With his enemy’s corpse strewn at his feet and the rush of the fight still pumping through his veins, Nanthal tries to stake stock. “Who is left… What happened and why is my thoughts so muddled and weak?”. As the last thought starts to swim in his mind, Nanthal’s vision starts to blur more and more. His legs weak and barely able to support his weight, tries to find direction and purpose.
“What must I do, what should I do?”. His minds races and tries to find a logical strand to hold onto as shock sets in. A moment of strength finds his mind, “Find water, administer first aid”, as his mind rewards him with a beacon of hope. He fumbles to the right of his belt, search for a small pouch with his captain’s supplies*1.
He lifts himself up, searching for an opening in the forest wall. The narrow and blurred vision, that has taken over his sight, gives him little options. Finding a path of least resistance, Nanthal struggles forward, each step getting more and more difficult, but he has to move on. “Come on boy, forward and find water”, he tell himself over and over.
He hits a tree root and looks up to the great Yellow-wood tree. He still feels the rough bark one his finger tips as he leans against the trunk. He gaze up and notice a bird, but his mind is too muddled to recognize it. A moment of peace finds his heart, as the song of this animal centralizes his thoughts. A happy chirp as the bird plays in the branches. His mind then slowly drifts back, as the pain in his side calls for attention. He takes a deep breath and another familiar sound finds his ears.
A soft flow of water, but now close by. It is calling from deeper in the forest. With that exact thought running through his mind, his legs start moving through the brush. Almost with a mind of their own, breaking twigs, ripping through branches. Leaves and spider webs get tangled with leather straps and armour plates. The sound of water is the only hope that is carrying the weary body of the Captain.
Getting slowed down by the thick brush and knowing he has limited time to treat the wound, he finds the will to push on, breaching a thicket and falling to all fours, as the thorns let him loose into the clearing. Heavily panting and seeing the drops of sweat hit the grass blades in front of his face, he notices the reflecting of the sun flickering across the water’s surface.
Hurriedly he scampers to the water, drinking with delight, only stopping to acknowledge the pain rendering through his body. “Apply the medicine, bandage the wound and rest”, his mind sets a new course for survival. Painfully and slowly, he struggles to remove the breast plate. undoing straps and lifting bits of armour at a time. He knows it would be reckless to try and apply it, before removing the obstruction that was his protection. ‘I just feel so weak’, he feels his focus slipping and tired eyes close slowly.
A turning point
Blurry vision that fades to black and then opening again once more into a unclear sight of the forest, is what the young captain faces next. Another lovely plus of infection.
Pulling himself up, he realizes that he passed out midway of taking his padded under layer off. “Come on!”, he curses loudly. He knows every moment lost in cleaning the wound, is a precious battle missed against infection and properly healing. His mind flashes in-between moments of leaving troops on the battle, too wounded to save. Having to say goodbye to friends, as the bled out on foreign soul, far away from their homes.
The importance of treating this wound, is paramount to his survival.
With a bit of rest he found, he takes the rest of the padded armour off. His eyes slowly travel down to where he can see the wound. The vicious strike he received, has ripped and tore open his flesh. An exposed wound that is now expelling blood again.
He takes the medikit, unpacks it with haste and quickly apply the medicine and start to apply the wrap. With great effort and pain, he wraps the bandages around his waist, securing the aid he has applied to himself.
As he wraps it around once more and find a suitable place to tie the bandage, he notices a drop in the forest’s song. “I don’t think I am alone anymore”, he thinks to himself. Tired eyes scan the stream’s flow, the forest brush and the small forest rock outcropping across the stream from Nanthal.
The birds on the tree behind him starts to sing again. Who-ever, or whatever is stalking me, is most likely on the other side of the stream. Careful, he tries to pick up his sword and shield, but there is just not enough power left in him, to wield it. As his left hand drops down, it runs across a small scabbard. A moment of desperation, meets renewed hope as he undoes his dagger.
A dagger he was given to him, from his father on his twenty-first birthday. He careful switching it over to his right-hand, trying to hide it next to that side’s leg. “I might not have much, but I am not going out like a scared fool.”
A soft whisper suddenly reaches out from the rock outcropping on the far side. Unknown words in a fair soft dialect finds his ears. “Who’s there, reveal yourself!”, Nanthal shouts in a tired, but stout retort.
“Am I… I am worried, you are not looking… good”, a lovely female voice, delivers a grammatically broken reply. “You not well. I see you. Need Help…”, she ducks back as Nanthal tries to lift himself up. As he looks for a better angle to look at her, instead he aggravates his wound and collapses.
“Yes, please. Please help me”, he cries in pain. In this desperate moment, he must accept any and all assistance. This time, she appears to come from the right side of the outcropping, as if she just step out from the forest itself. Slowly and carefully approaching the young prince. Her stance is still careful and each step is sure and deliberate. It is only when she is halfway into the stream, that he notices her slender features, her long sharp ears and long dark brown hair.
Suddenly she pauses and raise her bow, “Drop knife, then I help.” Stupidly he groans and rolls the dagger from his hands, “I apologise. I didn’t know if your where friend or foe”, he weakly replies.
She softly walks through the water, barely kicking up the mud. He reaches out towards his wound and once again pleads, “Help…”. As the world once again fades around Nanthal. As he slips away, her footstep draws closer. He feels a welcoming warm and invigorating flow reaching into his body. As if the strange woman was breathing life into his soul.
*1 – It is issued by the Citadel to new captains, to improve the odds of survival of a company. It contains a bandage, some concentrated medical herbs in a vial, a stitch-kit and a small container of “Argon’s Vigor. An alchemist vial to revitalize a downed warrior.
