The dry, baron land was rough against my knees as I bent down and hid behind a pile of large boulders. My breathing was even; after hiding for so long from FEAR and their shadow men, I learnt how to control my shallow, scared gasps, and make myself as silent as I could. I pulled out my flask, unscrewing the lid and holding it up to my mouth, I felt the small drops of water instantly refresh my cracked lips, before holding the flask up and letting the cool water fill my mouth and run down my throat. I made myself stop, knowing I'd need to savor it until I could get access to the river where I had to refill, and I didn't know how long that would be.
I froze when a dark figure stepped in front of the sun. I saw the shadows cast over the boulders I was behind and from the shape I knew it was one of the shadow men. They're always looking for rogues. I've come across them before, and just made it out several times. They'll either imprison you, injure you, or kill you. I stopped a chill threatening to run up my spine and kept my cool, sinking further into the crevices of the rocks to conceal myself. Even in the hot, desert sun, the presence the shadow men brought with them when they were around was cold and dark.
When the shadow didn't leave, I feared it knew I was here, so I pushed back against the pile. The boulders scratching against my bare skin as I willed myself to press further out of sight. I didn't utter a sound and eventually the shadow moved, retreating away. I found the guts to peer around and just caught a glimpse of the shadow man's black robe being whipped around by a breeze before he vanished in to thin air. I had to make sure the coast was clear, I had to get back to my usual camping place before night came or I would freeze. The dry lands get very cold at night. I think it's because at night, darkness reigns and the shadow men are most powerful, camouflaged even, and the cold presence spreads throughout the lands.
As I poked my head out further from my hiding place and looked out at the scene behind the boulders I could see just what I expected. Dry, empty land that spread for miles. The air above the ground wavered and flickered, indicating the heat radiating from the dirt. Just as I stood up and had a clearer view, I noticed something unfamiliar and black lying to the side, not far from where I was. Ducking my head in fear, I waited a moment before realizing there's no way they couldn't have seen me and if it hadn't come after me, it couldn't be a threat. I gingerly rose to a standing stance again and got a better look at what it was.
I saw a man. Lying on the ground. He was decked out in black denim pants with many belts and pockets, holding knives and a flask, much like my own. He was scruffy and his leather jacket laid open, showing me his wound in full view. My eyes widened and in a moment of instinct I ran out to the man and knelt by his side, conscious that I was now in open land and vulnerable. But I put that thought to the back of my mind, knowing this area had just been patrolled, and thought only of the man in front of me who must have just been inured by the shadow man as the wound was fresh, and blood dripped over his hip.
He had not been severely injured, though he was passed out, and with no supplies, laying here left wounded he would most likely catch infection and I assume that was the shadow man's intentions. I dropped some water over his wound and over my rag, washing off dust and dirt before I balled it up and pressed it to his hip, applying pressure and hoping to stop the blood flow quick, so I could move him to a safer place.
A moan escaped the man's lips as I made contact with his body. He coughed and spluttered for a moment, trying to raise his head, trying to get a glimpse of the person kneeling beside him.
"Shh" I cooed. He blinked at me and settled his head back down. He must have taken a blow to the head because a wound on his hip would not have knocked him unconscious or left him woozy. He must have put up a fight, and I thought I could make out a red mark around his eye, which would most likely form into a bruise. It was then that I finally got a good look at his face.
When he put his head back down, in a gesture that said he trusted me - I hoped, his messy jet black hair fell away from his face. His pale skin radiated beauty, despite the scuff marks and dirt across his neck and cheeks. His lips were pink and cracked, so I held one hand on my rag over his hip, and with the other slowly poured some more water from my flask into his mouth. I encouraged him to drink by putting the rim of the flask to his lips, to which he responded and I sighed with relief.
His eyes opened briefly again and I almost forgot my name when his blue orbs looked up at me. They shined bright, full of life, despite how his form may say otherwise. Regardless, he was beautiful. I had to tell myself to stay focused and remind myself of my name. Violet Frost, you can do this. Help this man I thought to myself, urging myself on. I gently put my hand across his forehead.
"How do you feel?" I whispered. You never knew if you were being watched.
His eyes twinkled in the fading sunlight, searching mine, like he was trying to figure me out.
"Winded" he croaked. I took his answer into consideration, knowing it would probably be best for him to sit, if not stand up, if he felt winded, but then that would be hard given his hip wound, and I wasn't certain of the condition his head was in.
"Okay, I'm going to slowly sit you up. Is that okay?" I kept my voice calm, hoping to reassure him. He didn't looked scared, he seemed to be dealing well. In fact, I would say he looked like a seasoned warrior, even if his face told me he was no older than early twenties.
I slid my arm under his body and across his upper back, sharing his weight as he pulled himself up. Once straight I immediately put pressure back on his wound and he winced.
"I need to clean it" I said, feeling shy suddenly. Even sitting down his body seemed to tower over mine.
"I understand."
"Do you need more water?" I asked. He shook his head, and closed his eyes. He lifted a hand to his face, probably feeling up the damage around his left eye. I went back to surveying his cut.
I lifted away my rag which was covered in his blood, but I was glad to see the blood flowing from his skin was no longer a major threat. I looked at the deep cut carefully, surrounded by sore, red skin, and pondered. It was no where near as bad as it should be. Either the shadow man was getting sloppy or this man put up quite a fight indeed. I suspected it was the latter.
I found a clean part of the rag and soaked it in water, then went to work dabbing and softly rubbing at his skin and anything around the area that looked dirty and could lead to infection.
After a short while I was able to coax him up and get him to more safety. I found the ruins of a building and took shelter there. I could tell it was once part of a town because I noticed and small stream running parallel to us. Having a stream or small river running through the middle of civilizations was common in old towns.
I settled the man down in a corner and shivered as a breeze blew in. The sun had almost set so I knew we were lucky to find shelter when we had. We would have to brace the cold tonight. I'm sure I could find some old blankets or rags to block the chill of the night. But before that, we needed water, so I took his flask out of his belt and held it with mine, telling him to keep pressure on his wound still and not to make any sudden movements. I'd told him I'd be back shortly.
As I ventured out of the ruins and towards the stream, constantly looking for any enemies, I thought about what had just happened. It's not often I run into other rogues like me. Unless I find some, much like the man, who have been left injured or on their deathbed. And I'm always happy to help. Like how others are labelled, I'm called the Healer. It's run in my family for years, decades even. From my ancestors, to each woman in my family tree under the name Frost, and down to me. When my family was captured by FEAR, I fled. My parents had begged me to get out. When we found an opening, a slight opportunity for me to make it out of the prison, they had pushed me, quite literally, so I had to keep moving forward to freedom or risk hesitating or going back and getting caught.
Obviously freedom is a relative term. But I'd still pick being out here to being in there. I constantly thought of my parents, how they were coping. If they were still alive. It's not a thought I liked to dwell on, so before I could let it run any further in my mind, I screwed on the lids of the flasks and started making my way back, wiping those thoughts away.
As I neared, I heard voices floating across the breeze on the other side of the ruins. I panicked and froze. Who could that be? Surely not more shadow men now? I heard the man I had helped groan and the voices headed that way. For a moment I wondered whether I should run in and help him, but I'd be no use. I'm a Healer, no fighter. And I'd bet that this man was a better fighter than me even in his state.
"Oh there you are!" I heard a relieved, feminine voice say. I looked around the arch entrance and saw a man and a woman, both handsome and beautiful, respectively. They approached the man with no caution and knelt by his side. I wondered if they were working for FEAR. Civilians who are imprisoned are given a choice to work for FEAR, or stay in prison. If you choose to work, betrayal is a crime sentenced to death, so deciding to work for them was not a decision taken lightly. Most choose to stay in prison, locked up. It's the honorable thing to do. Those who take the other road are considered to betray their people, are often referred to as traitors. I wondered if these people were traitors and had come to collect the man, but their affectionate attitude towards him struck those thoughts down.
"We must get him back to the rest of the legion" the other man told the woman, then turned to his friend. "We've been worried about you" he said with more tenderness.
I caught a glimpse of the new man's jacket, which had white writing across the back. It was worn down a bit, but even from this distance it was hard to miss the word 'Destroyer'. I gasped, and then ducked my head away, not wanting to be seen. Destroyer? As in one of the Five? Surely that's not real? I thought they were myths, stories my mother used to tell me. Uplifting tales of five men, who would rule the legions when our land was taken from us by evil. The legion of black, they were called. Our land was taken away long ago, and over the years the evil had grown stronger, and our people were dying out, however I still believed they were just stories. I never thought the myth was true. Five men would rise up to leadership and carry out a rebellion. The leaders of the Wild Ones. Which was the story name for what I call rogues.
Still in shock and now confused, I looked back and saw the man and woman helping the other man out of the ruins and away from me. He seemed to have blacked out again. I watched them turn their backs to me. I was still staring longingly at the Destroyer, wondering if it were true, when I saw 'Prophet' scrawled across the leather jacket of the man I helped. I could practically feel my eyes bug out of my head.
A seasoned warrior, indeed I thought to myself. I just helped a man of legend, the Prophet.