Fantasy The Land Between Us

[Chordling]

Streets were illuminated by the raging flames that consumed the town's buildings, and the young, night sky was filtered with smoke. Both nations could be seen from a distance under the stress and horror of another battle for the very same land they had fought together for.

​

"Matthew, where are we going?" a young girl asked, her voice filled with concern. The young man who accompanied her placed a gentle finger to her lips, then flipped the hoods of their cloaks over their heads.


"Don't worry, Annabelle, we're going to be all right," Matthew tried to comfort, then hoisted the young girl onto the back of a horse. He pushed himself off the ground and sat himself behind Annabelle, then grasped tightly on the leather reigns. With a single flick of his wrists, the steed beneath them kicked his hooves from the ground and carried them onto the burning streets.


Out of the corner of his eye, Matthew spotted a large falling piece of burning wood from what used to be the local tailor shop, and steered their horse away before it could collapse. Annabelle let out a shriek as the flaming building finally gave in. Their horse galloped in the new direction without any notice from nearby citizens. The town had been in too much distraught to notice anything else but their own misery. With a fresh war on their hands, it was hard to do just that.


Another scream escaped Annabelle's mouth, but this time the stallion had stopped under its own will, and not by the command of Matthew's hand. Matthew looked up, and his gaze was met with three strange figures upon their own horses.


"Move!" he tried to command, but the new characters would not budge. He attempted to move past the three men by means of their horse, but they moved themselves in a way that blocked his path. "I said move!" Matthew shouted again, but the men gave off no reaction.


"You're not going anywhere unless you tell us who you are, and where you're going," one of them finally spoke in a deep voice, then came forth. "Let's start with my first question, who are you?"


"I am a citizen, and I must get my sister to safety," Matthew replied, hoping his answer would suffice. He feared giving too much specific detail would spoil his plan of escape. "Who are you?"


"You do not ask questions," the man spoke. "We are here to protect the land of Arceivona, against the turmoil Donesthorin has dared to put upon us. If you are a citizen, then how are you not in battle, good sir? Every able body is needed."


"I must get my sister to safety first," Matthew replied after some hesitation. In truth, he did not plan to fight in battle. Their destination was just five miles out of town, deep in the woods where it would be safer. Not safe, but safer.


"We will make sure your sister is taken care of," the guard spoke, and came closer Matthew and Annabelle. He reached over and grabbed the young girl by the arm, then tugged to remove her from her place upon the horse.


"No, Matthew!" she screeched with horror, and nearly fell off the horse as she lifted out her other hand to her brother for aide. Matthew let go of the reigns and flung his arms around his sister's waist.


"Sir, if you wish for the best for you sister, you will do as I say," he guard enforced. "Join us in battle, and your sister will be safe."





Annabelle continued to let out high yells of terror, begging her brother to stay with her, afraid of what might happen if she were to be escorted by the guards. The young man simply shook his head in response, and attempted once more to ride past the three guards, but their large statures prevented his escape.


"Bring the girl to me!" the guard howled, and the other two figures immediately obeyed. This time, Matthew was able to pass by the guards as they tried to approach him. The horses raced through the burning town, around corners and behind buildings. The hood to Matthew's and Annabelle's cloaks were lifted from their heads by the air as they sped off through the streets, and revealed similar locks of dirty blond hair.


Their chase continued, and Matthew was beginning to feel good about himself. The sound of the pounding hooves that chased them had become more distant, and all that could be seen was a clear path to their destination; the woods. Suddenly, one of the guards had come up to them from the side, and tore Annabelle from her seat. The young girl screamed for her brother as she was forced to sit with the guard, no sooner to be taken away. The two other men had caught up to Matthew, and the guard that had questioned the young man before came up to him.


No words had been exchanged between the two. They stared at each other, trying to anticipate what would happen next. When the guards felt like enough time had been spent, they suddenly sped off with Annabelle. Matthew chased after them, but by the time he had reacted, the guards had all ready reached the end of the street, and eventually became out of sight.

~ ~ ~ 2 Years Later ~ ~ ~

​

"Spare a coin or two, sir?" an elderly woman begged as a man had passed her among the streets of the village. The man who wore a heavy, gray cloak turned his head to acknowledge the woman, but gave no other reply.


"Please, good sir, just a coin or two?" the woman begged again, and when the man had refused again, she started to follow him. "Don't think you're going to hide from this war, young man," she suddenly threatened, and came up to the man from behind. "You think you're the only one who has suffered from this war? Look around yourself." The head of the hooded figured turned about to look at the damaged village, but still didn't speak. "A coin for your freedom, a coin for your freedom." And when the man did not respond, the elderly woman removed the hood from the figure's head to reveal him as a man. "Guards, guards!" The woman shouted and pointed.


"If I'll be damned," the man muttered to himself, then began to search around for the guards that would come. Three armed guards surrounded the cloaked man, but weren't quick enough to catch him when his feet swiftly carried away. It had been at least two years since that horrid night. He could still remember the smell of the burning wood, and could hear his sister's echo through the night sky. Deep inside, he knew he was going to get caught, by someone, but he still made the attempt to get into town for food and resources. Though safe in the woods now, his feet continued to carry him at a fast pace. The small wooden building now called home was only five miles away.

 

[Syrenrei]

Alana was reluctant to admit it- but she was lost. It was not the pleasant sort of lost when you went on a fine adventure in the woods to discover new whims of nature that sprung forth from the earth... it was the sort that could end in ugly means of death. The proud woman had not survived such hell to suffer and succumb to the elements just yet. Her capture and escape were still fresh in her mind as she crouched in the tree, contemplating her next move. It had been a horrific series of events. A small contingent of soldiers, whom she was certain she could defeat in one-on-one combat were she armed, had swarmed her lonely home. They had ridiculed her efforts to defend and flee, then encased her wrists in irons such that it would be even more difficult to gain the upper hand should she find a blade. It was utterly humiliating. They had marched her for days unless she was squarely in Arceivona... all the while threatening rape, torture, and murder should she fail to be anything short of demure and cooperative.


Shortly after her 'departure' from her lovely escorts, she had managed to find herself in this forest that offered (as far as she could tell) no quick remedy for shelter, fresh water, or food. Her boots were caked in dried mud and grime up to the knee and her breeches had been mottled from a pleasant tanned cloth to that of dirt on which she was forced to lay every night. Offensive brambles and branches had snagged and ripped at her blouse, which was not meant for travel and ill-suited for it, leaving the section over her lower torso ribboned on the left side. It was by the graces of the universe's only decent intentions that she was not left in a more vulgar state. She swung her feet from the robust limb that was her gracious seat and ran fingers through tangled tresses. Being kidnapped had not kept it in the bun which it had been carefully coiled into prior. As ridiculous as it might be to an observer she was absolutely dedicated to keeping the lockets in a less deplorable state; if they were mangled then it would be cut later. Alana would not endure short hair under any circumstances. When properly groomed it tumbled down to her waist and slightly past in a curtain of silky mahogany. It had seen better days than today.


It was here that she witnessed a figure in the distance making his way through the landscape of foliage so deftly. Reflexively she tensed but realization struck that he was not moving in a manner that was indicative of looking for something. For someone who so recently practiced the art of running from someone she would wager a guess that he was doing the same. Desperation clawed at her stomach and mind, urging an interception. Her wrists had suffered minor abrasions that needed first aid treatment and she had not a proper meal in quite some time. This opportunity was fleeting and unlikely to repeat itself. Would she prefer to risk confronting a possible enemy for a chance at surviving further than another couple days on her own? For a long moment she convinced herself that she would speak to no native or Arcievona. Every part of her ached and cried for respite.


She slid down from her tree.


It was no doubt a strange sight for the traveler. Her skin was lightly bronzed by a sun that eluded her form as she stood in the shade of a towering tree. It would suggest Alana was a person who worked fields or labored, yet her hands showed no such repetitive weathering. Tumbling disheveled glimpses of splendor fell about her shoulders and waist in disarray. Her garments were of fine origin but inexplicably in the process of being destroyed by the relentless forces of nature. Bright almond eyes shone beneath the layer of grit and she hesitantly strode forward with a calculated grace and confidence. "What are you doing here?" she inquired. Fortunately life on the border of the two nations meant she was devoid of any accent that would betray her current allegiance. Her voice, however, was hoarse as she remained parched from hours without sufficient drink. There were beggars that were more eye-catching... but they did not have her poise, her stance, and her assertive stare.

 

[Chordling]

Long strides continued to carry him through the woods, closer and closer to what he called home. When things had been peaceful between the two nations, these woods were well known to many for its beauty and calmness. Now, however, was not the time to gaze upon the towering timber. Though, perhaps Matthew would have found a bit of scenery gazing helpful when all of the sudden, a tall figure landed in front of him. Skid marks followed his feet as he came to a sudden halt, and he asked himself; foe?


What are you doing here. A question Matthew was all to familiar with. What are you doing here? Was that all people knew how to say these days? What are you doing here? He stared at the woman in front of him, blankly, not sure whether he would answer the gosh darn question or not. It was not because he had to find the courage to speak to the distraught looking creature. It was not because his mind had to arrange a new way to phrase his answer. Simply because he was tired of answering the same question over and over again.


"What are you doing here?" they asked him when he came crawling to their door, begging for food and shelter for his sister the night their parents died. He had just turned 15. Annabelle was only two. Door after door after door, until finally an elderly couple welcomed them in. "Is she yours?" he remembered them asking him. The idea was ludicrous, at least to him it was. Kindly, he had explained to them she was his younger sister. Annabelle was probably not part of mom and dad's plan, but that didn't matter, not to Matthew at least.


"What are you doing here?" they implied the night of the burning village. Yes, that's how Matt liked to remember it. As he looked around the town that morning, his imagination could place all of the flaming buildings along the streets. The cloak he wore that night to escape was the same cloak he wore that morning to sneak past the guards, though unfortunately his disguise was seen past the old woman, a moment which brought him here. What are you doing here?


"If you'll excuse me" he finally spoke, and began to make his way past the woman. It wasn't like there was a particular place he needed to be at a certain time, but Matthew felt like there shouldn't be any time to waste. Especially with the probability of following guards.

 

[Syrenrei]

As Matthew tried to make his way past, Alana noted that both his voice and face were young- of ripe age for a soldier. Surely Arceivona had already forced its eligible males into service, had they not? The haste with which this one moved revealed he was not a cripple and there was no ashen pallor indicative of any illness. Slowly a theory congealed into her mind of what must be happening to have him rushing through this forest at such an alarming pace. Someone of their military had noticed the elusive male and was trying to conscript him. Had he been a criminal there would be telling signs- a hardened gaze, an off-the-cuff threat, a crazed stare, and/or a general feeling of danger. As a person capable of violence herself, Alana fancied herself more than capable of assessing a threat. Matthew was dismissed as not a criminal summarily. Quietly she pondered if wouldn't rather be in the company of someone depraved than what may very well emerge as a coward.


"Wait, do you have any..." she started, grabbing whichever arm was easily accessible at the wrist- or at least trying to. Should she succeed he'd find a firm grip of desperation but also with a strength that belied her true abilities. Even in moments of fleeting weakness and despair she was not as frail and petite as others of her sex. Her words died on her lips as she hesitated. Stubborn pride urged her to not beg or plead with the stranger. It was not scorn for his nation- in times past her family had served Arceivona's requests so long as pay was sufficient. It was a paralyzing paranoia that he would discover her situation and return her to captivity. Alana had thought herself hardened to the point that no trauma, not even that received in war, would adversely affect her after all the mercenary training she had been pushed through.


She was wrong.


They were interrupted by the sounds of something approaching- and given from the amount of thudding and rustling Alana could tell it wasn't a singular something. It was impossible to predict exactly who was approaching but she would be damned if she was going to risk discovery by another stranger. Her eyes and nostrils widened in barely contained fear as she imagined that what crept closer was another possibility of confinement. They'd not be happy to find their hostage wandering about the woods freely and what damaged she already sustained might pale in comparison to what would be visited by frustrated captors. There would be punishment awaiting her for this; and she'd not let that happen. Not now, not ever- she'd let herself waste away from starvation first.


Letting lose a series of new and inventive profanities, Alana gathered herself enough to start in the opposite direction of the ominous sounds- with or without Matthew's wrist still in her grasp. If he had enough presence of mind to spare in her direction he might be perceptive enough to venture a guess that she was not on friendly terms with local militia. Even should he be quite dense, the movement of her arms in their brief barely exposed her wrists enough to see that they were injured by some manner of constraint. "Try not to travel in a straight line to your destination," she hissed at him, afraid to speak any louder and be heard by their pursuers.


Well, there was nothing like overly attentive guards to bring people together.

 

[Chordling]

"I think he went this way!" a voice shouted in the distance. Matthew's head spun around, and his arm jerked away from Alana's grasp. He swore quietly under his breath as he tried to locate his pursuers, no doubt close behind by now. If it weren't for the young woman's over asked question, he might have actually made it home that morning. Now his hopes for escape had been curtailed to a size no bigger than an ant. However, it also appeared to Matt that Alana was not in favor of the militia as well from the multitude of curses that escaped her mouth and the expression that covered her face. All sort of conclusions began to spin around in his mind. A theif? A murderer? A seducer? Neither thought really appealed to Matthew, nor did they fit Alana's physical description. Then something caught his attention, an injury of some kind placed around the woman's wrist. He only had a brief moment to examine the small abrasions before she spoke to him again, and the loud thudding from the distance had become.... less distant.


With any further verbal exchanges, Matthew sprinted off into the woods again. "Look, there he is, catch him!" the voice shouted, and the thudding that had surrounded them followed at a fast pace. A thought crossed his mind, and though it might be considered incredibly immoral to some, Matthew was in no situation to be morally correct or gentleman like. He quickly caught sight of Alana as they dashed through the woods, then directed himself closely to her. As they turned a corner, the hood from his cloak flew back, revealing every anxious detail in his face, and his efforts to re-position the cloak had failed him.


"Hey, he's got the girl!" the same guard shouted, proving to Matt that his tactic had succeeded. How they mentioned to her as 'the girl', she must really be in some deep mud to have that title. When his job had been done, his trail split off into a new direction, leaving both 'the girl' and himself to fend on their own for a while. "Split off!" the man shouted, and the footsteps that followed Matt became duller. It became a little clear to Matt that his plan might not help him as much as he liked. He had supposedly found a wanted person (well, more like she found him), which only added to their case for recruiting the young man into the war. It wasn't like finding people was a skill of Matthew's, not one bit, in fact he was often the one being sought. "Get them!"

 

[Syrenrei]

Alana wished she could be surprised by the obvious attempt at sabotage that came from Matthew. Unfortunately for everyone, she had been raised as a mercenary, believing that most people were out for themselves first and others only as a convenient afterthought. Had her conscience been even a little more malleable she could have been persuaded that everyone was like that, but she knew there were still innocents. As the cloak fluttered and ragged breath came from the cowardly man in such close proximately, she didn't blame him as much as she would like. He was trying to survive (albeit in completely embarrassing way). Anger flourished at these guards that believed themselves just and righteous in chasing her how. How dare they try to take a human being hostage and use her as a pawn in their own game! There were limitations one should take to self-preservation. A little ploy from Matthew so he could escape was almost excusable. Forcing Alana to flee like hunted game just because she wanted to live in her damned house without being used as a tool for blackmail on her siblings and spouse? Abuse as a war tactic? No. They could have left by now. Opportunity was laid before them to pretend they never saw Alana. They had declined and so she would take advantage.


They thought a little advance in their prestige, their war efforts, justified this savage pursuit? Fine. A price would be paid. She would slip off a small portion of her morality and show them the cost of thinking of oneself so highly. Alana expertly maneuvered herself around a tree and double-backed a pace to keep the guard, well, off-guard. Surprise blossomed on his features as she used her momentum to collide and throw them back onto the ground, his armored back and arms grinding against the rough ground. The startled gasp was only a brief respite as the warrior was trained enough not to let such a small thing leave him vulnerable for long- but it was all the time she needed. He had been focused on catching himself and minimizing the damage the impact would leave on him while she had been singularly dedicated to one simple goal: obtaining his sword.


The Indoheru family were swordsmen primarily. It was only prudent that they be given exercises in how to disarm and, if necessary, take the blade of another if they were without in combat. Sometimes it was ineffective and a melee opponent would have something like an axe, polearm, mace, or something that she was a novice at. Right now Alana was unexpectedly lucky. The guards were military trained, by they were not mercilessly grilled from the time they were toddlers. They had been recruited into a war that Alana had been bred and born into: the war for the right to live. Keeping this in mind, she confidently took the sword from the temporarily dazed guard. He threw her off and they both scrambled to their feet. As he looked down at her in confusion at how she procured it from his person, he still looked smug. It was the gaze of someone who thought their height and musculature would result in domination. He was evaluating her based on her fatigue, lack of familiarity with her surroundings, and her injuries.


His mistake.


Desperation made her strike effective. Since she lacked the brawn to do a proper cleave (like Arcden was capable of doing), she focused more on a swift attack in the most efficient 'zones.' A fine chainmail would have been unable to be so easily damaged. The war had forced compromises, however, on the integrity of the metals that they used- there was simply not enough ore to properly cover every soldier. With all of the effort she could muster, and her life on the line, she plunged the sword into his leg with surgical precision. It groaned and met resistance with links, but she threw all her weight behind and let loose a cry of fury. He had pursued her, dehumanized her, deemed her worthy of mistreatment based purely on her relations and nothing of her own merit. A sickening grinding noise issued forth as the sword forced asunder the other metal, itself becoming badly damaged in the process. The goliath bellowed in agony as he was rendered a cripple in the span of but two seconds of ignorance. Blood flowed freely and Alana did not even try to summon the strength to withdraw it from his thigh.


She stumbled back, her feet moving faster than the rest of her could account for. Swaying slightly as some of the adrenaline wore off and her own muscles screamed in suffering, she caught her balance as her own breaths became increasingly labored. Dark blotches invaded her vision and she did not notice that the guard she had struck had almost caught her hair. He was too slow. They were all too slow. That being said, Alana had limits. There were still other guards in these woods and her form could not endure much more. Shivers and spasms overtook her momentarily and pallor gripped her like death. "Try that again and I'll do the same to you," she called out to Matthew.


This was going poorly. Hopefully the guards would rescue their comrade rather than try to find Alana as she stumbled with blatant disorientation through the foliage. Her speed was between a walk and a run, frequently faltering between the extremes as she struggled to blink and clear the darkness that threatened sight.

 

[Chordling]

Matthew dodged between the thick, wooden trunks as the adrenaline rushed through his body. There was no chance in the world for Matt to surrender, but it didn't seem like the armored man chasing him was going to give up either. The young man could feel his chest tighten the further he ran, a feeling he loathed completely. No matter, his feet continued to push him along with wide strides across the dirt covered path. Suddenly, he felt a heavy weight cling to him, and his body was pushed to the ground.


"Got'ch ya!" A sweaty faced stared at Matthew in the eyes and held a filthy grin. With both arms, Matthew pushed against the chest of the soldier to remove him from his position, but the warrior simply laughed and pushed Matthew back onto the ground. "We've got one!" the guard shouted, and continued to push Matthew to the ground. The guard turned his face back down towards Matthew, and spoke to him directly. "Did you hear what I said, you little rat? We've got one, that's you!" He began to laugh as if what he said was clever and witty. Matthew took this opportunity to his advantage, and perhaps did something incredibly unexpected, for both of them. Though parched from the active chase, Matthew managed to produce a small pool of saliva in his mouth. His lips pushed together and sent the froth straight into the guard's face. The man on top of Matthew shortly protested, then raised a hand to remove the spit from his cheek. "You little..." but the insult wasn't able to continue.


Again, Matthew attempted to raise the guard off of him for his release, this time successfully, then quickly scrambled to his feet and jolted off. This time, the footsteps that had followed him before were no longer present. He slowed partially in the middle of his run when he heard shouting in the distance. The fatigue in the shouter's, feminine voice was noticeable, and though Matthew knew the fact was unlikely, he thought of Annabelle. His feet came to a stop, and as he stood in his place, heaving for air, he started thinking to himself. They both could easily conclude that they were wanted persons in some manner, that manner being bad. And they both could easily rat each other out, but then what would be the point of that? Neither of them would get what they wanted; freedom.


After it had occurred to the young man that it would be in both of their best interests to stick together, he began to make his way towards Alana. He kept himself clear from any of the other guards, and prayed he would find this strange woman so he could finally get out of the place and return to safety. Moments later, he caught sight of her painfully making her way through the woods, but waited before approaching. When he sensed that there were no guards hot on her trail, he slowly made his way closer. This wasn't to trick more guards in her direction, simply to aid her, but he wasn't sure if she would be aware of that.

 

[Syrenrei]

Alana had always been stubbornly full of pride. Now she was vulnerable and weak, exhaustion threatening her feeble tether to consciousness. Most people had the good sense not to push themselves to the actual edge so recklessly; they'd realize their foolishness or not be able to endure the last hour of screaming, cramping muscles and delusional thoughts. It took a special sort of person (usually desperate) to reach that glorious brink with steadfast determination. So it was with a hoarse voice clinging to conviction that slipped past parched lips. "I incapacitated a guard- they'll rush to help stop the bleeding." It was more explanation he deserved but it was spoken regardless. Her throat was sandpaper and her mouth so dry that it ached with the simple utterance. Was there a source of water in front of her she would have gladly drowned in it without second thought.


Still advancing, Alana felt Matthew nearby. His breathing, heavy from the toll of running, thundered in her ears with the absence of their pursuers. Seeking brown eyes could see nothing beyond the splotches and occasional glimpse of scenery in muddled browns and greens. They had been her favorite colors but at present she only felt contempt for them as they were not the blue of hydration and life. Dirt and bark did nothing to abate her anguish. She reached a trunk closer to his person than she realized and clung to it for support, her nails digging into the rough surface and threatening to bruise her fingertips should she use more force. Spasms and cramps released themselves through her legs and were visible with the 'rest' of leaning against her woodland comrade. It did not take a medic to understand the wretched state she was in. A few errant splashes of blood were on her right hand and boot, indicative of the violent nature in which she had just dispatched her 'adversary.'


Dangerous and dying. Was that what she was doing? Alana expected life to flash before her eyes dramatically. Instead she saw less and less and her senses started to fail completely. Alana was at the mercy of this cowardly foreigner, the one who had tried to disguise her as him. True enough she'd not perish in this moment, but once forceful slumber overtook she would be prone for the guards to recapture if thirst did not end it sooner. Humiliating. That was what she thought of the entire damnable circumstance. From being manhandled by a battalion of worthless, undisciplined swordsmen, to being made a hostage against her only loved ones, to escaping to the wilderness like a wild animal, being pursued by guards almost too incompetent to wear their uniforms, and finally being laid before this person who probably quaked in fear at his own spittle.


Perhaps death was what she should welcome more eagerly. She wasn't exactly one to sacrifice herself for a cause or someone unworthy- hell, she liked herself too much for that insanity. But did she want a life where she was helpless and dependent on this sort of person?


As she considered the merits she slipped into complete hallucinations. Sounds waxed and waned that had no place in reality and flickering imagined manifestations appeared. Anmentia as a child, curled up in a window, reading a book with her silky, enchanting black hair pooled on the pillow beside her like a princess of yore. Alex as a toddler laughing as he splashed through rain puddles in the groomed yard, oblivious to the soured expressions of their parents at his jovial nature. Alex bringing home Christine with her bright red hair, unflinching to the criticism, and an apologetic expression on his face as he knew that the twins would now be watched more closely with increasing expectations. And Arcden, the magnificent brother that never failed her, never questioned her unduly, never betrayed the mountains of trust she placed in him- he reached out to her now, patting her head with reassurance. He ran fingers through the mahogany strands with understanding echoing in his gaze. Sleep her urged her with a glance. Sleep and it will all be okay, I promise.


It was a lie but Alana's body mutinied. She toppled forward unceremoniously, losing her grasp on the present.

 

[Chordling]

Matthew wasn't quite sure what the purpose of the woman's explanation was for, but he was glad to know that the guards would be off their trail for awhile. He could tell through her cracking voice that her body was parched, and it amazed him that she was still able to keep up with their rapid pace. He led them through the forest, against her previous advice to approach their destination indirectly and not straight on. Low limbs threatened Matthew's hair with pointy twigs as they brushed past. He kept an arm raised to weaken the barrier of offshoots, and though they poked and clawed at his skin, he did not diminish his defense.


Suddenly Alana had come to a stop, and he spotted her as she clung onto the trunk of a nearby tree as if her life depended on it. He urged to her get back up, fearing the worst would only come to them. "Let's go," he muttered as he tried to encourage Alana. There didn't seem to be any success in his efforts, however. He watched as her mind slowly slipped away into a world of hallucinations, and only continued to urge her more eagerly. When those actions had failed him, he began to hear rustling noises in the distance. The only wild beast he had ever seen roam the woods were militia soldiers, and it was their cue to run, but the woman who was still clinging onto the bark of the tree was in no shape for the hunt. Eventually, her body slumped onto the dirt covered floor, and the distant rustling grew louder.


"I think they're over there!" For trained army men, it was surprising they were not taught the element of stealth. Matthew was positive they would have been captured by now if they had not made half as much noise. His mind had been placed in a state of panic, and he just stared down at the fallen girl. Though this moment had been brief, the stirring noises had become too loud for comfort. Without a second thought, Matthew scooped Alana from her lying position, gave a silent apology, slung her over his shoulder, then ran.


Unmerciful sprigs prodded the two fleeing figures, causing the skin on his arms and face to sting. Although the burning sensation in his lungs had become intense, he did not stop. There would be no way he would ever stop. For a brief moment, a long twig embedded itself into Matthew's cloak, heightening his panicked temperament, but he was able to quickly release the flap of cloth with a twist of his wrist. Both of his shoes had been lost somewhere during his run, allowing the roots and small pebbles that protruded from the earth to bite at his exposed skin.


Just several miles deeper into the woods, and their pain had been relieved. Away from the war, away from civilization, and away from the guards. A humble, wooden building that greatly resembled a shack patiently waited for Matthew's return, and welcomed both travelers with a warm presence. Matthew continued to approach the lumber built home with heavy steps, the woman still on his shoulder. He let out a sigh of reprieve as he stepped through the doorway, then set out to nurture the unconscious female. A door just to the right lead to a modest bedroom, lighted only by the sunshine that passed through the single, square window. Gently, he placed Alana on the bed, just below the window, then made sure she had not been armed. His stress curtailed slightly when he could not spot any dangerous weapons on her person, but still felt like there was something unsafe about her.


Quickly, he went in search for some rope, then brought the small finding to the little room. As he was about to bolster the woman's wrists to the bed posts, he noticed the true severity of her abrasions, then began to think of a new method to restrain the foreigner. Eventually he ended up wrapping the rope around her arms, which he pushed to her sides, and the bed. After, he did his best to doctor her injuries as he possibly could. Matthew would remember to give her some water after she woke up. Still unsure of his own methods, he took a nearby chair, and sat a safe distance away from the bed, waiting for her to awaken.

 

[Syrenrei]

When Alana finally awoke an hour and a half later, she was not terribly certain if she was still in the realm of the living or had migrated to the great beyond. Hazy, groggy thoughts flitted across her mind as she opened bleary eyes and regarded the play of light and shadow on an unimpressive ceiling. Her siblings no longer offered their support and glimpses of contentment as they had before. Was this a punishment of the afterlife? Confined to the middle of nowhere and alone, pursued by inept guards that flailed around with their arrogance and swords like children playing a game? Recollection cleared slightly to remind her of a young man fleeing from the same incompetents that he had dragged through her temporary territory so recklessly. Was that a hallucination as well or a cruel twist of fate? It mattered not if this was not the realm of the living. From the fatigue that permeated every inch of her, aching over from over-exertion and inadequate hydration/fueling, to her helplessness to have done anything to help her husband and brothers, Alana felt awful. This redefined misery. Surely it was the pit of the abyss that held her now for her failings.


Above her own pitiful wheeze she heard that of someone else- which jolted her back to the sane realization that she was not, in fact, dead. As she moved to sit up she discovered the slight pressure on her torso was rough bindings. Rope? Who the hell tied someone in her shape to a bed? As she turned her head to the side she spotted the little dipshit who once had the cape sitting there, patiently waiting. Admittedly it was more prudent than she initially thought. Alana had informed him of her disabling of a guard earlier and he almost certainly hadn't investigated her method. Matthew had deemed her dangerous and was proceeding with caution. To what end?


Was she to be utilized as a hostage once more for an individual instead of a government? Would he try to trade her to his nation in exchange for forgiveness for whatever caused him to evade their grasp? Would he dare to use her as a pawn to gain protection from the Indoheru lineage and their associations? Perhaps he had even darker designs for her- releasing aggression and anger by lashing out at her restrained person or indulging unspoken primal desires. All she knew of this man was that he was holding her in some small place of solitude. These sorts of situations did not end well.


Considering the entirety of the predicament, Alana did not think that indignant hostility would garner a positive change. Ire burned in her eyes regardless. Injured, immobile, and unable to vocalize her rage without exasperating a parched throat, she stared at him waiting. He had saved her but she did not trust that it was done completely selflessly.

 

[Chordling]

Sleep had almost overcome the young man before he heard small shifting noises coming from the bed. The woman had finally awakened, and he watched her as she regained her consciousness. He knew it would seem cruel to the woman for having confined her to the wooden frame and mattress, but his intentions were not harmful. It was her intentions that he questioned. When he received the hateful glare, he slowly stood from the chair and approached her. "I know this looks really bad," he began, then took in a deep breath to calm himself. How was he supposed to explain to this woman of his good intentions? It may have seemed to her that she was being taken hostage to some strange little shack in the middle of the woods, and Matt wouldn't blame her. He would feel just as threatened in a similar situation.


He could feel her anger burning through his flesh, and tried to come up with an explanation as quickly as he could. "I am not trying to take you hostage, if that makes you feel any better. I am only trying to help." Matt paused again briefly to collect his nerves, and took another small breath. "I apologize for your current state. My initial methods of confinement would have been less restricting, but I noticed the damage upon your wrists, and did not want to cause any further harm." His eyebrows pushed together to show his genuine concern for her, and that he truly meant her no harm. The expression from Alana, however, defied all of his efforts.


"You're dehydrated, here," he said suddenly changing the subject, then quickly left the room and fetched a tankard of water for the woman. When he quickly returned, he carefully placed the beverage on the seat he previously occupied, then walked back to the bed to free Alana. His hands moved slowly, and shook slightly as his fingers loosened the rope. Silently he began to pray that the woman wouldn't spring up from the bed and tackle him to the floor of his own home. He didn't want to run into anymore trouble than he all ready had that morning. After the ropes had become loose enough for the woman to sit herself up, he turned back to the chair and picked up the water, then offered it to Alana. His hazel green eyes analyzed her while he held the drink out, and he tried to convince himself that everything would be okay.

 

[Syrenrei]

As Alana listened to and watched the unusually kind man she found herself at a loss. She could see the tension, pensive breathing, and slight trembling that overtook him during the explanation. Perhaps he was unaware that the more he tried to appear courageous, the more "tells" there were that spoke of his fear. Could someone be this possessed by cowardice to drag a woman back to his cabin, tie her up, and still worry so excessively? Had she been the most notable warrior in all the realm she still could not have, after collapsing from exhaustion, parched and starved, summoned the needed fortitude to pose a serious threat.


Was it all a clever ruse? Her double in the Indoheru family was an orphaned woman named Riahne who hid her cunning with a veil of stupidity. It was an effective tactic that had spelled disaster for others on a multitude of occasions. To what end would he deceive her? While she was no expect on theatre, his expression and the depth of his gaze was sincere enough. Respect could have been given more freely if it was part of a plan to coax her into a course of action- be it something as mundane as a partner for lonely nights or a vigilant bodyguard. Matthew spoke not of wants nor needs and only watched her with trepidation. How did people like this exist? How did they function in a cruel world pillaged by war and cleaved with stubborn resolve? The answer of course was before her- they fled. Matthew had fled the guards as swiftly she had and the desperate ploy to cover her with his cloak...


It all came together now. His age could easily be deduced by his features, placing him squarely in the range for mandatory soldier recruitment in both nations. Only cripples were exempt from this coerced participation and he was only hobbled by anxiety. Either he had seen battle and run from it or he had never entered the field- in either case, he was running from the government as she was. It was an unfortunate alliance. Had he not been able to carry her to this bed (showing a strength she saw in the subtle movement in his arms) or been so freakishly congenial, she could have used his assistance and left with a clean conscience. As it were she felt compelled to stay and repay the debt. Unseemly as cowardice was, there was virtue buried within as well.


This is why her parents decided she couldn't be a mercenary. There was good reason that the job attracted unsavory folk and had a poor reputation: it required one to be cold-blooded and indifferent to the merits of a job. If a person was to be killed or protected, you were expected to complete the job regardless of the moral ambiguities discovered. Alana was as stubborn and obstinate with not yielding to 'scumbags' as she was in other matters. Digging in her figurative heels, she was determined to make this man exhibit more than just a small shred of bravery. Maybe she'd even help him hold a sword out of gratitude. She'd need to kill some time before she crossed the border back to her home: the army would be swarming looking for her right now. If they remained unsuccessful for a week or two they would consider it a loss and stop searching so fervently.


Besides, no one was waiting at her house... and Alex, Arcden, and her husband would not negotiate without proof Alana was a captive.


Taking the glass of water in her weakened grasp, she gulped down the entire glass without stopping for breath. It booth soothed and irritated a sore throat. "I am Alana," she stated as greeting. Diplomacy had never been her 'thing' to speak, so her voice was less than pleasant. The grating of her throat had not been alleviated with hydration yet and she remained irritated at a plethora of things not directly related to Matthew. Kidnapped. Injured. Chased. Hungry. Alana deserved a medal just for not taking out everything on him. "I was a hostage of your government." She added with mild accusation in her voice as if it was his fault the militia acted the way it had. In truth, her only aim was to clarify she was not a criminal- though her tact was slim to none.

 

[Chordling]

Matt watched, somewhat amazed, as Alana guzzled the entire tankard of water without any means of interruption. His shoulders dropped and he let out a sigh of relief when she introduced herself, and a small smile came across his face, but it quickly faded when she added she had been a captive by his own people. "I am sorry to hear such an unfortunate event had come to you," he replied. "My name is Matthew, most know me as Marquees Duchamps, but please," he held his hands out in front of him, "I wish you not to think poorly of me due to my governmental ties." Though he had been a member of authority, he was quite young for someone with his status. Other members had been much older, and were able to squeeze their way out of the war. Matthew, however, did not have this advantage due to his age. "I want this war to end just as much as you do."


"Guaranteed, we'll be safe here," Matthew started to explain, and pulled the chair over for him to sit on. "Just as long as we don't stray too close to town, the guards will never find us. They don't even know this place exists." He looked down at the floorboards beneath his feet and sighed. They had been the very floorboards he walked upon as a child. It was amazing that the house had withstood the test of time. The humble cabin had been his home for 13 years until his parents died. Seven years later he became a member of the government, all while taking care of Annabelle. He had planned to bring Annabelle back to their old home that night of the burning village, but ended up arriving alone due to an unfortunate turn of events. It was as if nothing had changed about their old home. Matthew's father's wood axe still leaned against the side of the house next to a large pile of wood. To his surprise, Matthew still retained a good technique from his woodcutting days. The old well outside of their house still functioned, but Matt had skillfully replaced the rope when he first arrived. His mother's kitchen tools still peacefully sat beneath the cupboards and cabins, all made from heavy iron casting or cheap silver. Even their old bedrooms had patiently waited in the form they were left in. The room they currently sat in just the spare. Matthews was just beside it, and their parents had slept upstairs, which really was just nothing less than an attic. Across from Matthew's room was Annabelle's. It contained a small crib instead of a proper bead, and a small, wooden mobile hang from the ceiling. Matthew never opened the door to Annabelle's room after the first day of his arrival.


"Here," he kindly stated, and held out his hand. "Let me grab you some more water. Then I'll check your wrists again. I don't think they're infected, but just to be safe. Then, when you're feeling better, I can show you around the boundaries." He waited for her to hand him the tankard, then would set off back to the well, and return with the refreshment.

 

[Syrenrei]

Alana studied Matthew as he spoke, warily studying him for deception. There was always a chance he knew more or affected more than he'd let on, withholding truth out of guilt or self-preservation. No recognition sparkled in her eyes at her name. Had he been privy to any government plans to kidnap her then it would be difficult to obscure a knowing gaze. With a sigh, she mentally made a choice to not state her full name. She was proud to be an Indoheru but this was a rare opportunity to be just Alana. There was also little chance that the familial resemblance would be noted: not many knew the mercenaries by sight and those that did would be confused by her darker complexion.


Even if she didn't hold him responsible for the choices of his government, Alana was aware of the difference in their status. No matter what he had done (or didn't do) they were more likely to be forgiving of his transgressions. To the same people she was but a pawn in a greater game. Should he have a change of heart and decide to hand her over to the authorities he might be granted clemency while she was slapped into chains. If she tried to make the same deal they almost certainly would not trust her intentions and would simply imprison them both. Alana would have to put faith in the stranger not to betray her feeble trust. Unless she wanted to wander in the wilderness and actually die there was little recourse. It was a small house but it was safe, clean, and quiet.


"My wrists will be fine. Do you have anything to eat? I haven't eaten anything since my escape in the early morning hours," she managed to say with a little more social grace. The accusatory tone had subsided, but it was still more rough and gravely than was attractive to be certain. She handed over the tankard with renewed strength gathered from a combination of pride, rest, and hydration. Once he had retrieved same from her, she would swing her legs over the edge of the bed to let them more comfortably hang. The home she was in seemed as if it might be big enough for more than one bedroom, but she wasn't certain. It also felt bizarre to rest during the day like a child that needed a nap.


It was too early to ask if he had any weapons around here. More than likely he'd start to get a little paranoid- not that it wouldn't be merited. Her husband was unlikely to ever return home after being drafted into the war effort. Her brothers had a higher survival rate but neither were particularly reliant on her. Indignant aggression urged her to make an attack of vengeance. If she was slayed by their hand the Indoheru family- brothers, cousins, parents, aunts, uncles, and all the ties therein- would take the death personally. They cared little about politics, but an assassination of one of her heirs was never forgiven. One rival mercenary family took out a great-uncle of hers and the Indoheru family had eradicated all of them within a singular generation in retaliation.


"Why do you run?" she asked pointedly.

 

[Chordling]

"I down to scraps," he blatantly stated. "I tried to gather more this morning, but I ran into some trouble with an elderly woman," he explained. After she had handed him the tankard, he pushed his hands against his knees to pull himself up from his seat. Matthew was never a great hunter, so he resorted to stealing, or prayed he would find a dead carcass somewhere in the woods. Unfortunately, his stealing days would be over after that morning's incident. There was no way Matt would risk going back out there again. Hunting or prayers would just have suffice, but the only weapon available to him was an axe, which was not meant for hunting nor killing for that matter. It was just a simple woodcutting tool. "Which lead to my predicament with the guards," he finally added, then left to get Alana her water.


When Matthew had returned with her drink, she had asked a rather outward question, and quickly had to wipe away the look of surprise from his face. Why did he run? The simple answer was because he was afraid, like most, and preferred avoiding his issues instead of confronting them. He still believe Annabelle was alive, somewhere, waiting for him. If he didn't run, then his hopes for finding his sister would no longer exist. Matthew, however, would never tell a stranger that. At least it was "who are you", or, "what are you doing here". The usual. He had to think for a while before he came up with a reasonable answer for the woman. "Well all deal with war differently. Some people want to fight. Some people want to run." He left the room after giving her the drink, hoping to avoid anymore questions, then checked on the fireplace in the main entrance of the house.


There wasn't a burning charcoal to be found, and Matthew nearly swore under his breath. He turned his head to where the wood pile should have been, then pushed himself up from the ground to walk outside to split more wood. The blade of hi father's axe had rusted slightly, but still did a decent job. Matthew clutched the handle of the axe, then carried it over to the large pile of logs. Easy swing after easy swing, he divided the round of wood into smaller pieces, then carried his work back inside the house. Small chips broke off and clung to his clothing as he laid the pile down onto the wooden floor, and were picked off to use as kindling. Two ragged stones, barely big enough to fit in the palm of Matthew's hand, sat by the front of the fireplace. He took the stones from their place, then began striking them over the kindling. Once enough sparks had been created to fully ignite the small chunks of wood, he set the stones back down and continued to aid the fire. Eventually, Matthew had successfully created a new fire.


"There," he said to himself. "This should last us until the night," he added, looking between the fireplace and stack of logs, then stood up from his knees and wiped his hands together to brush away the charcoal. Suddenly, his stomach let out an enormous growl, and Matthew could no longer deny his hunger. He quickly placed his hands over his belly, as if it were to stop the loud noise from erupting, but the sharp, biting feeling still existed. Slowly, he let out a sigh, then headed towards his room to fetch his cloak. Matthew had nope hope of finding a fresh, dead carcass in the woods that day. He quickly left the house with a coil of rope and the axe, without so much of a warning for Alana, then began searching around for proper twigs and plants to create a trap. He had never done anything like it before, but it was the first idea that had come to his mind, and the only reasonable idea for that matter.

 

[Syrenrei]

Alana curiously watched Matthew's retreat after he handed her another tankard of water and explained some people 'simply want to run.' It was a fascinating way to say, 'I'm a cowardly man who couldn't fight if my life depended on it,' which it did, but who was splitting hairs? She downed the rest of her mug in his absence. She heard him outside cutting wood if she was not mistaken, most likely to keep a fire in the hearth alive. Alana would have contributed if she thought he needed the help or if she had any real aptitude in the department. Unfortunately, most of her skills lay in self-preservation by means of death by sword. There was a notable lack of armory present so she didn't anticipate being of use in that manner immediately. Drained of precious liquid, she set the cup on the floor beside the bed as she then heard him come back inside, rummaging in another room, with stone hitting stone. Was that the sound of flint?


Her boots graced the floor, gently sliding over the surface as she contemplated expending the energy to rise. Matthew spoke aloud to himself and entered the adjacent room, fetching a few supplies before exiting the building again. Alana would freely admit she wasn't exactly the best guest in the world. Hells, she was possibly one of the least cordial people she knew. Would it have hurt for him to have given an explanation so she knew if she was supposed to lay here patiently like a sleeping princess or if he was going to bumble around furtively wishing for assistance? Alana shifted her weight slowly from her rear to her thighs before letting it extend down the aching calves and finally her feet. Every inch screamed in protest and her foggy mind lacked the clarity that those who were well-fed enjoyed.


The first step was a stumble forward. With stubborn determination she used her forward movement to correct the mistake into a more assured stride, easing herself into the dull pains that endured. With rest and water she could make do without other necessities for the time being. She glanced around as she crossed the threshold of the guest bedroom, glancing about to make certain that Matthew wasn't still there shivering in a corner or something else unseemly. Finding it vacant and her boredom surging, she opened the door to the outside and stepped into the grass with a breath of fresh hair. Mother Nature was not especially forgiving but she was beautiful nonetheless. Alana enjoyed the splendor of the sight of the woodlands for a moment before turning of her heel to try to find her errant host. How far could he have gone? What foolish endeavor did he embark onto now?


Slight paranoia seized her once more and she considered maybe he had left to find the guards that he swore wouldn't find them. No, no, that would be absurd. But could a man not have a change of heart? True he had been empathetic when it was revealed she was a hostage and adamant that he wished the war to end, but who would not trade her life for peace in their own? Cursing lightly under her breath she tried to focus on the task at hand. Sustenance. Crazy conspiracy theories could wait for nightfall.


It was then that she spotted Matthew with what appeared to be rope and an axe looking determined. "What exactly are you trying to do with that?" He had stooped to inspect some foliage with some twigs clasped in one hand. She guessed he had hatched some masterful plan after fleeing her company, but whatever their purpose was eluded to her.

 

[Chordling]

"Make a trap," he spoke in a somewhat soft manner after he spun his head around to look at Alana, then continued to gather more material. "I don't think we'll get out of town alive if we try to go back," he added, trying to clarify. "So we'll need to catch something if we don't want to die of starvation." His words were quite simple, and probably sounded incredibly dull, but there had been no other way he could think of to frame his phrase. He let out a small yelp when his finger was pricked by a large thorn, then quickly sucked away the small drop of blood that managed its way through his flesh. "Unless, of course, you would have something better to suggest."





He bent his knees far enough so he could examine the forest floor, and when he found a spot that pleased him, he made a small clearing through the leaves and debris. A small, orange salamander quickly scurried from underneath, and made its escape before Matthew could continue his rummaging. The man nearly jumped back when he saw the small creature suddenly appear, then placed a hand against his chest to relax himself. Once the clearing was big enough, he began to craft what should have resembled an animal trap. His head tilted as he tried to lean the twigs together in a box like formation, but they resisted, and fell back onto the ground. He tried again, but the arrangement fell before he could even reach for the rope to enforce it. It hadn't occurred to him that Alana was still there, probably watching him, and a light shade of red covered his cheeks. There were very few skills Matthew possessed. Trap making was not one of them.


"I apologize," he said quietly, not even looking up to see if she was even there, and tried to settle a new configuration that would, perhaps, be more stable. Configuration after configuration, the twigs and leaves crumbled back to the earth. Eventually, Matthew surrendered, and left the leaves and branches to lie on the ground. "You wouldn't happen to have any better ideas, would you?"

 

[Syrenrei]

"Oh, we'd get out alive all right. A disguise and the element of surprise and I could take out a guard easily," Alana casually remarked. There was an undertone of vengeance in her words, but more remarkable was the cold confidence in her speech. After all but affirming Matthew's fear she was dangerous, she fell into silent contemplation as she stared at his back. He was so soft. Both her elder and twin brother were akin to chiseled statues both in mentality and physical prowess. They were assertive, aggressive, confident, and commanding of the world about them. Like the generations before them and undoubtedly future generations to come, they were also bred and trained for the demanding profession laid at their feet. Even Alana's husband had been selected for the traits he possessed that the Indoheru family wanted in offspring: tall, broad shouldered, with a sturdy frame, flawless vision, and a quick wit. Certainly all three men had their own set of frustrating flaws and vices, but she had become so used to their sort of presence. It was a constant battle to step out of their respective shadows. Alana had always strove to make up for the weaknesses of her sex in terms of musculature and frame.


And then there was Matthew. He was compassionate, cowardly, and contemplative. His life was not defined by how hard he could strike an opponent with his sword, the agility with which he could dodge an incoming blow, or how intimidating he could be when faced with insurmountable odds. While there was no doubt Matthew had faced just as many (if not more) hardships as she had, passive behavior would have literally been beaten out of her. She marveled at him sincerely. A more curious facet of her personality urged her to have Matthew undress and show her what might be hidden beneath the clothing, to inspect just how much brawn he possessed- but that would be unseemly. She was married now and Matthew was 'polite company.' There was potential buried beneath to harden him into something more than a hermit, shivering in the proverbial cold from the winter of war, but it would take time and patience in spades. He had carried her to his home while being pursued and chopped wood efficiently with that axe- so there had to be some strength to utilize.


Shaking her head free of her meandering thoughts, she wandered back inside to poke around the barren kitchen. Alana surmised that to survive he'd need some manner of utensils and silverware. A quick inspection yielded a knife that she was reasonably certain would serve her purposes. Clasping the short cutting blade in one hand, she returned to Matthew's failure of manifesting a proper trap just as he spoke. "A couple ideas, since I assume you don't want to off an 'innocent' town guard. What sort of wildlife is around? The one skill I surpassed my siblings in is speed. I can likely chase down something more... robust than a lizard. We can either carve a spear out of a branch or use this by itself- unless you want me bashing something with your axe, which you seem attached to." She was cool and casually as she spoke with comfort about hunting and killing. They might as well have been talking about the weather.

 

[Chordling]

Matthew's heart jumped when he saw Alana holding the kitchen knife, it was shocking to him how intimidating a woman could look with a simple kitchen tool, but then she asked him a question. Before he spoke, he pushed himself up from the ground and patted away the extra dirt from his clothing and hands. "Usually small squirrels, chipmunks, and birds. Sometimes you can spot deer if you're lucky. There's also a river to the East," he mentioned, and pointed to the general facility where the body of water was located. "There's plenty of fish swimming around this time of the year." He stopped, then thought for a moment. Why he never thought of fishing in the river for food before he risked his life sneaking into town would remain unanswered. It was something Matthew often did, looked right past what was in front of him.


"A spear you say?" he said, then tilted his head to look up at the trees. His eyes glanced over the multitude of branches that seemed to tangle over one another like an unraveled ball of yarn as they softly swayed in the light breeze. A brief moment later, he picked a nearby tree, then began to scale its rough, wooden trunk. It was a skill he learned at the young age of nine, and thankfully still retained. He continued to climb until his hand rested on a branch about midway up the tree, and although the branch was not his initial target, it would do all the same for a spear. The branch he had originally spotted was another six feet or so up the tree. Briefly, he turned his head to look back down where Alana stood. He would need to break the stick, then have it fall to the ground. It would be impossible for him to carry it back down with him, unless he wanted to fall himself and break his neck. Matthew positioned his body so he felt balanced and secure, then began to break the thin branch. One crack, two cracks, three cracks. "Get ready!" he shouted to Alana, hoping she would just listen and catch the limber as it fell. Four cracks. "Catch!"





The twig was freed from the trunk, then tumbled through the lower layers of branches. Some of them cracked under the falling branches weight, others pushed it into awkward directions. Matthew watched for a moment as the stick continued to fall, then started his climb back down. He gasped when the cloth of his shirt was snagged by another twig from the tree, and nearly lost his balance, but quickly regained his security and freed his shirt from the tree's hold. He had fallen from high heights before, and it wasn't fun, to say the least. Matthew tried his best to avoid terrifying events like those.

 

[Syrenrei]

Squirrels, chipmunks, and birds? Her facial expression soured briefly and Alana considered that she might be doomed after all. Had Matthew saved her only for her to end up eating cute forest vermin? Not that she didn't enjoy nature on a regular basis (she did enough to put her at odds with her family who considered such love of the outdoors as eccentric)- she was just on the hedge about relying on sinewy woodland creatures as meals. The river was an entirely different matter. Fish were delicious if they were properly cooked and a body of water meant an opportunity to bathe. The last couple days had Alana unfortunately both feeling and smelling more like a man that was appropriate for a woman of her age. Refugee in the midst of a war or not, there was a certain level of hygiene to be maintained.


With some amazement and amusement, Alana watched the slightly shorter male scurry up a tree. Again she wondered how someone who had such agility and strength to climb as easily as he did retreated from battle. Surely those same physical blessings could be put to better use? Had he been recruited, however, she would have died without the intervention of clean water to drink. How absurd fate was! She drifted from the oversight of her parents and brothers to that of a husband whom she had been essentially sold to and now she was in an uneasy alliance with Matthew. Genetics made her strong and enduring, yet fate kept her under what felt like incessant supervision of the male sex. To what purpose? To watch them more easily obtain the brawn she had always yearned for? None of them had necessarily made her feel belittled for being a woman, yet their constant presence and now witness of Matthew's simple scaling of a tree.... In all her life, she'd never catch up to them and they'd always be near. It couldn't have been a female or an elderly couple that took her in, could it? No, all strapping young(ish) men as far as the eye could see.


She tried to watch but mostly listened to Matthew break off a sizable branch to be purposed as a spear. She caught the large 'twig' as it descended, although much more minor debris found her as well. Without taking time to brush it off she sat down and started to whittle an end into a sharp point. Leaves and pieces of bark littered her hair and had caught to her clothing, making her look like a mythical hobo dryad. Alana bent over the tool and cautiously shaped with more patience than she normally displayed. It needed to be narrow to be sharp, but not so much so that it was easily broken with a few stabbings. Satisfied with her handiwork, she realized that Matthew had landed safely on the ground.


"Lead the way," she said, handing him back the knife so he didn't feel completely vulnerable. Alana was still incredibly dangerous but it was beneficial to give him a false sense of security. He probably hadn't fought with brothers when he was ten and had them brandish a knife. Ahhh, the warming memories of her past. She still had a scar from when Arcden had accidentally sliced the back side of her hip while wrestling over who deserved the weapon more.

 

[Chordling]

Matthew continued to scale down the tree until he was at a comfortable height where he could jump back onto the ground, then met up with Alana, who had successfully carved a new spear at an impressive speed. He was commanded to show the path towards the river, then was handed the kitchen knife. Bluntly, he looked down at the utensil that he held in his hand, then turned to the nearest tree stump and stuck the blade of knife near the center of the wooden stub. The other for a means of protection was generous, but holding a knife would be useless, if not worse to Matthew. Having the knife in his possession would be a terrible accident waiting to happen.


With nothing more than the clothes on his back and the small coil of rope, Matthew began to lead the way. It wasn't too much of a walk, only a few miles. With any luck they would make it back to the cabin before the sun set. Although the river was away from town, Matthew still remained alert. Another traveler had nearly spotted him at the river once, just enough to place Matthew in a state of anxiety every time he wandered to the river. Soon, the earth beneath them became damp, telling Matthew that they only had just a little ways to go. Then they could hear the river bubble and splash as it flowed through the ground.


"The river is more active than I thought it would be," Matthew said once they reached the river's edge. From a short distance, they could see the waters abundant with fish. Matthew had expected the waters to be more depleted by this time of the year, especially with the war going on. He took this as a sign of luck, then began to walk closer to the bank of the river. There had been a variety of fish paddling through the river, all of them edible to his knowledge. Once he situated himself comfortably by the river, he removed his cloak, then shook it open, making sure not to scare the fish away. With swift, stealthy movements, he dipped his cloak into the water to act as a net. Often times he missed, and would have to wait for the fish to merge again, but every once in a while he would successfully catch a fish or two in his make shift net. He continued his process, and created a small pile of his catch next to him. Periodically he would dampen the dead mass of fish to make sure it wouldn't dry before they even headed home.


On one attempt to catch another round of fish, Matthew had leaned to far over the embankment, and lost his balance. Before his body could plunge into the shallow waters, the fish beneath scurried away by the presence of his shadow for safety. Matthew quickly sat up as he sat in the middle of the river, and shook away the water from his eyes. A look of surprise jolted onto his face, but quickly eased away, and he laughed. Slowly, he stood up, then squeezed the excess water from his clothing and sat in a small spot of light to dry. This fish certainly wouldn't be back anytime soon, but at leas the water had been refreshing.

 

[Syrenrei]

Alana was incredulous as Matthew plunged the offered knife into a tree stump for what she could only suppose was 'safe-keeping.' A sign of gratitude for her trust might have been nice at least. As quickly as he had stuck it into the wood she had retrieved it, flicking some errant splinters off the blade. What if they needed to sharpen her spear or manufacture a new one? Grumbling under her breath, she followed him the few miles it took to reach the river. It took sufficient time to traverse there that she had started to question its existence by the time they reached the damp earth and sound of rushing water.


On arrival she grinned to herself as her 'host' made some trite comment about the abundance of fish. Without warning she quickly stripped off her boots, breeches, and damaged blouse in quick order, leaving only her undergarments on. This was an opportunity to not just hunt dinner but to bathe as well and she'd be damned if she lost it due to some stifling sense of modesty. As he took off his cloak to use it as a makeshift net she strode in front of him and upstream just slightly, letting the cool shallow waters rush over bare feet. The knife had been left on top of the crumpled discarded clothing but the spear remained in her hand. She spotted a nearly eroded rock several meters away from Matthew and in midst of the current that looked attractive. Cautiously and carefully she made her way to the stone and balanced atop it; it was the perfect perch at which to stab at the aquatic entrees. They swam around the obstruction on both sides, blissfully unaware of her presence. Excellent.


Had it not been obvious earlier, she was several years Matthew's junior. While she was young she was certainly still and adult in height, build, and intellect. The exposed flesh now visible confirmed her age as it had no age spots, wrinkles, or other distortions that came with the passage of time. As she stood there, poised in her predatory stance, she looked akin to a proud bronze statue. The light drenched her skin in the gold that had tanned it over the years. There were a few scars that marred the otherwise appealing view: a small slash on her back right side, a longer one beneath the bust that curved strangely down her left side, and one on her right calf. Without strong illumination they were all but invisible but present nonetheless. Alana's gaze was fixated on her prey. If Matthew reacted to the sight she would remain ignorant of such.


She struck out many times. The first few were frustrating and elicited grunts of irritation. Alana had ample experience with swords but very little with polearms, especially a wooden spear. Her familiarity with them was passing and she was only skilled enough to try to adapt her agility in a novice way. Fortunately the fish were as dumb as she was inexperienced. Had they been fewer in number (and thus less clumped) she might not have had any success at all for the learning curve would have been too steep. As it was she was able to spear at many of them and toss them to the shore where they quickly perished. It was an imperfect process but she was determined to be an expert over her short stay at this forest dwelling.


The sound of Matthew splashing into the water startled her out of concentration. As the fish dispersed she sighed and shrugged- they had enough to feed them for a while from the looks of it. She tossed the spear with purposed towards the dry land and impaled it in the soft earth before stepping forward off the rock and into the rushing refreshment. It was marvelous. Twisting herself down into the bubbling water, she submerged herself completely and watched her hair ripple in long mahogany curtain, freed of the debris that had ruined its splendor. Thrusting herself back up for breath, she tossed the silken curtain back over her shoulders with obvious pleasure. The tresses- a vain indulgence she allowed herself- were her pride and joy. "I didn't think Arceivona had such nice scenery," she admitted as she slowly walked out of the river. "It almost makes me like your country even after what has transpired." She glanced down at her wrists which were slightly less swollen with the rest and washing.

 

[Chordling]

Matthew turned his head when Alana had spoken to him, but then he quickly shifted his gaze away. He had not realized earlier that she had voided herself of nearly all her clothing, and a slight shade of pink graced his cheeks. If it had been Annabelle, he would have felt differently, but this young woman was piratically a stranger. Bathing had not been a huge concern for Matthew, and if even it was, he certainly would not strip in front of new eyes.


"Yes, Arceivona is certainly beautiful," he casually replied, and turned his head to look up at the trees as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. A few white clouds slowly drifted across the sky, and the sun had been very bright, Matthew eventually needed to turn his head away. "You are from Donesthorin, then?" he asked, suddenly curious about Alana's background. He turned his head to look upon a mountain side that lined Donesthorin in the distance. It was a shame what had happened, tragic really. Despite popular belief, the princess had truly died of natural causes. Governmental representation from Donesthorin came to confirm that rumors about the princess's death was generated from the people, and not from nobility. They did their best to calm the people and contain any further rumors that had grown, but they had not succeeded. "How did you manage to cross the border without being mutilated?" he added, wondering, if she actually was from Donesthorin, how she had ended up in Arceivona.

 

[Syrenrei]

Oh, what a casual fucking question. Alana simmered and stewed as Matthew lazily sat there, admiring the landscape and enjoying the sunshine, while broaching such a painful topic. He hadn't been the one that hauled her by force, humiliating her with strength and numbers, but she needed someone to blame. The perpetrators were many miles away and she had no desire to confront them directly with massive weaponry and a battalion of allies. Contempt consumed her eyes and hardened them to a glassy golden brown that bored into his figure as she spoke. "Technically. My family has always resided on the border, but when territories were altered we became citizens of Donesthorin." The hostility in her words indicated that she had no real loyalty to her nation either; they had both created this mess that culminated in her hostage situation. Rationally she knew they were both doing what they felt was best for their people and governments, but she wanted nothing to do with their machinations. The Indoheru family thrived outside the boundaries. It was when they were pulled into the conflict more directly that everything had gone to hell.


"How did I manage to cross?" With an incredulous look and bitter laugh, she pulled the spear out of the soft earth and turned it point upwards to preserve the sharpened edge. It would be a walking implement as it had been before. With her free hand she began to toss the fish she had obtained onto Matthew's pile. Each throw became more forceful as her words painted a story that became increasingly dark and tortured. Had she the silver tongue of her sister, she might have been more delicate and thoughtful with her presentation. "I'll tell you how. Your government send a small league of soldiers to my home for the express purpose of taking me by force, in shackles, back to some hellish prison as a hostage. They encircled it in the middle of the night, barely allowed me time to dress, and then marched me across with inadequate food and water because they couldn't be bothered. Once I arrived in lovely Arceivona they started carting me like a caged animal towards what I presume is the capital."


For now Alana didn't want to divulge the methods of her escape and she assumed it really didn't matter why she was taken to Matthew. All that really mattered was that she was here now, fishing in the river in a remote part of the woods, struggling to survive with a stranger. She knelt next to the considerable pile of fish and contemplated the best method of transportation. It would take a while to fashion anything similar to a basket and neither really wanted to soil their clothing with the stink of the carcasses.


Perhaps he deserved to know more than the name "Alana." He wasn't exactly the most threatening figure and if he came to see her value he might work a little harder. Right now she relied on his compassion and empathy alone. Assuming he was a pragmatic aristocrat, he'd increase his efforts to assist her as means of self-protection. Very few nobles could say they had one of the best sell-swords in the country at their disposal. Then again, he might also presume she had the lack of conscience that her parents displayed. Alana sighed in irritation and gestured wildly with her hands though he had not provoked this outburst either. "I know what you're thinking. Why? Because I am Alana Indoheru, of the Indoheru family of extraordinary mercenaries. My elder brother and twin brother joined the Donesthorin side of the war after some coin persuasion and Arceivona didn't want to pay for their loyalty. My husband was drafted. The logical choice was to kidnap the least protected and uninvolved member to compel compliance. So here I am with no sword to speak of, being chased by incompetent guards that have had less swordplay tutoring than I did at ten, and hiding."


"We should get going before this begins to rot. If we clean and treat it, we can make it stretch out over a few days at least before it spoils." She swiped up her clothing and slipped back into her boots, but merely draped her pants and blouse over a bare shoulder. The more distance she put between herself and the river, the better chance she had of avoiding a heart-to-heart that ended with girlish tears over her shitty luck of the draw. Alana was absolutely famished and hadn't eaten all day. Food was more alluring than any further venting could ever be.

 

[Chordling]

Matthew stood up when Alana began to talk, and gathered his cloak. It was all ready wet, and held the faint smell of fish, so he began to gather the small pile of fish into his cloak. He would fold the cloak over the fish, then tie the rope around the the fabric to ensure their catch would not slip out. As he continued to listen to Alana and gather their fish, his eyebrows slowly deepened. Not only did her story sound traumatizing and depressing, but it also sounded like Matthew should have never asked her the gosh darn question. Arceivona soldiers were not trained to be pleasant, that was for sure. He opened his mouth to speak, but Alana continued, and deemed his words to be unnecessary.


Indoheru was slightly familiar to him, but he never connected it with mercenaries. Matthew had also been drafted, but he was able to escape. There was something bothering Matthew, and he wanted to know the answer to it, but he kept his mouth shut. It seemed like he all ready upset Alana enough, and didn't want to throw her rage off any further. When the last fish was placed in his cloak, he took the coil of rope, and tied it around the fabric which now acted like a sac. It would be easy to keep the fish damp with the nearby well, and with the firewood they would be able to have a nice, warm meal for a few days.


The walk back home did not seem as long as it did in the other direction, which Matthew was thankful for. He set the sac of fish down the moment he stepped back inside the wood cabin, then immediately went to tend to the fire. It had only withered slightly since their departure, and only took a few, quick breaths and an additional log to set the fire roaring once more. He wandered into the kitchen, then found a flat, stone like tab, then placed it close to the fire and began to cover it with a few fish carcasses. Within a few minutes, they would have relatively fresh fish to dine upon. He took the opportunity to dry his clothing while the fish cooked, and stood beside the fire. He let out a sigh of content as the allowed the heat of the fire to wash over him.