"Bataar..."

He could hear someone calling his name, but as he ran through the streets of Jerusalem, he couldn't help but ignore it. There were hundreds, thousands of helmed Templarians tearing through the streets, their calls and their snarls to one another sounding more and more like hungry, loathing beasts. The world around him was monochrome, only the blood that flowed from every villager, every man, woman and child, as well as those hideous crosses on the knights' armor the only color he was able to see.

"Bataar..."

The voice was growing more urgent, and as he looked back, the near miss of a sword whistled through the air, causing his body to pitch forward as much as it could, before he was tearing up the steps, slicing through two, who broke apart and screamed as they disappeared into the roiling black clouded sky. He was panicking, the blood on his blades and the wound in his side so... painfully... real?

"Bataar!"

Voice would scream, and suddenly he was falling, and he felt the masses of the knights' bodies beginning to suffocate him. He tried to scream but he couldn't, his voice muffled by the weight of those horribly armored things! However, a quick, violent shake would rip him from his dreams, and he would arise from those crimson bedsheets, flesh glistening with a cold, horrified sweat. He was panting, screaming, clutching his chest, almost as if a blade had jammed straight through it, tears ripping down his cheeks, before he finally realized he was in his own bed. Musayed was at his side almost immediately, hazel orbs, unnatural for his race, gazing down at his friend in concern. Almost in a frantic gesture, Bataar nearly threw the male away from him, panting and dragging himself to a window, to throw it open and thrust his head out, inhaling roughly...

As if he was drowning...

His room was dead silent for a moment, before he heard his friend sigh.

"The blood loss will cause vivid dreams, and horrid nightmares... It did the same to me... But you also need to relax, my friend. It is the best way to heal, after all." He chuckled and brought his hand around to touch his friend on the shoulder, and Bataar twisted around, clutching that wounded, marked hand like an injured child.

"This isn't normal..." He whimpered shakily, trying so desperately to keep his voice from wavering, forcing back another wave of pitiful sniffles before he straightened himself up. "It's not right."

"Well did you actually do what the master said and cleaned your wound?" Musayed asked, crossing his arms. His cocked head and almost foxen expression enough to show the younger assassin that was indeed knowledgeable of Bataar's neglect.

"... No..."

"Well then there you go. Come, we need to clean it at some point."

"But it h-"

"Oh stop whining already, you're acting like a child." Hand shot out to grab the young man by the wrist, male's own hand marked with the same insignia as he.

A missing ring finger.

"Besides, if you don't clean it, we're going to have to cut off your whole arm, and you don't want that, do you?" The look on Bataar's face was enough to send Musayed into another fit of chuckles. "By Allah, don't show your emotions on your face at all."

Water was drawn, and the kettle was placed upon some hot coals, obvious remainders of a dying fire, while Musayed readied a pumice rock, lathering it with a cleansing herb. Taking the wounded hand in his own, he examined the recently amputated finger, before tutting his tongue. It was already sutured and cauterized, and as he began to massage the scarred and scabbed flesh around it, Bataar winced gently, though couldn't admit that it actually felt almost relieving. Even with such a simple method, the itching was already dying down, and the young man was already seeming to relax.

"Musayed..." He mumbled for a moment, and the older male looked up. "I keep seeing the men that the Master always talks about..." Dipping his head down, he rubbed his temple with the good hand, before leaning forward to press his forehead against his friend's.

"I know... but they are just nightmares, my friend... " He purred, before kissing Bataar on the cheek, fox-like smile present on his face. "Besides, the Master won't care if you're hand hurts... tomorrow is your first mission, a small one of course, but one nonetheless. You don't want to die just because you were distracted..." He sounded almost like a father, stern and curt, before he wrapped his arms around his shoulders, sending Bataar into a fit of shivers. "Besides... tomorrow's the day you prove that Altair's blood runs through you..."

Musayed would lean back, and the boy that was in his arms was taken with him, both falling upon the bed, with Bataar letting out a soft gentle 'oof' before glaring up at his friend with a rather indignant glimmer. However, after a long while, it was obvious that Musayed's words had somewhat calmed him, and he'd close his eyes with a gentle sigh, before letting his hand lift up, flicking the older one on the nose, before smirking.

"Of course it is..."