men and away from the beast, whatever it was. It seemed like the only reasonable thing to do at that moment.

But Yassia had not wasted a single thought about the danger she might be in not from the beast side of this approaching nasty encounter, but from the human side. She didn’t think that she might be an excellent target as well, running as she was: full speed and yet not giving any noise to identify herself as human, to not startle the thing that might be coming towards her in her back. No, Yassia was definitely not at her best today concerning reasonable decisions. But then again, that was her, and it would not be the first time to get her in trouble. And hopefully also not the last.

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

As Oliver raced towards the growl, he could hear the thumping and thudding that he was earlier trying so hard to hear. They were thumping and thudding now all right. But they were thumping and thudding towards him! Far be it for him to care, it was what he wanted. It was what he came here for. He could feel every nerve of his body strung as tightly as the arrow against his bow, and he knew from years of hunting that this was the moment.

But from out of nowhere, he felt a small nagging at the back of his head telling him to push back a bit. It confused him for a while, but it was gone in a split second. The instinct to fire at the oncoming beast was stronger than any nagging thought that was plaguing him right now. He pushed it down and out of his mind. He needed to be focused one hundred percent.

Nearer and nearer it came, and Oliver quickly found himself a tree that he could easily hide from. Judging from the sound, it was obviously not as small as a beetle. It may not be as big as a dragon either, but he could tell it was huge just the same.

Wanting to get a better vantage point, Oliver deftly climbed up a strong and low-lying branch, and poised himself there. He could see quick streaks and glimpses of the beast from where he was, and he knew it was going to emerge from the group of trees right before him. Crouched low, bow and arrow at the ready, Oliver waited as patiently as any seasoned hunter would. In his mind, he pictured the animal from his readings. Huge lizard-like creatures. Deadly teeth. Hard slithery body. Wings or scales growing from its sides. It’ll take more than one arrow to kill that beast. And so Oliver prepared a few in hand, with arrowheads of the sharpest iron that could easily tear through the thickest skin.

Any minute now, Oliver told himself. He pulled back the arrow on the bow, and poised it against his cheek, aiming at the group of trees before him. Then just as soon as he saw movement from the nearest bushes and the leaves, he skillfully released the arrow, and it flew straight to his intended target between the trees. He knew his arrow would meet the beast as it appears through the gap.

But the thudding and thumping hadn't stopped, in fact, it's rhythm hadn't changed at all. Oliver's brows furrowed in confusion, and he dropped from the tree. Tensed, he quickly drew another arrow, three to be exact, and strung them all on his bow. He wasted no time and ran towards the clump of trees only to stumble back to the ground as he came face to face with the menacing jaws of the cockatrice itself.

Then out of nowhere, a dozen or so arrows rained upon them, and the cockatrice was momentarily distracted giving Oliver just enough time to release his own arrows and lodge them on the throat of the beast. As the cockatrice faced the other oncoming arrows, Oliver crawled away from it and loaded his bow again ready to fire.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

Something must have startled the beast behind Yassia, for it suddenly seemed to pick up speed. She could hear the heavy thumping of four feet drumming against the leavy soil and then there was another growl that suddenly raised its pitch into a nasty screech that made Yassia’s blood curdle. Was this some sort of battle cry, had it seen her?! Automatically Yassia quickened her pace so that she now was flat out running, her teeth chomping down on her lower lip to keep a moan at bay as her feet now seemed on fire, flaming up with every branch or root she stumbled over. Curse her stubbornness to the edges of the earth! Why, why WHY could she never listen to advice?? The chances now were very slim she could outrun the beast, even with possible help so close by.

Like it is when panic takes over the mind, you feel everything a thousand times magnified and add your own imagination to it. It was no surprise Yassia almost imagined to already feel the stinking breath of the beast on her neck, even though it must still be a little away. A thought crossed her mind but was quickly dismissed. Should she climb a tree maybe? In her childhood years she had been fairly good at it, but the trees of Ailantha were in no way comparable to the towering trunks she found here in this forest, where the lowest branch was more than the height of two men away from her searching grasp. It would take too long and before she had halfway found her way up the beast would simple snatch her off the wood and thank her for making it so easy.

No, it was running or nothing. And so run she did. But suddenly, she caught a movement in front of her, something ducking and then it was like a blurring stick came flying towards her at top speed. Yassia’s mind momentarily froze and the world slowed down to slow motion. With eyes open wide she saw the shaft of the arrow speeding towards her, but her muscles were rigid and in full swing of running. Her mind wasn’t fast enough to order them to dodge and dive instead. And then the impact came. It felt like some iron fist had knocked her smack into the left shoulder, letting her walk into the figurative brickwall. The momentum of the arrow hitting home sent her left side pivoting backwards while her right side was still in a forward movement, thus slightly lifting her off her feet and causing her do to a half-turn in midair before she crashed down on the leavy ground.

Her mouth that had been open wide in shock now escaped a scream full of anguish as just a second after her collision with the ground the pain flamed up. Pain so excrutiating and unexpected it seemed to stab through her body like a white hot blade. It was not like Yassia was unused to pain, she had had her fair share of it during her travels due to some very unfortunate encounters. But this was something new. And she rather would have liked to not witness it at all. But her ordeal seemed not over yet, because just like on cue suddenly a beast entered her blurred visual field. A beast that could be nothing else than a cockatrice, now having been provided with an easy prey indeed. It was too much. Yassia couldn’t bear it any longer and gave in to the blackness that was looming just at the edge of her mind.

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

A flurry of screams and growls rang through the air as arrow after arrow struck the cockatrice one after another. His men had been shouting at the prince to get out of the way, but Oliver wasn’t going to turn and run now, not with the beast just right before his very eyes, just within arm’s reach. The arrows have found their marks, and the cockatrice was already howling in agony. Standing up, Oliver grabbed a couple of arrows from his quiver, and drove the final blow. Waiting for the right moment as the cockatrice continue to move and writhe about, Oliver’s arrows pierced the lizard right between its eyes, and sent it with one loud thump right to the ground where it finally lay dead.

Panting heavily, his friends ran to him and to the fallen creature, huge smiles written across their faces. Oliver felt a pat on his back, and nodded with a small smile. He knew the cockatrice was finally dead, but it didn’t feel like much of a victory at all. He felt like something was amiss, that something was definitely wrong somewhere, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The nagging that he had felt earlier before releasing his first arrow was back again, more incessant now than before.

“Prince Oliver!” The worried shout came from Sir Siegfried, the knight, and Oliver turned to find him hunched over something behind some undergrowth. Something clicked at the back of his head, and Oliver dropped his bow to run towards where Sir Siegfried was.

Sure enough, lying there all unconscious was a young woman in plain and dusty traveler’s clothes. And his arrow protruding right against her left shoulder! Oliver felt all blood drain from his face as he realized what he had done. This was the first arrow that he had unnecessarily released. This was the arrow that he thought had hit the cockatrice first. In all his years hunting, Oliver had accidentally struck a person only once, and that was when he was just learning. Somehow, he couldn’t quite accept that he had done it again, not when he had been hunting for almost a decade now.

“We can’t move her nor can we pull the arrow out,” Oliver muttered more to himself than to the others. It was moments like this that he wished he listened to his mother’s words and brought a healer with them. Trying to focus his mind to think clearly, Oliver sank onto the ground and inspected the wound. He was mortified to see that the arrow had pierced her shoulder quite deeply, and blood was oozing profusely out of her shoulder.

“Get me water! And some bandages, clothes! Anything to staunch the bleeding!” He was shouting now, panic starting to slowly rise inside him. He took off his coat and draped it over the young woman’s chest. He could feel beads of sweat starting to run down his forehead as he sat there feeling totally useless. His servant Lot had returned with their bag of water, and Oliver opened the lid, not really confident if pouring water over the wound would be a good idea. He placed the bag of water on the ground beside him, and reached his hands out to cup the lady’s cheek instead. She was still feeling all warm against the palm of his hand, and he hoped he could get her to stir back to consciousness. “Wake up,” he spoke softly as he gently patted her cheeks. “Please wake up.”

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

Her faint gladly enough was only momentary, born out of pain and a simply overwhelming clashing and cummulating of events. Had Yassia been a trained fighter, she might have been able to deal with the new danger, even when injured, but as she wasn’t her mind simply refused to cooperate and rather gave in, gracious enough to spare her the conscious experiemce of being teared to shreds by a cockatrice.
But even though blackness was wafting all around her in a time- and spaceless place – a place she recognized to have been before, a few months ago now – Yassia heard a voice. Several voices to be exact, but one in particular, very close to her. At first she couldn’t decipher the meaning of the words spoken, but then slowly she started to comprehend. Wake up… please wake up. The words were tugging at her mind, bringing it more and more to the surface, until she finally passed the veil that seperated the conscious from the unconscious world.

Her eyelids fluttered, and slowly she opened them, blurry schemes slowly forming into a face that leaned over her. And then the pain kicked in, catching her again quite off guard.
Yassia gasped and tried to rear up, but something heavy was holding her down. Tears started to sting in her eyes, but she blinked them back, forcing her breath to come as levelled as possible as she tried to make her mind function properly.
Time for the inventory taking, Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha! You’ve been hit. By an arrow. In the left shoulder. Close to but not life threateningly close to the heart. Her head felt woozy, she must be losing a lot of blood. Stop the bleeding… first step:
”Stop the bleeding…” she whispered to no one in particular.

Her visual field had widened slightly and so for the first time she took notice of her immediate surroundings. She could see the legs of a few men, busily running around. A large heap a little to her left. The cockatrice… dead. And then there was this man still leaning over her. He looked desperate, panicked even, and Yassia could only understand him too well. She would panic too… but she couldn’t allow herself! She knew what had to be done, she only needed to make her mind focus on it, like it was not her bleeding like a fountain, but someone else she needed to cure. At least that was what her mother had always told her. How she was going to deal with it after all, would have to be seen. But she needed to stay strong now, time was wasting! How could she know if any of these men knew anything about healing? They might try to pull the shaft out and that would be disastrous! At least right now. She would bleed to death if they did!
”Don’t… don’t… pull it out…” it was a desperate plea, and one she hoped would not go unnoticed.

Why did such things always happen to her? It was truly ironic, and in any other circumstances Yassia would have laughed. There she was, running from a cockatrice and of course she had to be the one being hit by and arrow that had been meant for the very same beast. At least it seemed to be dead now, but really, she soon would follow unless they weren’t doing exactly as she said. And even that was not a given. She might lose consciousness again from bloodloss, already she felt the darkness tugging at her mind again, wanting to pull her under into the fathomless sea of oblivion.

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

He was watching her closely. His eyes taking in every contour and curve of her face as he waited for a sign, any sign that she was coming back up to the surface. She had a pretty face, he couldn’t deny that. The soft crescents that her close eyelids make, the dignity in that prominent nose, and those gentle lips that seem to be begging for a kiss. She would have been truly beautiful if not for the thick layer of dirt that had covered her face. Black soot had stained her cheeks, and she was every bit the grimy and grubby little wanderer that they all usually come in. Nevertheless, she was human, and Oliver had accidentally shot her with an arrow. He, not his servant, not anyone of his friends, but he himself. He was thankful that he had not pierced her heart, or he doubt he’d be able to live it down for the rest of his life. She may be just a nomad, but she was human all the same.

A soft sigh of relief escaped his lips when he saw the daintiest flutter of her eyelids. The small smile that had started to appear on his face turned back into a frown, however, when the young woman gasped in pain. He winced just as if he felt her pain as well. Then her mouth opened and the faintest of words came out. Oliver leaned his head closer to hear her clearly. His face merely inches from her own as he tried so hard to hear what she was saying. Stop the bleeding, she had whispered. Oliver nodded hoping to reassure her when truth be told, he didn’t know exactly how.

“Don’t…don’t…pull it out…”

At least he got that one right. He knew for a fact that pulling the arrow out would only do more damage than good, and even worsen the bleeding. And he hadn’t been using an ordinary practice arrow either. Lodged into her shoulder was one of his finest and sharpest hunting arrows with serrated edges on the arrowhead, primarily intended to injure and to kill. How was he to know that it would hit anything but this young unsuspecting woman right here.

“Tell me what to do. What do you need? Herbs?” he told her urgently, grabbing her hand in his as he noticed that she seemed to be swimming back down into unconsciousness. He can’t have that. He needed to keep her awake. He needed to be sure she was alive. “Talk to me. Please.” He had never felt so useless in his entire life.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

Cursing her fate would not bring Yassia anywhere, she realized very quickly. She needed to keep her mind free for thinking in clear, straight patterns. No panic nor pity would do her good now. She needed to stay in the here and now, not in the vast land of ‘what might have been’. Oddly enough, the pain helped very much with that. Every time she so much as breathed, a spasm of pain ran through her whole body, starting from her injured shoulder. Rearing up would only cause the arrow to move, and so Yassia tried to stay rooted to the ground for all it was worth, her muscles rigid and cramping from the effort. She didn’t even realize she was trembling now. All the while her mind was running two miles a minute, trying to think of what she could do. This would be so very much better if she had a full room of herbal remedies at hand, but of course she was in the middle of nowhere. She had to do with what she had got.

Yassia may be occupied, but not too occupied not to take in what was going on around her. She was very well aware of the man that was leaning over her, seeming so very desperate and… guilt-stricken? Had it been his arrow hitting her? Oh, she would come back at him for his bad aim later, but now was not the time for that. First things first. Looking at him, a weird sense of déjà-vu overcame the princess. Once before a man had been leaning over her like that, urging her to wake up and stay awake. It had been when she had been washed ashore in Albion after her shipwreck. She had been deadly chilled, but not so much injured, also on the brink of dying. But that was were the similarities ended, truly. Not only was this young man different from Lorcan as night was from day, blond and tanned while Lorcan had been dark and pale, but Yassia also doubted that things would proceed from here as they had with Lorcan…

Another surge of pain ripped her from her walk down memory lane, and she gasped, involuntarily gripping the man’s hand tight. She needed to focus now!!
“White moss”, she breathed out between gritted teeth. “These woods must be crawling with white moss. It stops… the bleeding.” That at least was what her mother had told her. Sadly, even though she had her pouch of first aid herbs with her, made of an intact marten hide, head and all with only the bones and guts having been skillfully removed, white moss was not in her stock, for the simple reason that it only did grow rarely in Ailantha. Her mother had brought this knowledge with her from Albion, but had never really used it in Ailantha. And sadly enough as well, fresh white moss was not nearly as effective as dry one, but they didn’t have time for such inanities.

And then once the bleeding had stopped it was to get really nasty. Even thinking about it now made Yassia want to be sick, but she knew it had to be done. And the sooner the preparation for it started, the better was her chance to survive.
“Please… make a fire… if you can.”

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

Oliver was thankful that she seemed to be determined to hold on to consciousness as much as she could, and he admired her for that. Other women her age, mostly nobles, would have willingly succumbed to the fainting, and leave all the worrying to the conscious ones. Oliver knew that he would have found help one way or the other had she remained out of it, but he knew the sooner the wound was treated the greater her chances of getting through this. And it didn't hurt that she seem to know what needed to be done.

Her gripped on his hand had tightened, and Oliver couldn't resist the urge to feel her forehead with the palm of his other hand. She was sweating hard and she was getting feverish, too. Not a good sign when the sun was high up and shining a tad too warmly all around them.

"White moss! We need white moss," Oliver shouted to no one in particular, and heard footsteps scurrying away to do as they were told. He turned to see Lot and his friend Kingsley hurriedly leave to search for the said herb. He had spied some on their way here, and hoped the two remembered where to look. Time wasn't exactly on their side right now.

Sir Siegfried and his other friend Abel started gathering firewood at Oliver's orders, after hearing the young woman ask that they make fire. What she needed it for with the hot sun shining overhead, Oliver didn't know. He however felt that it was vital to removing the arrow, and he mustered all the courage he needed to do as told when that time would come. Nobody was doing it for him. Oliver didn't want someone else to do it for him. If anyone was going to remove that blasted arrow from her shoulder, it was going to be him.

Grabbing the bag of water from beside him, Oliver brought it close to her lips. "You need to drink, at least to preserve whatever energy you still have left," he told her as he moved to gently cradled her head in his hand, careful not to unnecessarily jostle her wounded shoulder.

Not too soon after, a fire was cracking near them, but Lot and Kingsley hadn't returned with the white moss yet. "Stay with me, okay? I need you to tell me exactly what I'm going to do so I can help you out," he told her as he wiped the sweat from her brow. A genuinely worried expression on his face. "Forgive me for--" Before Oliver could finish his apology, his men arrived with a bagful of white moss and laid it on the ground next to her. He turned to look at the young woman expectantly, awaiting her instructions.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

Well at least he seemed to care! And also didn’t question her orders, like Yassia knew some would have. But whoever this man was, he seemed to be rather a fighter, not so much caring for the why and why now, but tried to be as efficient as possible. Even though Yassia of course would have liked to not be shot at all, she knew she had to thank the stars for at least giving her these men for company. The one who cared most about her right now seemed to be their leader or at least something similar, because it was him who delivered her requests and made them into orders for the others to follow. Out of the corner of her eye Yassia observed someone leaving the scene, probably looking for the white moss. Now she only hoped that man knew what it looked like. Ordinary moss might be able to absorb blood as well, but somehow it would not help stop the bleeding. The oddities of nature…

He then told her to drink, and Yassia knew he was right, even though she dreaded the pain it would cause. Most humans never noticed how many muscles it took to swallow, or at least how many were affected by the movement… you only got to know it when you were in pain somewhere.
She was glad for his try to cradle her head, it made the drinking so much easier, even though it still caused her to gasp in pain. It was not his fault, as any single movement whatsoever right now would bring her pain. The water ran cold down her throat and Yassia gulped it down eagerly. Blood loss required you to take up as much liquid as you could to recompensate for it. Many healers gave their patients red wine when they had large bleeding wounds, claiming that was because of the similar looks of red wine and blood. But mostly it was also a very good painkiller.

Having drunk enough for now in her estimation, Yassia leaned her head back again and tried a thankful smile that sadly looked a bit forced and lopsided. The warmth and the smoke of the fire was slowly wafting towards her, and she knew that as soon as the white moss arrived, her period of grace would be over. She needed to prepare… so she would stay strong.
Thankful yet again for him to relieve her of the sweat that had been forming in beads and drops on her forehead, she gave a slow nod. “I… I know. Now, listen carefully. For now… break most of the shaft off so that only a little remains sticking out from the wound, enough to grasp it with three fingers.” Yassia winced even in advance, knowing how painful even that would be. “Then take one half of the moss you have and put it around the shaft on the wound. But before you do that…”

Yassia stopped, having to force herself onward on this path she had chosen to take. She was more than ready to chicken out now, but she knew the consequences of if she did. Locking the man’s gaze, she tried to give her voice a determined tone. “Take the knife you find on my belt and push the blade into the fire. Let it rest there until it glows white hot and then bring it back to me.”

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

He knew even the slightest movement would cause pain to shoot through her entire body. And as much as Oliver didn't want her to suffer any more than she is going through at the moment, she needed to replenish her energy. She was losing too much blood, and that was getting dangerous as each minute ticked by. The grateful smile that had appeared on her lips somehow gave Oliver hope that this was all going to work out well. She was strong. She could get through this.

Nodding grimly as she told him what to do, Oliver rolled up his sleeves and started to poise himself to get things over and done with as soon as possible. Sir Sigfried had moved closer to help hold the young woman's shoulder down and keep the arrow steady as Oliver deftly broke most of the shaft off. Without a word, Oliver hitched her top up to find the knife on her belt, trying to be as discreet and respectful as he could when his hand grazed her midsection. He handed the knife to Lot who immediately placed it over the burning fire, letting it heat up as she had instructed.

Oliver gathered half of the white moss and prepared to put it around the shaft on the wound. "I thought you should know that what hit you was a hunting arrow. Sharp, hard and serrated. It will not be easy taking it out," he said, hoping this knowledge would help her prepare more for what was coming. Oliver had been hit by an arrow before on his leg, and he remembered screaming like a kid when they pushed it out the other side of his leg instead of pulling it back out. He couldn't help the silent curse that he had escaped him as he kicked himself for being so careless as to let lose an arrow without seeing his target. He should have known better.

As soon as the knife was glowing hot and ready, Lot handed it back to Oliver. "Why am I not so confident about this?" he remarked. He tried to make conversation to hopefully lighten the mood. His own worry and panic was starting to get the better of him, and he knew he needed to stay focus and concentrate to get this task done, with the young woman emerging alive and well in the end.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

She had known it would get nasty and she had tried to brace herself for the pain, but that didn’t help Yassia much as they now took hold of the arrow to break of its shaft. It was a good thing one man was holding her shoulder down, because if not she would have reared up in sheer agony and maybe would have caused the arrow to push itself even deeper into her shoulder. Now that would so not be good…
Yassia had bit her lip so hard she now tasted blood, but she couldn’t help the painstricken hiss that escaped her the moment the shaft was broken. For a moment she felt dizzy again, but she forced it back with all her might. If she could not stand through this, she would have even more difficulty with the next step. And that couldn’t be! She was maybe not a warrior and used to feel pain, but she had suffered so much already, had gone through so many ordeals that a simple arrow now would not be her undoing. If anything, she was simply too stubborn to let that happen!

The pain had momentarily numbed all other sensations, so Yassia was a little surprised to find, she hadn’t even noticed the young man taking her knife from it’s sheath on her belt. Well, that also meant he hadn’t lingered there long, which was only fortunate. If anything, he seemed to be honorable, like his companions as well. Not once they had given any comment about having shot a woman or anything like that you might even expect from a bunch of men like them, obviously on a hunting trip. On the contrary, those who were not occupied with saving her immediately, didn’t even seem to take too much notice of her. It reassured Yassia deeply, as it made focusing on her injury all the easier if she did not have to look out for her integrity constantly as well.

Yassia puckered up her face as she heard the man’s even halfway sheepish explanation. Sharp and serrated?! Just her luck apparently! “Ugh, well thanks a lot!” she grumbled, still panting heavily. “When you come you come in style eh?” But she was in no mood now to blame him, that would come later. For now that little jibe would have to do. She took another deep breath of preparation, and then explained: “That is why you have to cut it out… with the flaming knife. It…” she had to gulp a wave of sudden nausea down, “Like this it will cut easier through flesh and it will also cauterize the wound. Scrape the flesh from the barbs if you have to, but rather cut it out than push it through.” Bravely said though the sheer mentioning of scraping flesh made her stomach very queasy. It would hurt enough whithout that. And it would leave nasty scar, depending on how well he worked. But now was not the time to be vain.

The timing seemed perfect. Just as Yassia deemed the white moss must have had enough time to stop the majority of the bloodflow, the other man returned with the knife. Once out of the fire the white-hot color slowly turned to yellow and then to a light orange. Yassia knew that only a very distinctive color of the blade would make it still hot enough to cut with a good effect, but not causing too much internal damage.
”Keep it ready”, she whispered hoarsly, suddenly shivering. It was one thing to inflict this on a patient, it was completely other thing to knowingly be doing this to yourself. “When I say ‘now’ make first a cut to the right and then to the left, as close to the arrowhead as you can get… wait…wait…” the knife turned just the right shade of orange. “NOW!”
Yassia’s hand dug into the leafy ground in preparation.

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

She was strong, Oliver could clearly see that. Even in the dainty package that she came in, there was a set determination on her face that told him she was not going to easily give up and give in to the pain that was hounding her entire body now, and maybe even threatening her life. Maybe that's exactly what these nomads are made of. They are neither easily troubled by the prospect of death nor are they afraid to fight it. One small arrow may be nothing compared to whatever it was that they have been through in the past. He wondered if this woman had been bitten by any of these dangerous creatures and yet still live to tell the tale. Maybe he can ask her later. The rebel that he is, Oliver couldn't deny that he was fascinated by the life of a wanderer. Following no rules except your own, living only for yourself, accountable to nobody. It sounds like a fun challenge.

He managed a small chuckle at the young woman's lighthearted reply. "I wasn't exactly hunting deer. I had to come prepared for the worst," he replied with a small smile. He was glad that she hadn't dismissed him outright, that she was somehow still able to joke around. To him that was a sign that she hadn't given up altogether on what they were about to do next. He knew he had to immediately draw strength from her for he was not exactly a trained healer, and it wasn't everyday that he gets to pull out arrows from folks he accidentally shot.

Another deep and louded sigh escaped him as he listened to her tell him about cutting the arrow out with the hot knife. She talked about cutting through flesh, cauterizing the wound, and scraping flesh from the barb as if it was as normal as eating breakfast or drinking water. Oliver was not exactly squeamish, he had gutted many animals before with his bare hands after hunting them down. But doing something akin to that to a human was another story. And it had to be a woman at that.

He didn't say a word as she told him to get ready. Inspecting her wound, he moved closer, trying to make himself as comfortable as he could to no avail. Cut to the right and then to the left. He repeated her instructions in his head, looking at the wound and picturing the knife slicing through. Sir Sigfried watched him, still holding the young woman down, also at the ready.

"NOW!"

Despite his initial nervousness, Oliver's steady hand moved deftly and quickly, poring over her wound and slicing through the flesh as expertly as he possibly could. Right, left. Just the right cut, not too wide, not to narrow. He knew his arrows too well, he knew exactly how they measure. He knew this arrow, and this arrow knew him. It was like pulling a longtime friend out from a deep hole. They were working together. As soon as the arrowhead was visible and free from the flesh, Oliver neatly pulled it out.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

It might be morbid to joke around in the face of death. But it might also be the only way of dealing with it. Yassia wasn’t exactly reflecting on what she did, she had been reduced to mere willpower and instinct right now. One step after the other, a clear set path, to not even allow the panic to take its firm, choking grip on her. Bless her dear mother for having brought with her the practical skill of a healer, not thinking it beneath a noblewoman or even a queen to practice herb lore. She had saved many a wounded knight’s life, even though Ailantha had never been much in a warlike state. These injuries had been accidents mostly, born out of folly. Or hunting accidents like this one. Yassia had shown an interest in these kinds of things from an early age, and as much as Ailantha was set on courtly and seemly behavior in general, here no one had stopped her. Though of course she never would have thought that one day her own life would depend on what she had been taught.

“Well, at least you did not only hunt down the wrong creature”, she commented, jerking her head the slightest towards the dead cockatrice. “and it won’t give you half as much trouble as I do right now.” That almost sounded like she should be apologizing for still being alive. Well, in the current circumstances Yassia thought it might be alright to add a little bite to her comments. She was ladylike enough to not curse with the pain, so she needed another outlet.
She realized his discomfort, and even though she could not very well blame him, Yassia had to make sure she could trust him to go through with it. She could not cut the arrow out herself, she depended on his firm and and determination.
“Not getting too squeamish are we?” she asked, her voice showing concern. “I need you to stay strong… because in a few seconds I won’t be anymore.”

The time had come, and Yassia had thought herself as well prepared as she could possibly be, but in the end it could have never been enough. It was one thing to try and imagine pain beyond imagination, it was a completely different thing to feel it.
As soon as the red-hot blade touched the skin of her shoulder, Yassia’s heart seemed to miss a beat. Every muscle of her body contracted and she reared up, fighting against the restraining hands. Even though she had been gritting her teeth hard, she let go a gurgling scream. It was not a high-pitched scream but guttural, almost feral, it seemed to come from the very core of her being. Before she had the chance to recover from the first cut, the second was afflicted. He was working steady and sure, and somewhen later she would feel grateful for his swiftness, but not now. Now she was ready to curse him to the lowest parts of hell.

Which she practically did. “Maleeixo les estrelles i jo et maleeixo, cacador! Podreixin a l'infern!”¹That was it for her resolution to not curse like a tinker.

---

¹: "Curse the stars, and curse you, huntsman! Rot in hell!"

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

Quite a tongue. A wry sense of humor, too. Oliver couldn't help the snort that issued from him when she retorted. At least even in the face of death, the young woman still had the strength (and the nerve!) to be sarcastic. He didn't know if he should be happy about that fact or not. It was obviously at his expense. But then again, he couldn't really blame her. He shot her after all. But then again on another thought, what was she doing all alone in a dangerous forest such as this one? Perhaps they were both to blame for this rather unfortunate circumstance. Oliver would like to think it was a shared culpability. Yes, he convinced himself that that thought would help him sleep better at night.

“Not getting too squeamish are we?”

Was she really concerned or was she mocking him yet again? Oliver resisted rolling his eyes. If only he could let Sir Sigfried do the slicing...but he couldn't. He would never let anybody else clean up his own mess. At least that was one thing he could be proud of about himself. He got himself into this predicament, he was going to get himself out of it.

Even as she thrashed, Sir Sigfried had held her down quite firmly that Oliver was able to slice through her skin with as much skill as he could possibly muster. He had ignored her screams, focusing all his mind towards the task at hand. It was like going for the kill when hunting, nothing around him mattered as soon as he had put himself into the zone. And he was in the zone at that moment. It was just him and that arrow.

As he heaved a long and relieved sigh at having retrieved the arrow, he emerged out of his zone. And that was when he heard the most god-awful cursing he had every heard in all his 25 years on the planet. He sat there looking at her, shocked, not really knowing what to do. His mind tried to make sense out of the foreign language that had issued from her lips. The lips he had earlier thought was ripe for kissing. How totally wrong he was!

Did she really just curse him to hell? L'infern. That was the only word that seemed a tad bit familiar to him. L'infern. Inferno. Hell. Right? But instead of getting pissed off however, Oliver could feel a weird sense of amusement bubbling from within him. And in a matter of minutes, he couldn't help the laughter that burst out from his own lips. His friends were looking at him oddly, but Oliver only seemed amused by their faces and at the thought that a woman just cursed him to hell, that he laughed even harder, sinking to the ground as he did.

"Lot, I completely forgot we had some whiskey," he told his servant when he recovered himself, and handed him the bloody arrow. Lot, still looking all confused at the prince's sudden outburst, simply nodded and retrieved the cask of wine from his bag, and handed it to Oliver, who opened the small bottle, and brought it to the young woman. "Here. Wash your mouth," he said as he cradled her head yet again. Obviously, he was just kidding her, but he knew she needed to drink something strong to numb the pain down.

"What's next?" he asked ready to proceed to the next step. At least, for him, the worst part was over.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

Finally she could feel the arrow slipping out of the wound. Not as smooth as she would have liked, but the cutting had been done very successfully nevertheless. Either this man knew his tools very well, or he had done this before. Well, his apparent helplessness and need for guidance suggested the former rather than the latter. It was no much use pondering over it anyway, as a huge part of Yassia’s mind was still occupied with dealing with pain.
As soon as both the knife and the arrow were away from her skin, the piercing pain died down to a bearable, though still prominent dull throbbing. What came now was the smell. The sickening, overwhelming smell of burnt flesh that was almost as threatening to her senses than the pain had been. The knowledge that it was her own skin having been charred and cauterized didn’t make this any better. But no, Yassia would not embarrass herself with emptying her stomach contents now! Sje clenched her teeth and forced the lump in her throat back down.

Apparently she had embarrassed herself enough already, anyway, with running her mouth with those nasty curses. Only after her mind started to function again and she could focus on other things, as her breath was not coming in too ragged gasps anymore and she started to trace back what she had said, it occurred to her. And then he started laughing. It startled Yassia quite a bit, and she looked up at him in confusion. He could not have understood that, right? She had been speaking her native tongue, and so far she had not witnessed too many similarities between both, even though she was speaking both nearly fluently. And why was he so amused? She would have rather imagined him to be angry…

His comment about the whiskey made her blush bright crimson. There it was, the clear indication that he knew at least partly that her words had been offensive and not meant to come out of a woman’s mouth. After all he had done already, touching her at the waist, seeing at least part of her upper body half naked, this was what made her blush ultimately, feeling so very embarrassed.
“You… you didn’t get what I was saying, right?” she asked with a rather sheepish expression. It might not be good to dig into this further as it could only mean more embarrassment, but Yassia had to be sure. The uncertainty would kill her even more. “I didn’t mean it… nothing of it… and I’m sorry. That was inexcuseable.”
Well, maybe she had not meant ALL of it, but it might not be good pointing that out now. The least she could do to at least regain a little of her dignity was apologizing for this inexcusable slip. A woman in general didn’t curse, a noble lady even less, but a princess and future queen? Unthinkable!

The whiskey running down her throat made her cough quite sharply with its stinging taste and caused another spasm of pain to flame up in her shoulder. Breathing heavily she leaned her head back and already felt a slight airiness taking over her head. She was by no means used to strong liquids. “Sweet stars… I never understood the soldier’s needs to curse when they’re injured”, she panted. “But I think now I get them very well.”
Now she had to focus on the next steps. They were gladly far less painful and more or less routine. “Next you please hand me the weird pouch you see at my belt, the intact hide of a marten. It contains some more things I need”, she explained, her voice still a little raspy. “We now need to dress the wound and I need some herbs for that. Comfrey for one, there’s nothing better to heal torn flesh.”

---

(Why do I suddenly have the pic of a drunk Yassia in my head? ^^)

[Oliver Strathmore of Mercia]

After that rather nasty ordeal with the burning knife and the charred flesh, Oliver was glad he could breathe much too easier now. The rest shouldn't be much of a chore anymore. And if the young woman continue to be as feisty and fiery as she was during the whole thing, there shouldn't be any more problem getting her through whatever is coming next.

Totally understanding the need to curse at the throes of pain, Oliver had easily dismissed her apology. He should know. He have had his own share of near death experiences. Brushes with death that have fortunately remained mere brushes, and nothing more. "To be honest, I didn't get any of it. Well, except for that one word that sounded rather familiar. L'infern?" he replied with a slight chuckle. "I will forgive you if you tell me exactly what those words meant." He was playing, but it doesn't hurt to learn something new everyday, even if they were cuss words. They might come in handy someday.

Her reaction after taking a small sip of the whiskey somehow surprised Oliver. He thought these nomadic people were quite big on drinking and partying since they practically had nothing much to answer to or to worry about. He had always seen these people to be living each day to the fullest, usually with little to no regards for consequences. If only his life were as easy and carefree as that. He half expected her to slug the entire contents of the bottle down or at least half of it, but it wasn't the case. When she was done drinking, Oliver took one long swig for himself and relished the feel of the warm liquid running down his throat.

He moved at her instructions, and took the said pouch from her belt. Trying to be as cautious as he had been earlier, but realized that wasn't to be the case as he noticed his hands shaking. The effects of that earlier ordeal only just surfaced. He had been all calm earlier, suppressing all the nervousness down. Now that the hard part was over and Oliver was starting to relax, the after-effects started manifesting themselves. It was always like this. Oliver could always feel his hands uncontrollably shake after a rather stressful event.

"Sorry," he apologized as he clumsily pried the pouch off her belt, unnecessarily touching her waist. He heaved a deep sigh to steady his hands, and then opened her pouch for her. "Comfrey, right. What does that look like?" He wasn't so sure if that herb had come up during his lessons with the court physician. And if it did, he obviously wasn't paying enough attention.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

Apparently close season for Yassia was called off. She really shouldn’t have mentioned any more of the cursing, she should have learned by now that sometimes apologizing brought the focus on the topic more than ever, instead of dismissing it. That was why after all the custom on Ailantha’s court had been as such that if anyone sneezed or coughed or made some other very uncourtly sound, you rather ignored it instead of the culprit apologizing or you yourself wishing him well. Why had she been going on a limb with this? Why did she care so much what this stranger thought of her? They most likely would never cross paths again after all.
Now she had to think about what to say to him. Of course, she could lie and make something up, but right now she didn’t feel much in the condition to fabricate something that was genuine enough to pass as the truth. She would have to swallow the bitter pill. That might teach her to not run her mouth like that in the future…

“Must I?” she sounded rather bedraggled. “I really must ask you not to take offense. But in any way, you were right, l’infern must sound familiar to you. It means hell, and of course hellfire. So… what I was saying was: Curse the stars – it’s a custom where I come from to blame the stars for your fate”, she explained briefly, having had the same question asked before, “and then I said, ‘and curse you, huntsman,…” she blushed again and finished the sentence so lowly it nearly wasn’t audible anymore. “…rot in hell’. Well, if I had had enough reason left I surely would have said something else. That just came out… well, I might have left the first part, because it’s fairly common to say ‘maleeixo les estrelles’ or simply ‘maleeixo’ when something goes wrong… or is not very fortunate.”
Was she really now holding a conversation about cusswords? She couldn’t be in her right mind anymore! Had the whiskey already infected her brain?

And the unease just kept coming!! Now the pain had died down considerably, she could feel his hands on her waist, clumsily fumbling to untie the herb pouch. He apologized, so she trusted him not to grope on purpose, but it was still embarrassing enough as it was. “It’s alright…” she said, her voice raspy again and she hoped it was only because of the screaming and the pain earlier. Once again she found herself in a situation where she had to put her trust in others to behave properly. How long until her luck with that would run out?

She smiled as he seemed not to know what comfrey looked like. She hadn’t expected him to, after all. And as the plant, dried and cut in pieces as it was, would not be very easily distinguished from other greens, she had established an order in her herb bag long ago.
“You actually don’t need to search long. See all those little pouches inside the hide? Take them out and search for the one with the green leather thong tied around it. That’s the one that contains comfrey.” Yassia almost felt like training a student of herb lore, just like her mother had trained her so many years ago. A funny thought to behold, really. The dressing of the wound would be very painful again as she would have to be moved, so Yassia couldn’t help but ask:
“Can I get some more of that throat searing drink of yours?”