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Fantasy The Land Between Us

After all that vehement rambling he said nothing. As she watched him carefully gather up the fish in his cloak she stared on in disbelief. No response to all that disclosure on her part? Not that she was throwing herself a pity party or anything, but a little sympathy or empathy might have been nice. The aristocrat was so focused on his task he apparently didn't notice her shifting weight between her legs and crossing her arms in displeasure. Perhaps he didn't want to fan the flames with an inappropriate comment? Alana was quite aware that she was tempestuous and frightening at times, lacking the social graces and desire to control her passionate disposition, but a lack of communication did nothing to help smooth things over. Incensed by his silence she glared at his departing back as he began to lead her in a return trip to the cabin.


He was fleeing the conversation as surely as he had fled the guards and his call to arms.


As she strode behind him, she took more note of his physical features than before. She judged his age closer to that of her elder brother, Alex, who had turned 28 last winter. Unlike her tanned complexion with dark hair and eyes, he was more pale and fair-haired. Almost every trait she lacked he possessed and vice versa; it was eerie to the point she found herself seeking a shred of familiarity between their persons. In some ways he reminded her more of her sister than she would like- who was also a stark contrast to Alana. Anmentia was calm, patient, even-tempered, thoughtful, and wise all at once, possessing a noble beauty and grace that eluded all her relatives. Her sibling was also domestic as Matthew was proving himself to be. Never would it have occurred to Alex, Arcden, Alana, or Avery to use a net to capture fish when there was a chance to spear them was possible and none of them shied from any sort of confrontation unless necessary.


Well, that was a disturbing image. Her stare intensified as it fixated on his blonde waves and she mentally swore at herself once more. She didn't want to be the psuedo-man in this hodgepodge alliance for the new few days. Loathe as she was admit it to herself (much less vocally), she respected and enjoyed the prowess the men in her life had displayed. There was something intoxicating and respectable about a proud figure looming with a gleam of confidence and assertiveness in their eyes. A passive personality was usually only desired in woman and had created several problems for the Indoheru family. Few eligible bachelors wanted a wife that could handily disarm and disembowel them while reciting basic strategies of warfare. Her newly attained spouse was less than thrilled at Alana's demanding nature that had been manufactured by an upbringing that anticipated her becoming a hardened mercenary.


By the time they arrived back at the home she had started to grumble under her breath at the somewhat-womanly-mannered-man and reluctantly dressed now that she was mostly dry. He had avoided looking at her directly for some time and it had finally dawned on her that he was put off by the lack of clothing. The breeches were still comfortable enough, but the blouse needed urgent replacement and her wrists were beginning to lightly throb. It would be a long night. Her hair was tossed over her shoulders, slightly damp and tangled from her foray into the refreshing river. "I don't suppose you have a brush I could use, do you?" He pattered about to ready the fish for consumption, looking frustratingly domestic again, yet she was too hungry to comment. If they had to rely on her skills they would eating charred remnants of aquatic life.
 
"A what?" Matthew quickly asked as his head spun around to look at Alana. It wasn't because her words had been unclear, but purely because the idea just seemed odd to him. "No, I'm afraid not," he tried to politely add, then went into the kitchen to grab a few wooden plates and a knife. He served the fish onto the small, wooden surfaces with the flat of the blade, then offered one dish to Alana while keeping one for himself. The smell of cooked fish, not as attractive or preferred as others aromas, had filled the room if not the entire house. The knife had still been in his hand, and as quickly as he could, he sliced through the skin of the fish. Just enough so he would be able to pick the rest of the carcass off the skeleton. Once he had finished with the knife, he slid it over to Alana. It wasn't until the salty meat had met his lips when Matthew realized how hungry he truly was. He had to make an effort not to look like a barbarian in front of Alana while he picked away at the bones and meat.


Somehow he started to feel incredibly guilty about feeling sorry for himself as he remembered Alana's vent before their walk home. Matthew had made the choice to run. Alana didn't. She didn't have to run. Not until the guards came. And not only that, but her entire family seemed to be involved with the war. Matthew barely had any family to speak of, except for Annabelle. His mother and father were long dead, and only God knew the whereabouts of aunts, uncles, cousins and the like. Alana on the other hand, her brothers and husband had been placed in the war from his understanding. A terrible fate. Most soldiers that entered the war, died in the war. Matthew's curiosity drove his thoughts away from the horrors of battle to another thought. Alana appeared no older than what Annabelle could be, were she still alive, and yet the young woman was married. Matthew was at least at least a decade older than her, he had to be. Though he didn't want to sound rude, he couldn't help himself from mentioning the subject.


"Your husband you said? he asked, by this time the fish on his plate was merely a pile of bones. "I am sorry to hear that he had been drafted into the war." How those words made him sound was indefinite. Matthew was sure he looked like nothing more than a crying coward in the corner of a local bar, knowing he had purposefully escaped the war. In all honesty his words were meant to comfort Alana, though she was still a stranger. He tried to think of some other phrase that might soften his words more to potentially put their true meaning across, but nothing had come to mind, so he would simply need to wait for the young woman across from him to reply.
 
No food. No hair brush. No sword. As he went to retrieve the plates and knife from the kitchen she ran her fingers through the tangles and damp tresses momentarily, smoothing them into the more silken appeal they had. She marveled at the lack of necessities in the home once more and contemplated. Trimming the length, much less hacking it off at the jawline, was out of the question and was not even considered. Without proper care it would be a difficult stay in this already barren residence. She was at the mercy of a man who was barely scraping by even by his own standards and was subjected to subsequent poor conditions. Perhaps she'd take a fork- even if he even had one of those- and fashion it into something usable since a blade could not be as easily manufactured. For what felt like the hundredth time today she sighed.


She gladly sat with the plate of fish and was sorely tempted to simply bite into it. Etiquette gave her just enough pause to wait for the knife before she began to eat. With surgical precision she first sliced off the head and then the tail before cutting off the top and bottom fins. Next she pressed it flat on the wooden surface and quickly gutted the creature before extracting the spine and setting it to the side. It was less her familiarity with cooking as it was with anatomy in general. Alana was relatively confident she could find a way to butcher or devour just about any animal they caught here in the wild- just not well enough to make a profession or even an appealing dinner. With her meal now in a more easily consumed state she wolfed it down as quickly as possible. The patience she had exhibited earlier was tossed aside as ravenous hunger seized hold. He was barely halfway through when she finished as a point of fact. Fleeting nausea confirmed the hasty indulgence was excessive, especially since it had been hours upon hours since the soldiers had 'gifted' her with stale bread.


Matthew apparently decided that now he belatedly wanted to make conversation. At first she was confused why he was broaching the subject of her husband rather than her brothers. She had considerably more affection for her siblings than her new spouse given the relative time spent with each. It slowly dawned on her. He thought she had married for love as many had opportunity to do. "It's an arranged marriage." The reason for her marital situation was widely known by those familiar with the family; she had been advertised for in select circles and several suitors had been courted. "When my brother Arcden and I turned eighteen, it became clear he'd be a mercenary like they expected and I was... uncooperative with their ideals. Their hope was to wed me to someone compatible so I'd at least create a strong line with desirable traits." Her voice was cool and calm, practical and monotone with reason. She approached the delicate subject of marriage with the same blunt candor as she had her physical prowess and ability to easily kill animals and people alike.


Truth be told, Alana had been forced to give up on the fantasies that Anmentia was still allowed. The brutality of humanity had been laid out plainly for viewing for as long as she could remember. Was she jaded? Certainly to some degree. While other girls were given dolls, night time stories of princesses, and rode on the shoulders of their fathers, she was being schooled in warfare, melee, and intimidation. Some things had stuck with her, implanted by forceful repetition, while others slid off harmlessly. Compassion and empathy were worthless in a profession based on services for coin recompense. Cold impartiality was expected in commerce of all sorts. As unfeeling as she appeared on the surface, turmoil of a woman who stubbornly held to her emotions raged beneath. Her expression flickered through a variety of emotions before she shook her head slowly. "He was a citizen of Donesthorin through and through. I had started to come to like him, but he didn't have the training of an Indoheru and is likely to be dead." She swallowed hard and stood, taking her plate over to the sink or other washing apparatus in an attempt to both clean and dismiss the topic from her mind.


"I expect after a little time the guards will have forgotten us- or at least not be able to afford to waste resources seeking out our refuge. Once it's safe I'll be out of your hair." That same hair that clearly hadn't seen a brush in many months at least, now that she had seen it more closely during their conversation. Who didn't have a freaking hair brush? Quietly she considered that either one or both of her brothers would be infuriated once they discovered she had been kidnapped. It'd be months before they'd happen upon this little hut- at best- but they'd still take the risk regardless. Riahne might also be dispatched. As unwanted as she was for a mercenary, she was still valuable for 'breeding.' "They'll probably wed me again once I return again," she murmured to herself barely above a whisper. Alex and Arcden would seek her due to their strong bond, but she was too proud and independent to burden them by living with either. The widow would move back home and quickly be 'auctioned' back to the best bidder.
 
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Matthew absentmindedly fiddled with the thin spine of the carcass as he listened to Alana's words. His head nodded slightly as she mentioned the fact that it was an arranged marriage, an idea that wasn't foreign to him, but it was much more common for people in Arceivona to wed for love. What did seem odd to him was the reason why the Indoheru family had married off their daughter. In many cases, it had to deal with money, be it gaining or maintaining a wealth status. This new idea to fortify a strong bloodline caused Matthew's eyebrows to fold as he contemplated. No matter how many times he tried to rationalize, the concept still seemed rather barbaric to him. His own mother and father wed for love, that was for sure. If Matthew recalled correctly, high society seldom lived in secluded, wood cabins. At least, it would be easy to assume that. Had they been trying to breed a strong line of wood cutters, their plan definitely did not run the course as expected.


His ears strained to pick up the last part of what Alana had said, but they couldn't catch a word. Matthew figured the personal side note wasn't too important to their conversation, and decided it would be best not to bother asking her what it had been. He released the fish spine back onto the wooden plate from the tips of his fingers, causing smaller sections of bone to break off and roll around as it hit the small surface. Though his hunger was satisfied, he truly wished to consume another serving, but resisted the urge as he thought of Alana and the time they had ahead of them. They would need to spare as much food as possible. Rich fishing opportunities like the one they had encountered today would not be plentiful, at least in Matthew's head. It had been a surprise to him that there had been so many fish. His thoughts began to drift, and he wondered what other environmental changes the world would experience from the unnecessary war.


"It can't be said many will survive after the war," he spoke once his attention was slowly brought back to Alana. "Though, do not discredit your husband so soon. There are probably manner others who have not received your kind of training, and will live to see the light of day." He mostly related his words to himself. Never in his life had he ever held a weapon against another man, but he still managed to run to safety. Here she was, explaining her family culture, and practically claiming her own husband dead. Sure, Alana's husband would be experiencing harsher conditions, but Matthew still thought it wasn't fair to swiftly make those kinds of assumptions. "And please, do not feel as if you are a bother, or some other form of burden to me. There's plenty of room in this space to share. I am not asking you stay, but I will not ask you to leave either." The cabin was originally built for a small family. Matthew recalled his father telling him how he and his mother crafted their very home from the trees that surrounded them. Every time he looked around, memories of when he was little swarmed his thoughts. It was strange, after all those years, he never expected to see this place again. When Annabelle had been taken, Matthew believed he would spend the rest of his time alone. But with the new stranger around, perhaps it wouldn't need to be the case after all.
 
While she appreciated the effort Matthew put into attempting to reassure her, it did little to abate her fears. It was a kind gesture presuming that Alana had an emotional attachment to her husband despite the nature of the relationship. Her husband was a friend, so she was concerned, but at the same time that was all he was to her. As few friends as she had she knew she should value them more highly, but there was a certain awareness of the death in the world that made her cautious. Sometimes the Indoherus were little more than well-paid hitmen and that constant exposure to lethal violence always braced her for a loss. Of course she still kicked, thrashed, and screamed against the current, gulping for the refreshing air of life and compassion. It was a difficult battle even within herself. "That is nice of you to say, but I stopped receiving his letters a few weeks ago. He has more physical prowess than many other men but I must accept the likelihood is either dead or maimed." She made a dismissive gesture as if swatting away an unseen manifestation of the topic.


As he commented about her ability to stay for a potentially infinite period of time she was slightly startled by the offer. One could only assume someone living this solitary must enjoy it to endure it for so long- or he was a bigger coward than imagined. It was good to know she had options. Alana would rather return home, even despite the controlling nature of the elder Indoherus, if only to enjoy some familiarity and stability. For a fleeting moment she considered what it would be like if she did stay until the war's end. He sat there, completely complacent, passive, and relaxed... doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. Alana was a person of passion and action! How long could she tolerate an existence filled with such absolute boredom? Even if she could fall into this catatonic pace there was still the issue of having no blade, no food, no outside contact, no brush, and no other clothing.


Colour drained from her visage as she stared out a window pane and contemplated. Even for the immediate future there was nothing to do except to sit and talk in hopes it would make time pass more quickly. Matthew was efficient in his unintentional quest to discover what few things in the world Alana truly feared. "I'm sure you've already checked yourself, but I am going to do a survey of the immediate area for edible roots and weeds, nuts, spices, that sort of thing. Perhaps I'll see some other wild game while I'm out. Did you want to... stay here?" It would not be long before it was dark but she not sit idly. Even if she was still weak and the walk would be in vain, it was still better than heading back to the bed. And, though she did not voice it, the woman hoped that a guard had pierced the forest and drawn close enough she could ambush him for armour and a sword. Those supplies would not fill her belly but they would give her the ability to venture out into more hostile grounds to secure various sundries.
 
She had just asked him if he would have liked to remain indoors during her travels through the woods when his head turned to look beside him, and noted the condition of the woodpile; non existent. "Yes, I am fine staying here," he began as he turned his head to face her. "I need to make more firewood anyway. Are you sure you'll be okay?" he finished with concern. Alana was new to the vast and wild area, and she also did not appear to be in her best condition. Matthew knew he wasn't exactly responsible for Alana, but he wouldn't be able to help himself if something bad did happen to her, as silly as it might sound. He was mostly concerned about her getting lost more than anything. It seemed to Matthew that she was perfectly capable of fending for herself, probably more so than he was. Loosing one's direction in these forests would not be particularly pleasant. It had happened to Matthew once, when he was just a kid. He had been playing hide and seek with his father during the afternoon. It wasn't until the evening when his father realized that his son had lost his way, and went in search of him. Long after the sky had turned dark, Matthew's mother found the young child curled beneath a tall pine tree.


It was easy to say that Matthew's favorite game had no longer been hide and seek. Of course, now that would be ironic to say. He practically had been doing so with a bunch of townspeople and inferior soldiers. When he compared the two situations in his thoughts, Matthew was almost sure he would rather go back in time and curl underneath the very tree his mother had found him under. He gave the comparison a second thought, and was sure he would rather do just that. Arceivona and Donesthorin would be at peace, people wouldn't be suffering, and his mother and father would be alive. Annabelle had not been born at that time, still yet to be conceived, but the status of her presence did not make much difference in either scenario. She was absent either way.
 
"I'll be fine," Alana reassured with a dismissive wave. She knew he was just showing concern for her condition and unfamiliarity with the surrounding area. It was entirely valid if not slightly injurious to her pride. Her stomach still rumbled and protested the lack of sustenance, her wrists were sore and tender, her legs were beginning to burn from prior exertion, and the 'nap' from earlier was not sufficient rest. Still, she could not sit her like a complacent housewife watching the sun fall from the the sky and nocturnal creatures rise from their beds. Alana would rather suffer outside than lounge about inside.


Without waiting for further approval, she snatched up her spear and what looked to be a relatively clean bucket to gather things in. She was out the door in less then a minute. It was not that she wanted to get away from Matthew precisely. When night finally fell she would be completely blind to finding her way back 'home.' Alana wanted to make the most out of the daylight left. She ventured into the thick wood and quickly found herself lost figuratively and literally in the quest for edible items. The home was long out of sight before long as she made a vaguely circular walk, scrutinizing the terrain for signs of both wildlife and flora.


Despite her incredibly confrontational and sometimes condescending tendencies, she did not find Matthew inept. He had survived on his own this long without anyone else's assistance. Even if he had stolen from the closest town he did so by his own abilities- stealth, speed, trickery, deception, whatever it might be. It was hard to believe that he was completely learned in living off the land, being a noble, but she would also expect he wouldn't have the skills to survive stealing or disguising himself for purchases. Alana gave him the benefit of the doubt. The Indoherus had only given her the bare essentials of survival training in the event a mercenary job sent her into unfavorable conditions. Most of what she had learned was through exploration and experimentation in her 'free time.' Twice she had ingested poisonous items (a mushroom and berry) and after that she had studied what could be consumed and what could not. She was glad that in this way she might be slightly more useful without a sword in hand.


In the time before dusk she found a few things that had been overlooked or not discovered by Matthew. There was a colony of mushrooms under a tree that were not exactly fine dining but would be tasty paired with something else. One tree had blossoms whose petals could be ground into a delicious seasoning for cooking. She spotted a couple trees with sap that she collected on a few large leaves and rolled to add as a sort of syrup to one of their meals. There were also some weeds and grasses that would assist in digestion added to the bucket that she had used on more than one occasion to calm her stomach. No obvious berries were laying about (as she suspected) but there were several acorns she was able to locate. No one in their right mind wanted to spend time on acorns when they had so many easier, better options- but time was something Alana had in spades. Numerous acorns were dumped in to be soaked in water later and then possibly roasted.


As she was inspecting the underside of a log for edible insects it belatedly dawned on Alana how incredibly dark it was quickly becoming. She glanced around and immediately cursed her foolishness. The trees offered no guidance or clues as to where she was in relation to the cabin. The woman was relatively confident she hadn't gone that far, but to wander off in the wrong direction could spell disaster for ever finding Matthew again. Hopefully his feminine traits would mean he would have impulses to be as nagging as stubborn as her mother proved to be. With a sigh of aggravation she kicked the ground.
 
Matthew pushed himself up from the floor after Alana had dismissed herself. It seemed rather eager and antsy, but in the ignorant sense. From the little he knew about the young woman, she seemed rather fit and adventurous. It would be unfair to say she had left so hastily purely because she wished to leave his company. The surrounding woods were beautiful, no doubt about it. If Matthew had any better reason than desire, he would have traveled through the scenic environment as well. Not long after Alana's departure, Matthew made his way to the side of the cabin, and lifted the axe from its peaceful position. Before he began his work, he held the weapon between his hands to examine the flat of the blade. It intrigued him how much the edge had dulled over the years, and slightly impressive. He was thankful that it was still able to chop, though probably not as well as years past. Still, at least they had had axe. It worried him that the axe would become too dull at some point, but he figured if it took this long for the blade to become this flat, they wouldn't need to worry for some time.


A medium sized pile, though rather old and untouched, still sat beside the wooden house. His eyes settled on a large, round piece of wood, then was lifted with ease. Once the log had been situated on the earth, Matthew began his work. Slowly the blade of the axe arched over Matthew's head, then swung down onto the surface of the pale wood, creating a rather shallow dent in it's surface. Another swing was given, furthering the depth of the dent, and ultimately causing the wood to split. Eventually the circular piece of wood was portioned into smaller pieces that would be much easier to run a fire. No doubt, the wood had aged incredibly. The pile of uncut wood that was placed beside the cabin quickly dwindled to a new pile of freshly cut timber. It surprised him that he was able to finish the task so quickly. Matthew couldn't remember the last time he had chopped through an entire pile of wood. Usually a large effort like this required him to strip off several layers of clothing to prevent the heavy cloth from sticking to his skin.


While this new pile was sufficient in size, Matthew wasn't convinced it would last them for very long. The wood was softer than usual, or at least softer than if it had been truly fresh. With each load that was carried in, the wood only felt softer and softer, as if the wood was deteriorating right before Matthew's eyes. He threw one of the logs onto the previously existing fire, and watched as the timber was consumed by the hot flames. This only proved the wood's dying quality, and Matthew decided it would be wise to seek newer wood. As he headed back outdoors, he ventured through the woods in search of a rip tree. There hadn't been many viable suspects, so when Matthew felt like he had spent enough time looking, he stood below a rather tall tree he felt would aid them best. Matthew suddenly remembered it wasn't quite tree picking season. He recalled the times he and his mother would go out with a basket of thin rope, and they would go out to mark all of the fresh trees for his father to cut down. It would be at least a few more weeks until more fresh trees would be available. With the conditioned he and Alana faced, however, Matthew wasn't willing to wait.


This time the axe hacked away at the bark of the tree from Matthew's waist. Slowly and surely, the wood began to chip away from the base of the tree, swing after swing after swing. Matthew suddenly became very focused in his task, and didn't notice the small pools of sweat form on his forehead and back. It had taken him much longer to make the same amount of progress with the tree than he had with the pile of wood, which frustrated him slightly. He had barely scraped past the thick layer of bark, and felt it necessary to stop a moment. As he placed his weight upon the handle of the axe for support, his breath heavily panted, for clean air. Matthew tilted his up towards the sky to gain a sense of the time, but a gray, layer of clouds had blocked his view from most of the light. He let out a sigh of annoyance through is noisy heaving, and couldn't decide if it was wiser to keep cutting or head back home. Then he wondered if Alana had all ready returned from her small expedition, and whether she knew where he had ventured off to. For the sake of his guest, he lifted the axe from the ground and placed it over his shoulder, then started making his way back to the cabin.


Casually, he placed the axe against the side of the house on his return, and directed himself to go inside. Matthew expected Alana to be inside the cabin all ready, but after sweeping through the small area several times, she was not to be found. The blonde male stepped back outside, and he tilted his head to gaze at the rather angry looking cloud formation. Not only was Alana missing, but it appeared that a storm would be heading their way. Matthew nearly swore under his breath as he began to panic that the worst had happened. She had wandered out through a foreign woodland, without any form or weaponry or protection, and would eventually be stuck out there in a horrific storm. Alana could have been attacked by a large creature, ambushed, then taken away for an evening meal, or even worse. She could have traveled back to the town to reveal Matthew's hiding location and sent out a band of warriors to hunt him down. Either scenario made Matthew's stomach churn, and there was a sense of obligation growing inside of him. He had to go back out and find Alana. Suddenly, a bright flash split the sky, then was followed by a deep rumble and a light shower of rain. Matthew instantly began his trek back into the woods to find the young woman, praying she was alive, and praying she was still nearby.
 
Alana cursed as the rain poured down from the sky. The trees helped to shield her from the onslaught of water but she was less concerned about herself than she was of her bucket of gathered edible products. Thinking quickly she stripped off her damaged blouse and draped it over the bucket- this would mean that the liquid water that saturated the garment would mostly drip off the edges that hung over the sides of the bucket. It was not the perfect solution but it was the beginnings of one. She then snatched several large leaves and arranged them over the top to create a more resilient layer or protection. The cooler night weather made her shiver and the chilling rain plastered her hair to her neck, shoulders, and back. Wonderful. Half of the reason she had been excited for their earlier excursion to the river was to bathe- and now the heavens saw fit to reward her for that effort by drenching her clothes.


Precipitation wasn't usually much of a bother, be it rain, sleet, snow, hail, or some mix therein. She was almost always prepared with something to protect her from the elements and even when she was not it was but a mild annoyance. Alana could endure the little inconvenience. It was the peal of thunder that made her heart palpitate and her skin crawl. Such a proud woman was reluctant to say something as trite as she was afraid of a thunderstorm. They just made her a little understandably nervous, that's all. It was easy to be apathetic to changes in weather until you had lightning strike dangerously close and have its accompanying thunder reverberate through the ground. Furthermore, there was little that could be done to escape the fury of mother nature. The bolts of destruction would strike whenever they wanted, wherever they wanted, with the triumphant heralding of thunder to resonate for miles.


When Alana was young, her twin brother Arcden would comfort her. He knew that they had been conditioned to not show any sort of vulnerability yet this was a somewhat irrational fear that could not be controlled. Sometimes she would burrow into his bed and cover herself in the blankets so there was no visual confirmation of the storm and the noise was muffled. He would stay there for hours, reading a book serenely and making excuses to their parents as to why they were unavailable: studying, not feeling well, or the like. Of course their mother and father both knew the real reason for this withdrawal but it was much more taxing to try to challenge the headstrong pair than to work around it.


She was determined not to be weak in front of womanly Matthew. No matter how pleasant he was he had not earned her trust. Balling her fists and flexing various muscles throughout her body, she tried to calm her breathing. The first flash and rumbling had unsettled her but not thrown her into a blind panic- perhaps this would be the day she conquered this silly reaction. As resolve built within her she felt her confidence soar slowly. This was well within her grasp today...


And then there a second flash and peal of thunder. Alana barely contained her scream as she fell to the ground, shut her eyes, and covered her ears to block out the monstrosity.
 
The rain continued to drench the earth beneath Matthew's feet, making it that more difficult for him to speed through the woodland terrain. Another flash of lightning appeared, followed by a threatening boom. "Alana!" he tried to scream over the noisy pattering of the water. His feet were completely veiled in mud, and the loose clothing he wore clung to his frame. The dirt spurted and bubbled beneath his anxious pace as he continued with his search. Suddenly his body lurched forward, then was pulled back, and was forced into a puddle of muck as a twig snatched onto a flap of material from his shirt. He swore under his as he tried to push himself up, then fell back down again as he was startled by an unexpected roar of thunder. His second attempt to rise from the earth was successful, but left Matthew completely covered with wet, heavy clay. Despite this awful condition, he resumed his search, and wildly spun around to see if Alana was anywhere nearby.


She was not.


"Alana!" he shouted again, and before he could release another scream, a bolt of bright lightning crossed the cloud covered sky, and was proceeded by another loud boom. Panic was easily visible on the young man's face, but it still didn't stop him. Rain still heavily cascaded from the thick, gray sky, doing very little to wash away the mud and clay that still covered Matthew's attire as he continued to run and slip through the woods. His hair was no longer in their usual blond and wavy condition, but appeared dirty and rough instead from his efforts to find the young woman. He paused briefly to catch his breath, and took the moment to look about the area for any signs of Alana. A foot print, a lock of hair, drops of precious flesh, anything. None of these signs were present, which only meant for Matthew to continue deeper in the woods.


This had greatly concerned Matthew, and he was beginning to think that Alana had abandoned him, and headed straight to town to rat him out. He began to pity himself for trusting the stranger. The nearest town wasn't too far from where he stood, and with the given time that had passed, she would have been able to make it into town and then some. Guards were probably all ready on the look out for him, ready to suit him up in whatever it was they called armor and place him on the battle field. Even with these negative thoughts in his mind, Matthew continued his search. His hopes were beginning to shrink, but they hadn't become low enough for him to seize. He called her name out once more, and strained his ears to catch any possible response through the loud pattering of the rain and obnoxious thunder.


He began to swear under his breath when he still made no progress. Not even a single clue. This woman could have been anywhere by then. Matthew's pace was beginning to slow, but not due to fatigue, but from his declining confidence. He was frustrated, and at the verge of forfeit. The young man stopped once more and swiveled his head to look about. The rain had not lightened since he left the cabin, it most likely had increased if anything. Matthew was beginning to feel lost as to what to do next when he failed to spot Alana. He looked about once more, trying to convince himself that he must have scanned over her figure, though it would have been a hard one to miss. There weren't too many woman he knew of who naturally possessed a broad, muscular form as she did.


Another burst of lighting lit the area, and something caught Matthew's eye, a shadow perhaps. Matthew blinked away the water from his eyes, and focused his attention on the area once more as another flash of lighting made its way across the sky. Matthew's feet quickly began to carry him over to the newly discovered shadow at the start of a loud boom. He brushed past hanging twigs and branches that threatened to snag onto his clothing again, and steadied his stride on the flooded ground. "Hey!" he shouted, trying to catch the character's attention as he continued to approach. It was clear to Matthew now that he had found the person he was in search for, and all of his worries were lifted. There had been no more than three yards in between them, when Matthew's view of Alana was blocked by a rather close shred of light. Anxiety filled him again, and he fell backwards into the mud. A loud crack filled the sky, then Matthew lifted himself from the puddle and tried to regain his focus. Once his gaze had resettled on Alana, he continued his approach. "Come on, let's get the Hell out of here!" Another loud boom echoed through the woods, and the rainfall seemed to increase.
 
As Matthew had been trudging in her direction, seeking her with declining hope, she had remained huddled in the same position assumed earlier. The earth beneath her had become muddy but, as she was at the base of the tree and the dirt was compacted on top of roots, it remained stable compared to the rest of the landscape. Paralyzed by the crippling anxiety over the thundering booms and the brilliant flashes she could do nothing except try to mitigate their impact. Her eyelids lightened when they were subjected to the lightening bolted and illuminated the darkened forest. Her fingers could not drown out the rumbling echoes that exploded throughout the lands. There was no escape for her at this moment no matter how desperately she wanted it.


In her distress Alana had completely forgotten about the existence of Matthew or anyone else for that matter. Had she realized that someone was seeking her to help guide from this dilemma it may have been sufficient to compel her to not withdraw so completely. As it was she did not hear the "Hey" lobbied in her direction nor did she see the male covered in muck that advanced towards her. His second utterance spoken loudly and with more urgency to depart was almost missed as well... but his proximity had made it just audible over the other noise. The female mercenary cautiously opened her eyes and looked for the source. Was it a hallucination, a manifestation of her desire to be found, to be rescued, to be led away?


Matthew. Alana stared blankly at him as her fingers slowly relaxed and dropped from their place over her ears. The digits ached from the tense pressure funneled through them and the skin directly over her ears was red with irritation at the strength utilized to try to mask incoming sound. Numb and confused she was completely unresponsive until another clap startled from her sitting position. She leapt to her feet, grabbed her precious bucket of edibles (which were not yet ruined by the copious rainfall) and had a temporary lapse of judgment. He was no longer an Arceivona coward that beckoned her. Matthew for that instant was genderless, faceless, and nameless- an entity that was a savior from this hellish situation. The wooden container was clutched by her left hand and with her right she clasped at Matthew for comfort, not having the presence of mind to realize it might be strange or inappropriate. Even had she recognized it was it was unlikely to change her course of action. Physical reassurance, no matter how minimal, was necessary to give her the courage required to trek back to the cabin.
 
That one moment. The feeling of Alana's hand taking grasp to his alleviated Matthew from all of his apprehension. A small smile flickered over his expression, and he began to guide Alana back through the woods. It never truly occurred to him that she held an irrational fear towards thunderstorms. His mind could only relate to the frightening reality of being lost in the woods. Matthew truly believed all of Alana's distress had been from that one cause, until a loud rumble broke out with threatening cries, and caused the young woman beside him to jump. Both of his hands were placed over her shoulders for comfort, and he muttered something in her ear. "You're gonna be fine, we just have to keep going." It was very natural for Matthew to attempt to comfort Alana. In a strange sense, the young woman reminded him of his younger sister. He never remembered her being frightened by the presence of lighting and thunder, but there had been other situations he recalled where he had to sooth Annabelle's nerves.


Matthew did his best to navigate their way back to the cabin. The continuous rain and dark sky hindered his efforts, and there had been several moments where Matthew had to regain his bearings. It was almost a little embarrassing. Matthew had spent much of his time roaming these woods as a child, and yet he struggled to find their desired destination. There had been many years between his departure and arrival, this had been true, but his mind would not allow the long absence to suffice as an excuse. He still held Alana close to him, and comforted her whenever a strike of lighting or roar of thunder appeared. A sudden sense of relief washed over him when he spotted the corner of the cabin's roof in the distance. His paced picked up, and he quickly ushered Alana towards the shelter.


With Alana still huddled close by, he reached to open the door once they had finally arrived at the cabin. The port was opened, and a look of shock stuck itself onto Matthew's face. The fire had only kindled moments ago was completely drowned in a thick layer of water. The woodpile that laid next to it now floated upon the water's surface throughout the house. Matthew pushed away the small moment of panic, and looked to Alana as the storm raged behind them. "I need your help to cover the windows, do you think you can do that?" he desperately asked. Alana had to push past her fear of the storm. Matthew knew he wouldn't have been able to salvage the cabin by himself.
 
Alana loathed herself between the crackling lightning and booming thunder that made the forest trembling like a frightened child. It was a shameful disgrace to be reduced to such a pitiful state but yet each time she could not help but pale in response. In her bouts of overwhelming anxiety she stumbled and hesitated, shivering in her own paranoia; yet after each she recovered long enough to take a few solid, assertive, and aggressive strides as if she did not need Matthew at all. It was a strange pace that showed the fractures in her mind. Had she not known what awaited them at the end of the journey she may have collapsed halfway through. The little log cabin was an haven in the midst of this nightmare. When her eyes clenched shut she tried to picture the sparkling oasis.


Not that Matthew wasn't positively radiant in his role of motherly-womanly comforting. Arcden was empathetic and felt quite a good deal for his twin but he had a very different feel. He was tall, broad shouldered, and hard like a marble statue instead of a human being. It took a great deal to elicit any sort of strong emotions out of his person and he was more of a quiet-presence sort of soothing. Alex was not around enough to provide 'protection' against storms, Anmentia was frail and a sympathetic crier, and Avery was very young. This was a new experience and twice as strange to come from an older male. Once they were free of the fury of nature she might quietly applaud this vaguely maternal instinct.


Disappointment was rampant when they finally reached the much-anticipated domicile. It looked stalwart enough from the outside but their first step past the threshold revealed it was cold, dark, and flooded. Misery incarnate was stalking Alana today. Alex and Anmentia had once told her that there was a natural balance of things; that good tidings would often be followed by disasters to match. Matthew also stared at the travesty in abject horror before asking her to cover the windows. She wanted to retreat from the weather so, as jittery as she was with each jolt outside, she nodded. It had to be done. If done correctly, she could minimize what they saw of the flashes at the very minimum- a direct benefit to her psyche. Reluctantly letting go of Matthew, Alana set her waterlogged bucket down and dove into the darkness that was the kitchen.


It occurred to the young woman they needed a quick fix to this issue. It had not escaped her attention that most, if not all, of the construction of the residence was wooden. They could not destroy anything important but yet whatever wooden implement they used as a barricade would certainly be damaged. What was expendable and of minimal importance? Cupboard doors. They were an imperfect solution but they could stand to have open cabinets if necessity demanded it. Hell, maybe once the war was all over Mr. Aristocrat would get fancier ones. It was the only option she could conjure in these anxiety-ridden moments and so she set to work. Using one of the duller knives left behind unscrew a hinge, she dashed over to the nearest window and wedged it into the opening, angling and using whatever was nearby to try to make it fit.
 
The moment Alana had rushed off through the growing flood, Matthew scrambled his way through the house to find the bucket he used to collect water for Alana when they first arrived. It occurred to him that all of the other rooms in the house were beginning to flood, so he did what he could to block as much of the water from the cracks beneath the doorways with cloth like materials, then resumed his task to bail out the wood cabin.


Matthew had been making a decent amount of progress, given they only had one available bucket that was barely the size of his own head, and how fast the water had been coming in despite Alana's hard efforts to barricade the windows. He briefly turned his head in her direction to see how she had been coming along, but then he felt his foot slip beneath him, and he tumbled backwards into the shallow depths of the flooding. Matthew's balance had become a victim of one of the stray logs that had been sitting beside the fireplace before the rain came. He shook away the shock and quickly picked himself up, then reached from the bucket before it could float away.


This routine continued under heavy determination. So heavy in fact, Matthew didn't even notice when the rainfall started to lighten. His mind was too set on salvaging the only shelter he practically had. It had finally come to Matthew's attention that the weather had lifted when the amount of water in each bail he attempted to remove noticeably decreased. Relief crashed over him, but his mind still refused to stop. Even the whereabouts or actions of his guest did not occupy his thoughts. Bail after bail after bail until the last amount of bailable water had been removed. Matthew's feet collapsed beneath him, and he sprawled himself on the damp, wooden floor as he allowed a sigh of relief to escape.
 
Alana had spent what felt like an eternity wedging the cupboards into the windows at strange angles and in bizarre alignments to get them to (mostly) block the water. It was soothing to have the extra barrier between her and the raging storm but it also felt cruelly destructive. What if these had some sort of history? Matthew had not instructed her anything was off limits and keeping the residence preserved and mostly intact was the larger goal... but it still felt wrong. Once she had finished she began to pace through the kitchen as her male peer kept bailing with such intense focus and fervor it was clear he did not see her. She was worried about the furious force of nature that pounded on the domicile, she was concerned about her method of barricading the windows, and she was anxious about making it through the night.


Oh, she almost wished Matthew had let her expire out in that horrible forest! What shame she had to be rescued twice by the corwardly woman-man! Her juvenile fear had been exposed to him, rubbing salt into the open wound of her pride. What had she to show for enduring all these troubles? No blade, no brush, very little food, no change of clothes, covered in filth, in a nation that hated her, hunted by the army, widowed within mere months of wedding, and soaked to the bone. Her dignity was sand that fell through her fingers no matter how desperately she clung to it. Consciously she knew the storm was making her this frustrated and bleak but there was nothing she could do but channel despair. Alana covered her ears with her hands and her fingers dug into the flesh of her scalp as it failed to properly drown out the horrific noise.


Fatigue slowly started to overcome her. The tensed muscles, already worn from early in the day, screamed for relief and started to shake uncontrollably. While Matthew continued to bail she paced and considered what her options were. Retiring to a bedroom was enticing but she disliked the idea of being alone. If the man had already witnessed her panic it did her little good to try to hide it now. No, she felt safer with anyone nearby- so she retrieved a blanket from the spare bedroom, wrapped it tightly around her for warmth, and curled up in one of the chairs. The warrior was convinced that she was merely taking precautions if she fell asleep rather than when. As the rain abated, and the thunder became more distant, she fell forward onto the table in extreme exhaustion.


Her blouse was still soaked and draped over her bucket of consumables gathered earlier. Her hair was a damp, filthy, knotted mess that would take the better part of an hour to detangle with her fingers if it dried. She was frightened and cold. The gnawing hunger of earlier had returned with her exertion but she was too mentally worn to even consider cooking. Still, even as existence itself seemed to continually punished her, she was determined not to be left alone. As she drifted into the deep realm of dreams and nearly comatose slumber, she remained minimally aware of the presence of Matthew- and would jerk awake if he departed from the proximity he held. Training as a mercenary meant she could awake and be alert at the first sign of danger. To her, right now, her irrational thoughts labeled solitude as such.
 
It seemed like Matthew's chores for the day had come to an end, but then a sudden chill spread over his body and he turned to look at the fireplace. Of course, the area was damp, and much of the wood he had just cut had been soaked during the storm. Rain still continued to lightly shower outside, just enough to keep the two of them under shelter, and any wood that was sitting beside the cabin was worse off than the smaller selection scattered across the floor. Alana had all ready passed out in one of the chairs with a wool blanket wrapped around her body when Matthew finally picked himself up from the floor, and he began to make some decisions.


Starting a new fire would be a lost cause, no matter, he still gathered the logs among the house and neatly placed them back in their original position. This time they had been spread apart more, to give them the opportunity to dry. Matthew had been thankful that the water did not reach the bedrooms as extensively as the main part of the house when he opened each of the doors to check on their condition. He turned his head over to Alana as he stood beneath the doorway to his own room, and contemplated. Sleeping in a chair, especially a wooden chair, was not the most comfortable position one could be in. Particularly after the climax of a never ending thunder storm. For a moment he thought of waking her up, then directing her to the guest room, but decided against it. Instead he picked up her large frame from the chair, just as he did the first time they encountered one another in the forest, and brought her over to the bed in the guest room.


Matthew made his way over to his own room once he knew Alana was properly settled, then shut the door behind him. His own mind slipped from reality the moment his head rested upon the old mattress, and he was consumed by a deep sleep.


In the Morning

The sunlight pushed its way into the tiny space provided in Matthew's room, causing him to break from his slumber. He sat up from his lying position, stretched his long arms, then gave off a great yawn. This had been followed by a rudely abrupt gurgling from his stomach. Quickly, Matthew placed his hands over the source, as if it would muffle the brief interruption. He remembered the catch they still had from the other day, but wondered if the logs were dry enough to light. This had reminded him of something a family friend had taught him once. Matthew should have seen the storm coming. It was no wonder now why there had been such an abundance of fish in the river earlier that day, something that usually occurred on warm days before a storm hit.


To his relief, the rain had stopped, and the floor was not nearly as wet as it had been the previous evening. He walked over to each of the windows and removed Alana's barricades to let in more of the sun. Matthew was unsure how badly the water would damage the condition of the house, but felt that the faster the floors had dried, the better off they would be. During this process, his ears picked up on an unusual sound, and he almost thought of boarding the windows up again. Just briefly, he curved his head around the opening of the window to catch a glimpse of any abnormalities. He was only able to catch sight of a carriage before a wash of panic punched his face back inside the cabin. It wasn't clear to Matthew who the carriage belonged to, it could have been anyone. Carefully he placed the unhinged cupboard door onto the floor, then quickly sneaked across the floor to fetch Alana.
 
Alana was still fast asleep as small rays of sunshine peeked through the edges of her blockaded window. It was not the dim room that had kept her asleep so effectively but rather a collaboration of smaller factors. She had not particularly slept the night prior and her 'nap' the afternoon before was not sufficient to 'make up' for what was lost and expended. Her meals had been limited to one and her body struggled, flailing against the hunger, and finally resigned itself to slumber as an alternative to eating. Lack of fuel encouraged lethargy. Added to all of that was overwhelming anxiety that made every muscle in her frame tense constantly and screaming with aching pain and the cold plague of water that had soaked her to the bone. Despite the circumstances she had waken a few times in the dark to cocoon herself more firmly in the blanket for warmth and comfort. No real consciousness had taken hold in these fleeting moments so she did not notice the interruptions.


When Matthew entered the room, however, her body rebelled against its sluggish desires. It had been so trained and honed to be on the alert for threats that it took the soft sounds of his entrance to the room and approach as a signal. Alana roused suddenly, sitting up with her eyes slightly glazed over but focused, a hand under her pillow. Until recently she kept a blade under her pillow... and under her bed frame for good measure if there was opportunity. It was her natural response to waking and not indicative of Matthew specifically being a threat. He might perceive the reaction differently.


Rubbing an eye, she blinked away the remnants of bleary vision and searched his visage questioningly for explanation. For what purpose had he denied her more rest? Had enough time passed he thought it might be a grim sort of eternal rest? Was he making breakfast and wanted to be a good mothering-man-Matthew to let her know same? No, he had crept in here else the noise would have woken her even sooner than it did in his approach. With narrowed eyes she pulled the blanket up over her torso. While she was not ashamed of her body in any way, she was without a blouse temporarily and men had certain urges that made them act aggressive and peculiar. Alana assumed even this man had certain lusty temptations in his life. Perhaps that was presumptuous given his more domestic interests and mannerisms? Would Arcden's bare chest be more appealing to him? Alana quickly slid to her feet and clutched the fabric as if it would offer some protection she rationally knew it would not.
 
Matthew had finally reached the room where Alana had been resting. He realized his intrusion was rather rude, and he would have apologized, but now was not the time. Though it may have sounded silly, a mysterious carriage was sitting right outside of the cabin, a place Matthew believe was impossible to locate. Chances were the freight was completely harmless, and it was just a lost traveler, but Matthew didn't want to take any chances.


"Don't get any ideas," Matthew breathed as he speculated Alana's narrow glare, still remaining relatively low to the ground. He sighed as he started to think of the best way to explain the current situation to the younger woman that wouldn't sound completely ridiculous, and as he was about to open his mouth when he finished his thinking, there was a knock at the door. Matthew froze and took a deep breath to rid of the anxiety that was beginning to overcome him. "The fact that someone is at the door is not good," he tried to get his point across, still keeping his voice at a soft volume.


"Hello, is there anyone in here?" the knocker shouted as he banged on the wooden door again. The trespasser's voice was muffled by the thick, wooden walls, and sounded fatigued.


A multitude of irrational thoughts began to swarm Matthew's mind. Perhaps Alana had been going to town, but got lost on her way. Maybe someone had spotted her while she was trekking through the woods, and reported their location to city guards. "Are you sure you weren't spotted by anyone last night?" Matthew eagerly asked.


Another knock was heard by the door. "Hello? Did I hear somebody?" and they knocked again, causing Matthew to flinch. "Please, open up!"





The knocking continued, and Matthew felt like there was no other way he could explain their potentially dangerous situation. He prayed that Alana would be able to process what was happening from the loud knocks and his worried expression.
 
Well, the cat was out of the proverbial bag. Her eyes flickered to the door as she heard what was presumably a merchant on the other side of the only entrance and exit of the small building they tentatively called "home." Several scenarios flitted through her mind as she considered how best to confront this unusual predicament. Typically she'd be standing proudly, with a sword to compel compliance, when approached by a traveler of the lands. "I wasn't followed," she hissed in response at his query, obviously annoyed. Being reminded of her earlier weakness was not a way to earn a way into her good graces- if there was such a thing. It was also an offensive suggestion given that he was the one who initially led guards to her hideout in the trees. The nerve! Obviously his cowardly panic was seizing hold and it would not be long until he was either quivering in the corner or suggesting a course of action that would make her pride churn with disgust.


"Follow my lead and... forget it, just hide," she instructed in a whisper before standing and stripping off her boots and breeches. It was a scandalous appearance (especially with her hair still tousled from her prior evening) but that was exactly she was going for. It was dangerous enough that their cabin was located, but to try to ignore the traveler was even more so. If he left now, it was not inconceivable he might tell others about the curious little cabin he found in the woods. Any soldiers with half a brain could deduce the missing pair was utilizing such a residence and thus a search would be done for the structure in earnest. If he didn't leave, he could easily force his way through the front door and discover them or cause further issues. Would he escape and report them? Would they be forced to kill him to keep their secret? This had to be spun in a more beneficial way.


Alana was horrible at persuasion without a threat of violence and she wasn't especially skilled at lying. What she was good at, however, was misdirection, omitting pertinent information, and making implications that weren't necessarily true. Softly approaching the entrance to the abode, she slowly opened the door halfway and gazed at the traveler outside. It was just enough for him to portray a certain scene to the man; a woman cautiously opening the door but not 'brave' enough to open it all the way. Alana assumed that he would not be intimately familiar with the Indoheru family and know her face. Disheveled, dirty, and barely clothed, his imagination no doubt made assumptions and painted in the gaps. Her hesitance to welcome him was not due to malevolence but due to the tragedy that befell such a damsel in distress.


"You aren't here with... guards, are you? They are not... virtuous men," she asked and explained, peering over his shoulder with alarm. Alana expected that he would not have any with him but it was prudent to check and prepare herself for the contingency. This encounter would play out in one of two ways: he would himself be compromised my lust and give her a good reason to attack or he would be disgusted at her implications he was associated with those she implied might be rapists. What else could explain a female hidden in the wilderness (with no threat of conscription), lacking modest dress, and filthy as if she had been fighting in the mud?


In either case, a scantily clad figure usually enticed men to be a little more negotiable. Whether it was lust or chivalry they positively lost their minds at the sight of a little skin. That was fine- there should be a price for a mitigated ability to build muscle. Alana would exploit whatever means necessary to guarantee her survival so long as it was not a morally bankrupt decision.
 
Matthew's praying was deemed successful as she spat at him with her response and began taking her own course of action. This surprised the young man, so much so that it made him forget his past sense of fear. He watched, settled low to the ground under the doorway of what he considered the guest room, holding his breath as Alana barely opened the door to the wooden cabin. He had assumed that Alana's strength wasn't worth anything unless she carried some sort of weapon with her. This theory had been proven from the day they ran away together, but Matthew and the wandering merchant were about to learn much differently.


The merchant tilted his head through the crack of the door to achieve a better look at Alana. His eyes were wide and brown, and they opened in shock when they finally caught sight of Alana's face. It may have seemed sexist, but he expected to meet another man at the door, not a deranged woman. "Guards? Out here? You're kidding, right?" he spoke through the door. "Where is here, anyway? I don't even know which nation I'm in! Arceivona, Donesthorin?" he continued to rave. "I don't have the slightest where I am, so I don't have the slightest idea where any guards would be!" The man realized he was beginning to loose control of his temper, and took a deep breath. "Look, I am just trying to find a place to stay."





Matthew allowed himself to relax slightly when he overheard the conversation. The guards were not present, but it still wasn't good that this merchant had located their cabin.


"I would just need to stay for the night. I lost my way in the storm last night. You were there for that, right? Nasty as Hell. Thunder and lightning just everywhere! I nearly got struck, but it hit a tree instead. The tree caught fire, though I imagine the rain was able to extinguish it. Didn't stay long enough to watch!" he continued to ramble.
 
Alana was inwardly conflicted. It would be much easier for her and Matthew if this guy turned into a violent asshole; then she would feel morally justified in defending herself by beating him to a pulp. Instead of being threatening, however, he was just a rambling lunatic that was testing her patience with each growing minute. It was quite tempting to try to explain to herself how throttling him and stealing his merchandise was not completely reprehensible... but the fact of the matter was that she had been married off because she had a certain moral code. How could she abandon it now? She would loose a foothold in defining her very sense of self and make the entire departure from her profession as a mercenary be for naught. Sadly this would be a much more complex situation than she had anticipated. Curse these glints of virtue encased beneath her abrasive exterior!


It would be more difficult to hide Matthew if she let this man into the house (ignoring the fact that it wasn't hers to begin with). Conflicted on the best course of action Alana briefly hesitated before realizing that her empathy endangered them all. It gave her remorse and stayed her hand from exacting lethal violence but she couldn't let it turn her into a pacifist. What could be done? Allowing him inside would force her to confide part of the situation, probably in the form of a lie, and hope he made the right choice when he reached town and would graciously donate his supplies. Buying his silence might be easy but freight was another matter- especially when as far as she knew they lacked coin. Regrettably more acting was required on her part. After his speech she opened the door slightly as if considering letting him and spoke once more. "My husband was drafted and some soldiers took advantage of my vulnerability and took me from my home. The war... has made some men do terrible things. If I help you, you must promise not to tell them..." she started. It was completely honest, just not divulging all the necessary details for him to derive the whole truth. Before he could offer assurances or inquire she purposefully enlarged her eyes and looked past him to some completely boring tree. Channeling her fear from the night prior she displayed an alarmingly convincing show of quivering and pointed behind him, drawing his attention. "They followed you!" she yelled.


And then, as the poor imbecile turned his head to look, she slammed his head against the door frame. The force wasn't as potent as one of her brothers but that was for the best- she meant to render him unconscious only, not split his melon in two. After the merchant crumpled to the ground she checked his breathing, pulse, and eyes to make certain she had been as efficient as intended. Alana was satisfied with her efforts but it was impossible to predict exactly how long he'd be out. She also would prefer not to be a murderer so they needed to get his carriage headed towards some form of civilization after it was relieved of certain goods. When he woke he'd be disoriented enough that he wouldn't recall if there were guards/soldiers or not or how they attacked him. No, what would linger was that he happened upon a scared woman that was being chased by sinister, vulgar, basic creatures. It'd at least give him pause before trying to disclose where she was hidden and Matthew would remain unknown.


"There's not really any guards," she called out to Matthew just in case he was fooled by her ruse. "We'll need to take what we want from his carriage quickly, load him up, and set it off in a direction as fast as possible. Should be able to hide the tracks with a little effort and that lump on his head will have him doubting befriending soldiers for a bit."
 
It seemed that things were proceeding in a good manner. This man appeared to be innocent enough to Matthew, and there were no signs of the guards. He must have been a merchant of some sort, gathered from the small carriage that sat just outside the cabin. Matthew suddenly became curious, if they had let the supposed merchant in, would they be willing to share supplies? He shook the idea out of his head, fearing it would be too risky. They would need to know for sure this man was a merchant, and not some impostor.


Then it almost looked like Alana had hesitated in a brief moment of thinking before she had spoken, causing Matthew's anxiety to spike again. Had she placed herself in a position where she would not be able to handle herself? Were Matthew's assumptions about the young lad's strengths true? He restrained himself from jumping to her aid, and internally began to pray, hoping his trust had not been misplaced.


Matthew nearly choke, and he wanted to drag her away from the doorway and save both of their lives from any false actions that could have followed. Then she yelled, and Matthew could hear his blood pumping through his veins. All of his previous assumptions had been foiled, and he all ready regretted his last action of self control. Matthew started to plan an escape route that wouldn't require using the one and only available door, but this process was interrupted when he heard a large clunk against the frame of the door, and a low grunt emitted from the stranger. Had the guards caught up to them all ready? Were they after Alana now? Would they come after him too? Matthew's paranoia deepened, preventing him to move from his position.


His anxiety had become so strong, he did not believe Alana's words at first, but the realization eventually came. He walked over to Alana's side with a serious expression, "Don't use that trick ever again," then he turned his head toward the carriage. It surprised Matthew that the horse attached to the carriage had not been startled by Alana's assault on its owner, though he was thankful. He understood they would need to move quickly, due to the unpredictable nature of the man's unconscious state. Matthew approached the wooden freight, then hoisted himself onto the back, and examined any sacs and chests he could access.


Some of the chests had been locked, and would either have to be broken or pick locked. They had no time for either of those actions, so Matthew simply had to settle for the few items he could gather from the other packages. Most of them had been empty, probably consumed during the merchant's travels through the night. He was, however, able to find a few pieces of fresh fruit, raw animal hides, and a hunting knife. He held the small weapon in his hand, and gently ran his thumb near the edge. "You ever use one of these?" he spoke after he turned his head about to face Alana, wherever she had been, and showed her the blade.
 
Alana noticed the delay in Matthew coming to the door; probably scared out of his mind. His cowardice was confirmed by his stern instruction not to use the same trick again and she merely rolled her eyes. No matter how inconvenient and frightening it was for the older man, it was extremely effective. "Sorry your grace, but I was trying to make sure when he woke up his suspicion would fall on them instead of me." As he made his way towards the unattended carriage she slipped her arms under the shoulders of the merchant and struggled to drag him towards it. A few curses were whispered under her breath about her brothers and their ability to make such a task look easy- as well as their absence. She would have to rely on Matthew to help her lift the unconscious male into the carriage when they had relieved it of all the merchandise they needed.


"I've used all sorts of blades, even simple hunting knives, more than you probably want to know. It will come in handy for self-defense among other things." She smiled at the steed still affixed to the carriage and stroked his forehead and muzzle, scratching lightly. While she was no expert in horsemanship she could certainly appreciate all the work and importance of a horse. Had there been an opportunity to take the creature as well as the items they needed she would have seized it in an instant. A horse was less demanding and confusing than people. This one had no ulterior motives besides that of eating, resting, possibly mating, and pleasing its master(s). If only life were so simple for the rest of them! Complexities of her existence had been more taxing than wondrous or liberating as of late.


Turning her attention to the merchant once more, she crouched down and began to gingerly dig through his pockets. There was a coin purse, as expected, a ring of keys, a sliver of metal with a slight hook on the end usually used for picking at food stuck between teeth, a writing tool that looked like it had been lightly gnawed on, a vial of ink, a slightly water-logged notebook, and (most importantly) a used comb. Alana preferred a brush but she couldn't afford to be picky and thus she took the metal sliver, comb, keys, and coin purse, tossing the latter to towards Matthew as she approached him in the carriage. She had little clothing on so there was nothing to tuck her newly attained plunder into. "Don't suppose he has any clothes in there, does he? I figure we can unload most of it here, put him back on the carriage, and you can drive it to the edge of the forest while I follow behind and cover the tracks? Pass me the knife- I think I have an idea to make this even more convincing." Alana's grin grew into that of confidence and mischief. If they were committed to this ploy then she would make certain it was as flawless as her limited talents would allow.
 
An confused expression, one that could have easily been mistaken for fear, passed over Matthew's visage as he carefully passed the knife to Alana. "I'm still looking around," he said as he ducked his head into the carriage once more. There had been a few more salvageable pieces of food, more tools which he placed under Alana's possession, and other miscellaneous objects that were not worth to bother with. "Still not running into any clothes," he muttered, thinking the woman was becoming anxious, maybe even frustrated. After all, he had given her the newly found stash of weapons. It would be for his own good to keep his companion under good terms from now on. Though he had never seen the way she used a knife before, other than the time at the river, he did not wish to see or become an example after the way she passionately spoke about her past with blades and other various weapons.


Eventually Matthew was able to find a set of clothing that would potentially fit Alana's muscular frame. He tossed the two piece outfit to her, one part after the other, then continued his ransack through the carriage. His search did not result in a significant amount of useful items, mostly small cases of food or materials. Matthew had decided to end his investigation early, but then he heard a high clinking noise. It seemed to come from a small compartment located in the far back of the carriage. Matthew had to twist his wrist around in order to reach his hand through the back, then placed his hand around the smooth object. A small grin appeared on his lips, and he let off a light laugh. Carefully, he grabbed one of the secluded items from the back, and twisted his hand around once more to retrieve it.


"I don't suppose you drink yet, do you?" he spoke with a wide grin as he showed a bottle of ale to Alana. There had been more in the same compartment, and Matthew was determined to gather the rest of them. He decided to be a little kind, and left one bottle for the merchant when he came out of his sleep. Matthew jumped off the back of the carriage with the new stash of items, then set placed them safely inside the cabin. He assisted Alana to secure the unconscious man onto the wagon, then situated himself near beside the horse after he threw on his cloak. Though they only planned to travel to the edge of the forest, Matthew was still paranoid. If this stranger was able to make it this deep into the woods, Matthew wouldn't have been surprised if others had done the same.


Whenever Alana was ready, Matthew started to guide the horse towards the farthest edge of the forest. It took a brief moment to urge the animal along, but they eventually started to make great progress. He couldn't help but wonder what Alana had planned to do with the knife once they abandoned the merchant in the woods.
 
As soon as the clothes were discovered by Matthew, she eagerly tossed aside the knife and other tools that had just been handed to her. The garments were not precisely the right size but they were forgiving enough that she could wear them with the comfort and protection that was needed- not to mention modesty. The slacks were tailored for a more masculine form and there was a noticeable gap at the waist, yet it was snug enough on her hips that they would stay on without the need for a belt. Her new shirt was likewise fashioned for someone of a less feminine physique and thus was tight on the bust and loose about her midsection and shoulders. It was not flattering but it served her purposes. Alana was also fairly certain from the way that Matthew behaved he wouldn't have noticed if she was wearing a potato sack and there were no others around. Who was there to impress?


She retreated back into the cabin to deposit the tools and put her boots back on before reappearing back at the side of the carriage carrying only two items: the comb and the knife. Matthew had discovered some liquor in the freight (though she was too ignorant of alcohol to tell what sort) and queried if she drank yet. "I've only had it a couple times with my brother," she answered. The first had been when the twins, during a tantrum, had declared themselves adult enough to partake in the beverage like their parents. Arcden had stolen some of the prized liquid from a locked cabinet and the two 10-year-olds had downed a glass each before declaring it disgusting and putting it back. The second time had been the evening before her wedding and was a hazy recollection at best. Arcden had been somewhat distraught about the ceremony and her marriage to a veritable stranger and had gotten horribly drunk. She remembered getting violently ill from trying to match him shot for shot and the next morning had woken in her bed with clean clothes and a throbbing headache. Needless to say, liquor had lost some of its allure that day.


Alana patiently watched and waited as Matthew took the bottles into the cabin with the most happiness and excitement she had seen him express yet. She had snatched some fruit from the merchant's supplies and was indulging herself before the man could chastise her about saving supplies. Perhaps he could go an entire twenty-four hours with only one fish to eat, but Alana needed more substance. As he urged the horse forward towards a distant edge of the forest she finished demolishing a slightly overripe apple down to its core, leaving only the stem and seeds untouched.


Their travel was made in silence as neither apparently had the desire for conversation. The mercenary was chatty enough on her own, but she had been told multiple times she was difficult to get along with and overly brash. It seemed a poor decision to strike up a chat that might ostracize the bizarre coward even more than he already was. Besides her social disadvantages, she didn't believe that they had any common interests worth a discussion. She had seen the look in his eyes when she mad passing commentary on the manner in which she was raised and trained- it was strange to him and a little frightening. Alana did not blame Matthew- as normal as it was to her, she knew for society it was alarming. Instead she focused on a more mundane and fulfilling task of combing her hair. It was far from the pristine clean condition that she would prefer, but the knots that were forming were the most concerning. With her fingers she gently pulled apart tangles, combing through with her digits, before utilizing the comb itself to more completely manage the tresses. She started from the bottom and gradually worked her way up the considerable length of rippling mahogany towards her scalp.


By the time they reached the edge of the forest only half of her hair had been successfully 'brushed.' It was a far cry from what Matthew had observed the day prior: thick, silken, and trimmed to a uniform length, it flowed like a rippling curtain with her movements. In some ways it was a strange source of pride for such a brazen, strong woman for it was undoubtedly more feminine and beautiful than she was. A few tendrils slipped over the blade as she pulled it as if to highlight the dichotomy of Alana: sharp and soft, compassionate and ruthless, patient and rash. She slashed the wood with the implement in broad, angry strokes to make the following words on the exterior of the carriage: "FOR ARCEIVONA." It convincingly looked like the strokes of a blade of a soldier claiming this freight for his country.


"That ought to do it, or should I add something else?"
 
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