An Affordance

Blood was all that she could smell. It had worked its way through every crevice of her armor. It had soaked into the gambison she wore under the plate. She could taste it upon her lips.

One fist still clenched her sword, but the other hung limply at her side. She had taken a spear to the side from a Paladin about an hour ago and as the battle had gone on it had become a struggle to move the limb. She flexed the fingers on the deadened hand and found that they still moved, if sluggishly. One finger would not extend fully. With effort, she was able to bring the gauntleted hand to her visor.

There, locked in the segmented plate that covered her middle finger, was a flat wedge of bone. She remembered the man that she had seized by the head. His helm had been knocked from him only moments before.

She closed her eyes.

She could not breathe.

She cast her blade aside and struggled at the helm upon her head. It was crafted especially for her. Worked to match the form which she was now trapped in. Steep points in which her ears could sit comfortably. The long visor which encompassed her muzzle. The artful engraving upon the gorget which, combined with her helm, created the impression of a massive, ravening maw.

She had to be free of it all.

"Oona!" Rokas pleaded. "Oona, snap out of it!"

She blinked, then closed her eyes for a moment.

"We need to get moving again. Can you walk?" She said, leaning back from the smith.

"I can. Are you alright?" He asked her.

"Been worse." She glanced down at herself and the mess of blood which splattered her robe and face, frowning. "I can see why you might think otherwise."

"What about the others up there?" Rokas asked, rising to one knee. A dizzy rush filled his vision and he had to pause.

Oona retrieved her blade and stood, backing away from the smith. "They're all dead." She gestured over her shoulder and then pointed down the hill. "He might not be."

"Then we're safe aren't we? You got all of them." Rokas took his time in climbing to his feet, not wanting to fall over. There was an ache in his head and back, but his vision was no longer swimming.

"This was only a part of the group, I suspect. I bet they separated after the attack on Rest, likely to rendezvous somewhere near Hearth later." Oona bent down, finding the spear Rokas had lost and handing it over to him. "We need to get moving or we risk encountering another group."

As Oona turned to walk down the hill Rokas was surprised to see that she had the shaft of an arrow sticking out from her right shoulder. Spreading around the wound was a patch of blood that had soaked into her robe. If she was aware of the arrow she gave no indication that Rokas could see.

"Oona, you've been shot!" Was all the smith could think to observe.

Though her neck was longer than that of a normal human, she was unable to get a good look at the wound when she craned her head around sideways and said. "Yeah, fucker with the bow got me pretty good. I should be fine."

"Fine? You have an arrow sticking out of you!"

"Ain't the first time either. I got the better of the exchange in the end." She proceeded down to the still form of the soldier who had fallen down the hill, still face down against the tree he had impacted.

Everything had happened so quickly. The shock of seeing Rest burning coupled with an immediate life or death struggle was a lot to take in in such a short time. Rokas had not been in a serious fight prior to this and was certain it showed in how he was now conducting himself. Maintaining a casual attitude as Oona seemed to be managing was so far beyond what he felt he could do. He had to swallow back hard at the memory of the man Oona had cut in half.

A picture of what had unfolded was now more complete in the smith's mind. Oona had fought and defeated the other three soldiers quickly, noticed that Rokas was in danger and thrown whatever she had near at hand at his assailant. It was just that the nearest projectile was the body of one of her recent victims. Up until this moment it had escaped Rokas's notice that the man who had been thrown was rent from his shoulder down to his hipbone. Pale bone glinted from the wound and Rokas had to turn away quickly from the sight lest he grow sick.

Down the hill from him Oona turned the soldier who had attacked Rokas over. Whatever she saw there she did not seem to need much time for deliberation. She turned around to return to her companion.

"Dead?" He asked.

"Oh yeah." She said, nodding her head. "Never seen someone go like that, but there are no lack of ways to die in this world."

"Shouldn't we do something about that arrow?"

"Gimme a second." She moved the damaged shoulder gingerly and winced. "Not too deep. Better leave it in for a while until we can sit and treat it right."

"How can you do this?!" Rokas found himself saying far too loudly.

Rokas's entire body started shaking uncontrollably. It was a battle to draw breath, and the more his mind circled around the situation the more fear gripped him. An unknown number of soldiers or bandits were out in the woods to murder and pillage and he was trapped here with them. He should have never left the city, where he belonged. Where he knew what was expected of him and had a place. He would die here, in these woods, and deserve it.

Never in his life had he known this sensation, his legs felt sluggish even as he stood. Tears welled in his eyes and the shame of it only caused him to whimper pitifully. He was no hero, no warrior, not even a bold frontier's man. He didn't belong here. This entire thing was a mistake and it would cost him his life. It was like his chest was being gripped, a battle for every sobbing gasp.

Then her hands were upon his shoulders, taking hold of him from behind. A careful embrace like a rope being cast to the drowning.

"It's alright." She said in his ear.

"It isn't." He muttered, shame again flaring in his face. In front of this woman he was now so wretched and pathetic. How could she care for him now after this show? Yet he did not try to wrench himself from her grasp.

"This happens sometimes. It could be worse."

"Worse?" He croaked, voice tremulous.

"You didn't shit yourself, for one." She said. "And yes, that does happen. Just try to breathe and count. Slowly."

He did as he was instructed, trying hard to focus only on the slow ticking of numbers in his head and not on everything else which threatened to drown him.

"Everyone deals with their first battle a little differently. There are a few for whom it seems no big thing, but many lose control in one form or another. Some panic and run, of course. You did well to hold your ground."

If Rokas had done well it certainly did not feel like it to him now. At first he thought he would be fine, when he was able to fight with the soldier the sensation had lessened. In the tension of the moment he had forgotten that deep well of fear and panic, but when it returned he could not climb out alone.

He found it easier to breathe as time slipped by. With slow steps he was drawn from a stricken state back to something resembling normal. At some point he had lost track of the time, but it felt to him like an age had passed, but it must have only been a couple of minutes.

"What now?" He asked.

"How are you?" Oona released him and stepped away.

"How am I? You have an arrow in your back, I am just having a fit."

"I was getting to that." She glanced the rest of the way up the hill. "I left the rest of them in a mess up there, but I need things from my backpack to address this arrow."

"I'll come with you."

Oona nodded and proceeded up the slope. He followed behind her, but could not help but note the way that the arrow protruded from her shoulder as they climbed. It was unpleasant to see her hurt, but he imagined it was much worse to be the one who had the arrow in her back.

They located the backpack without difficulty. It was still where it had been left. There was a chance that had the party of bandits continued any farther that they would have located the backpack before Oona and Rokas had discovered them. Taking the soldiers by surprise was fortunate, if they had discovered the backpack and been laying in wait for the pair to return things could have turned out very differently.

Rokas had tried to see as little of the aftermath of the melee as he could, but even looking up at the nearby trees he had seen blood splattered upon some branches. The brutality that had taken place in such a short time was dizzying. He hoped that he would never again be so close to a fight, but suspected that he might not be so lucky as that in the days to come. A part of him regretted having not taken the deal with escape from this situation entirely with Oona, but that seemed like a greater cowardice than the fit he had suffered earlier.

Kneeling down to search the pack, Oona grunted, her posture tensing up before she could continue her search. It was the first sign that Rokas had seen that she even felt anything from the injury. In the heat of the fight she may have been able to ignore it entirely, but now in the long minutes afterwards it had some effect.

The smith knew that people with the Wolf-Pact were all but immune to disease, he had witnessed her resilience to poison first hand, but he wasn't certain if that extended to infection from wounds left untreated. There was nothing like a trip out of his element to hammer home the extent of his own ignorance. A narrow focus in life had some benefits, but Rokas was consistently displeased at his own lack of knowledge beyond his field. He would need to branch out some if he was to keep living in a place like Hearth.

Oona gave him a length of clean cloth upon which she had deposited a portion of an earthy substance. It moved like putty and when he prodded it some of it was deposited upon the tip of his finger. The smell that reached his nose made it burn slightly.

"What do I do with this?" He asked.

Oona had a length of tree branch in hand as well and she turned her back on him, giving him better access to her back.

"I will need to you pull the arrow out. I'll get this robe off and then you slap that mess on the wound and hold it tight until the bleeding lets up."

"I thought it was best to shove it out the rest of the way with an arrow." The smith recalled some stories about soldiers treating wounds like this, but was not certain he had all of his facts right.

"It barely got through the muscle. Driving it forward would do me more damage than going back out the way it came."

"What are you going to do?"

Oona took her time as she held up the branch and took it in her mouth. She said something like "Try not to scream," but it was difficult to be certain. Her long fangs sank into the bark as she made herself ready. This did not seem like it was going to be pleasant for either of them.

Some time later Rokas was holding the poultice in place while she growled and rocked back and forth. The branch Oona was biting down on did not shatter, but it did creak when she bit down upon it through the worst parts of the procedure. As she had expected, the projectile had not penetrated too deeply, but from the brief glance Rokas took at the wound before he applied the bandage it had glanced the bone of her shoulder. That she suffered no impediment to her mobility was an indication no bone had shattered with the impact, but Rokas was not certain that would have prevented her from moving about anyway.

Eventually, when she had stopped growling and stomping, Oona took the stick from her mouth and threw it into the woods a great distance. She winced, but flexed and lifted the wounded arm in spite of the sensation or so it seemed to Rokas as he observed the act. It was as though she was angry at her own body for feeling pain. They had scavenged what clean cloth they could from the bodies of the party they fought to make a wrap to hold the bandage in place over the wound.

"It might be worth looking through their belongings." Rokas said, gesturing where the bodies now rested, but not turning to look at them.

"We need to get going, the faster we go the more warning Hearth will get if it is to be attacked." She said, then after a short pause of consideration, "But you aren't wrong. I am still not certain who this lot are."

They had taken time to search what belongings the men had on them, but whoever they were, they traveled very lightly. Oona had to pile the packs and bags that the men had some distance away from their remains so as to avoid causing Rokas any additional fits as he helped look through their artifacts. If there were anything written it would have had to of been the smith who looked it over since he was the literate one of the pair.

Oona had taken a mostly-in-tact coat of mail from one of the bodies. The man who had worn it previously was large enough that Oona could don it, but it would not hang down so far as it was intended to. Her legs would remain unprotected, but someone who has been shot in the back already that day tends to be inclined to seek whatever protection they can. She had retrieved from her backpack the white tunic she had on the day that the pair of them had demolished the old workshop and wore it under the mail which, in turn, was covered when she wore her robe again. She announced that chain mail was a bitch to wear with fur as she did this.

Nothing that told much of the men could be found among their belongings, but the investigation the pair conducted was a hasty one. Ever were they aware that another group could be out there even now to stumble upon them. It was suspicious to Rokas how little information was to be found from what these bandits carried. Not a book, a letter, or even a lewd drawing was evident among the contents of their bags.

Even more confounding was the lack of spoils from Rest. No money or jewelry could be found on any of the bodies. No marks upon their flesh in the form of tattoo or brand. And then there was the fact that the entire group was cleaner than any impression that Rokas ever had of the lawless. What was the point of abandoning society if you couldn't at least let your hair grow out a little bit?

"This must be some sort of military unit." Rokas noted, but he wasn't sure if he knew enough about these men in particular, or about soldiers in general to make such a call.

"That obvious is it?" Oona agreed, clawed hand upon her chin as she loomed beside him.

"You agree?" He looked up to her.

"Do you recall what they shouted when they finally realized that I was in their midst?"

"They called you a beast."

"Not the first time I've been called that, but it's uncommon for folk in the East to say such a thing of someone with a Pact."

"Are these men from The Theocracy?"

"Possibly. They did a good job of hiding it if they are. Not a religious text or icon among them. That would be very unusual for Westerners going to fight. The spoils I could dismiss as being carried by others of their number, but someone went out of their way to make certain nothing these men carried would mark who they are."

Rokas noted that the men were also very regularly outfitted for bandits. The gear they had was of similar make. Each of them had a mail coat or shirt. Most had gauntlets and sabatons as well. Only four of the number had steel caps.

"Oona, can you retrieve one of their helms for me?" Rokas asked, not wanting to have to do it himself.

"I'll get you one of the less soupy ones." She said, striding off and returning with a mostly pristine helm.

There was no mistaking it. The cap she handed him had been made by Rokas's predecessor. He would recognize that shoddy craftsmanship anywhere.

Oona noticed immediately the way he startled when she handed him the helm and said, "From the man you replaced, is it?"

"Almost certainly, but that must mean the Mayor is in on it as well. This entire time people in Hearth have been arming a group that was sent to destroy the town." He had to fight against excitement to not raise his voice as he announced this.

"Lets not hold the sentencing just yet. They might be doing so only under duress." Oona said in an even tone, but he could see the deep furrow upon her brow and the wrinkles at her muzzle. She was doing a good job at seeming temperate, but she was furious. "We have a lot to sort out when we get to town."

"Who can we trust when we get there? I think Fionn helping you means he is trustworthy."

"Dalma, perhaps the innkeep and barman." The list of people they could be certain of was not extensive. "I doubt the foresters or miners are a party to this. In my opinion, most of the conspirators will come from the well-to-do. Guild members or people with seats on the council, but enough talk. We have to go."

"Lets go then." Rokas said, nodding and looking about to get a sense for which direction to go.

"That will be too slow." Oona approached the smith.

"What do you mean?"

It was not that Rokas minded not having to walk the rest of the way, but this solution made him feel like his assistant was not taking him seriously. This was the first time since his childhood that the smith had been carried like this, but the novelty did little to make it enjoyable.

Oona was able to cover ground more quickly than he would have thought possible while carrying another person. She cradled him in a manner he considered similar to how one might carry a small pet or child, one arm curled around under his knees and the other grasping his shoulders. They had left her backpack behind, hidden more thoroughly than before. From it she had only taken a small portion of food and a waterskin. She also carried her sword, bound again in rope and tattered cloth.

Most of the time she ran upon the ridges, following the most readily traversable paths she could. It was when she needed to traverse the hollows between the winding hills that Rokas grew more concerned for his own safety. Depending upon the span of these valleys she approached them differently. When the distance between one hilltop and another was wide she would slide down the hill as though skiing, feet digging furrows in the dirt and leaves. When she reached the bottom she would begin bounding up the hill.

When the distance between these hilltop paths was not as great she would forgo going down into the valley entirely and leap between the hillsides. The first time she had done this Rokas was certain that she had given up on life and thought this a preferable end to being struck down in battle. It was only when they landed, showering debris around them, that he understood the distances she could propel them.

Rokas wondered how much carrying him was slowing her down. It was little wonder she had covered so much ground on her own in her travel to Hearth. The sun had already set behind the mountains and they would be back in town well before morning. Oona intended to run the entire night without making camp to rest.

It was certain that the force that attacked Rest could not travel at such a speed and that the pair would arrive at Hearth well in advance of any attack. If Rokas assumed that the other soldiers were roughly as far along as the group Oona had dispatched then there would be hours in which to prepare a defense in Hearth, perhaps most of a day. If the attackers had broken into smaller groups to elude notice, as both Oona and he suspected, the time needed to regroup and strategize might slow them further.

Much about this situation was still uncertain. While it could be assumed that there was some connection to the Wester Theocracy, there was no hard evidence of this yet. There was also no certainty that an attack on Hearth was even intended, but the direction the party had been traveling pointed to that conclusion. The destruction of Rest would be sufficient to require that Hearth to be in a state of alarm.