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The last thing Oliver expected from the young woman was to tell him exactly what her foreign cuss words meant. He had already pegged her as some sort of wildling, just going about her own business, looking after her own self, and not really caring about what other people want or think. And yet, she had went on to not only translate but also explain, rather lengthily in fact, word after every word. She was destroying every stereotyping that Oliver had labeled each and every nomad. It was obvious he knew little to nothing about them.

Curse the stars. She told him about the custom “where she came from,” making it sound like she wasn’t from anywhere in Albion. Curse you, hunstman. Ahh, there’s the well-directed curse aimed at nobody else but him. Rot in hell. Yes, just as he thought. She had indeed curse him to hell. She continued to explain her side, rather defensively, and Oliver surprisingly was still as attentive as he had been.

“Maleeixo les estrelles…” he repeated the words, loving the feel of them rolling against his tongue. “When something goes wrong…” He committed that one to memory, looking forward to finding the right opportunity to use it. He had dismissed foreign language from his lessons, telling his father that his brother, the Crown Prince of Mercia, needed it more than he does. Now, however, he inwardly regretted that decision. Learning foreign languages sound like fun. Maybe when he returned to Mercia, he would start picking up the foreign languages books again. “Thank you,” he told her. “And there really is no need for you to apologize. You wouldn’t have cursed me to hell if I hadn’t shot you in the first place.”

She directed them to where the comfrey was, and Oliver easily found it. She had all her herbs arranged in neat little pouches inside her bag. To some people, this may not be much, but to Oliver this spoke volumes. She was a wanderer who wanted order in her life. Huh! She must believe in the adage that goes, “A place for everything and everything in its place.” And he admired that. While not a stickler for rules, Oliver too want order in his own personal dealings. He wanted everything to be in their proper place, to be prepared well and completely. It was another thing that he didn’t expect from nomadic people. He had expected them to be all messy, everything in topsy-turvy. He was proven wrong yet again.

As Oliver took out the pouch that she was referring, too, something clicked quite belatedly inside his head. “You’re a healer!” he exclaimed, chuckling at his late realization. Other than the screaming and the cursing, it was no wonder she acted so calm and composed in spite everything. She knew how this works, she had done it before. And she was much to patient to guide someone as unskilled as he was through the whole procedure. She was a healer, and she was a teacher, too. What luck!

He eagerly handed her the whiskey when she asked for it, and then also took a sip after she did. Knowing that he was going to be dressing the wound now, he realized they needed to get the fabric of the clothes over her shoulder out of the way. As she was surrounded by men, Oliver thought it best to get rid of the rest for the mean time. He turned to his friends and asked them to move the dead body of the cockatrice ways off so as not to attract other predators to them. If they were going to be staying there for a while, it was best to keep the area clear and safe anyway. “Scout around and secure this area,” he told them, and all four immediately went to work, leaving Oliver with the young herb woman.

“We may have to tear your clothes off…around the wound, or at least move them out of the way so I can clean the wound properly,” Oliver told her in his most serious, no-nonsense tone, hoping he didn't sound like some pervert egging a woman to take all her clothes off and show him some flesh.

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.

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.

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.

"Ugh...Jeffrey is ugly. If I were to have it my way, I'd rather go hunting with you!" Oliver teased back, an impish grin on his face. Must he spell it out for her? The young prince thought with amusement. Caitrin may all seem like the coy little lady that she is, but he knew she knew exactly what she was doing. Quite admirable really for someone as young as she was. He should know. Oliver had been around quite a number of young noblewomen in all 20 years of his life. He could tell when they're all coy with the real questions just hidden underneath, waiting for the right time to surface.

With Caitrin's company now, Oliver was starting not to care where Jeffrey had gone off to or when he'd be returning. Perhaps, this was a good opportunity to know more about his friend's little sister now that she's all grown up, spend some bonding time with her. Caitrin didn't seem to mind. Why would he?

“Not as much as a handful as I am, I am quite sure of that.”

"Exactly how handful are you?" Oliver asked with a smile. He had learned from Jeffrey that little Cat was growing more stubborn every day that his father's teachings hardly had any impact or effect on her. Oliver vaguely remembered teasing Jeffrey then that stubbornness seem to run in his family, and Jeffrey had tackled him off his horse for that. Oliver knew he himself had been a major source of headache for his father for all the "dilly-dallying" he was doing, spending more time outside the castle hunting than performing his princely duties unlike his older brother, the Crown prince Edmund.

Oliver had quickly recovered from his earlier slip. The good thing that came out of it was that, at least now, Caitrin knew she was having an effect on him. He may be a prince, but he was still a guy after all. He couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of him as she continued to play with him. If only she weren't his best friend's little sister, Oliver had probably already pounced. But he knew he had to keep himself in line. And it was not an easy thing to do.

"Do you even need to ask?" Oliver replied when presented him with two options for distraction. Oliver and archery go together like bread and butter. Unlike Edmund who loved the sword more than anything, Oliver had quite an affair with the bow and arrow. He was a skilled marksman, an excellent hunter. While a walk in the gardens with Cait may be fun, Oliver knew he'd be more comfortable with a bow and arrow. At least it will help him not to get too distracted by the Cat's enchanting presence walking there beside him. Yes, it was the safer choice.

“I trust I find you well this morning?”

True enough, the young Lady Caitrin was anything but fooled by his acting. Either he was a bad actor or she knew him too well to take him seriously. Oliver knew it was the latter. While he and Caitrin haven’t exactly been spending much time alone together, he and Jeffrey had been practically brothers. Oliver was a constant presence in the de Archer household as was Jeffrey was at the palace. Usually, Cat would be around joining them, annoying them with her little sister antics.

Dropping all his unnecessary pretentions this time, Oliver turned back to Caitrin with a chuckle. “I am feeling very well now, thank you. Who wouldn’t be when they are greeted by a sight as lovely as you,” Oliver replied charmingly. He chuckled when she told him just exactly how Jeffrey would have reacted to his earlier declaration. He would do that. Jeffrey and Oliver were by all means mirrors of each other in that area.

Not really wanting to go back to the castle, Oliver was trying to think of something else to occupy his time while waiting for Jeffrey. He had thought of visiting the marketplace to catch up with the folks there or at the tavern for a pint or two. When Caitrin told him Jeffrey had asked her to keep him entertained, Oliver tried to suppress a small smile. At least his friend hadn’t completely left him in the cold while waiting for him. Jeffrey had assigned his beautiful sister to keep him company. Who was he to complain. “I hope you don’t mind babysitting me. I can be quite a handful,” Oliver joked as he walked towards where his stallion was tied, and ran his hand over his soft and smooth body.

“Do you have any particular things you wish to distract your attentions with?”

Did he really just say that? Oliver turned to look at Caitrin, just to be sure he heard her right. She can’t have…he told himself. Surely, she meant well, she had no intentions of flirting with him whatsoever really. Right? Still, Oliver couldn’t shake the tingling feeling that ran down his body as he closely watch Caitrin standing there all prim and proper, with that hint of coyness about her. Any man would be a fool not to see her all growing up to be a fine young lady. Definitely not him. If Jeffrey weren’t his best friend, he would have probably already made a pass at the beautiful young lady standing there before him. His eyes wandered down her pretty face to the dainty curve of her neck, her chest, her small waist and round hips. She truly was anything but the little girl he once knew.

“I am thoroughly distracted now actually,” Oliver blurted out suddenly, his thoughts making their way out of his mouth, and he caught himself a little too late. He felt his face redden, and he immediately turned his head away from her to compose himself. He took a deep breath and turned back to look at Caitrin with a smile. “Forgive me, that came out wrong. Please…I am at your mercy, my lady. Distract me all you want,” he added with that hint of mischief this time, walking towards her and offering his arm to for her to take. He knew full well he’d never be able to salvage his pride anymore anyway, might as well enjoy the time he was given.

Oliver was about to rattle off quite a hefty list of food and drinks to the approaching barmaid knowing full well that was all they needed after a long day out and about hunting, when Kingsley, one of his friends and the son of the palace blacksmith called out to another barmaid from behind. One who had golden hair and who stood taller than the one who was about to serve them.

“Perhaps you come served with food?”

“She’s prettier than the other girl.”

Oliver had to bury his face in his hand as he shamefully listened to his friends joke around. He sincerely hoped the barmaid wasn't offended by those seemingly callous remarks. His friends could get terribly boisterous when they're all tired and hungry. Quite the irony really.

“And before you ask, no I do not come as a side order.”

When Oliver heard the barmaid's witty retort, he couldn't help but let out a loud guffaw, laughing out loud as his friends got quite a smacking they deserve. They didn't see that one coming! Serves them right being disrespectful like that, Oliver thought. He was totally in admiration now of the barmaid for fighting back like a strong woman that he stood up from his seat to personally apologize for his group's behavior.

But when he turned to face the golden-haired barmaid, however, he stopped dead in his tracks. "Millie?" he asked rather disbelievingly. It couldn't possibly be, Oliver thought. She looked very much like his good friend, the Lady Romily de Braose, that he couldn't have possibly mistaken her for someone else. But then what was she doing working in a tavern? "Romily, is that really you?"

Oliver was taking his time riding towards the de Archer estate which wasn’t really a long ways off from the castle. He and his childhood friend Jeffrey de Archer had agreed to go on a little hunting trip in the forest just outside the city walls. Well, truth be told, he was hunting, and Jeffrey was going to meet some village maiden, who according to Jeffrey is prettier than any daughter of a noble in Mercia. She was also going to bring another village maiden to meet the prince. Oliver laughed at the thought. Jeffrey was very much like him, and it was no wonder why they had been the best of friends since they learned how to walk and talk. Both have never really warmed up to the strict traditions of royalty and nobility, and would gladly welcome the chance to bend the rules a little bit.

Seeing as he’s a prince of Mercia, Oliver knew it could be dangerous to go out and about without his knights, as outlaws out there could be after his head for a ransom. But he knew full well that with Jeffrey and his able servant Lot he’d be just as safe as if he was inside the castle.

He led his horses to the de Archer stables like he always does whenever he drops by, and was greeted by their stable boy. Oliver’s brows furrowed in confusion when he looked around and not see Jeffrey anywhere. Usually, his friend would be waiting for him by this time. Just when he was about to ask the stable boy, however, he was greeted by a sight much fairer than his best friend. Jeffrey’s little sister Caitrin was all pretty in her blue silk dress, and her presence immediately lit up the place.

“Hey there, Cat,” he greeted the young miss with a small bow of his own. When Cat told him where Jeffrey was, Oliver's smile turned into a frown. He heaved a sigh as he crossed his arms over his chest. “That scalawag, how dare he let a prince wait! Would you mind telling your brother that I am ending our friendship right now?” Oliver said, feigning an annoyed tone as he started to turn away from Caitrin. The turn was rather slow though as Oliver waited with concealed amusement as to how Caitrin would react to his mock outburst.

At 14, Caitrin was already every bit the beautiful young lady that she is turning out to be. He wouldn't be surprised if suitors start to come a-calling by her doorstep any time now. Oliver had to admit she was no longer that little kid who used to shamelessly run around in her bloomers trying to join him and Jeffrey while they play tag outside the gardens. She could certainly give the other, more older ladies of nobility a run for their money in the beauty department.

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.