Rhys hung his basket from the crook of his elbow, listening to the path crunch underfoot. His herb supply was sorely lacking, and while it wasn't a priority to restock right now, he felt much more comfortable when they were easily accessible at home.
His mother worried, of course, every time he went into the woods. But he promised not to venture far, and he knew exactly where the herbs grew. Rhys coughed, then wiped the sweat from his forehead. He prayed to Ashera that his warmth was from the outside temperature, not that he was getting sick again.
He crouched by the side of the path, plucking at the herbs for closer examination, and was startled when the ground began to rumble. Rhys could feel the horse's approach before he saw it. He stared wide-eyed at the regal-looking beast, glistening white with sweat . . . and headed straight for him. He shrieked, dodging from its path.
A voice was spilling obscenities, quite angrily, and he opted to conceal himself behind a bush. "Dastard, thinking you can escape me!" The horse whinnied loudly as it got caught in a bramble, instantly immobilized. Rhys peeked through the bush and was surprised to see—and hear—a woman controlling the animal. Her white armor glinted in the dull light and a long, red braid hung down her back. It didn't take long to see who she was pursuing—a bandit appeared, proudly circling her captive horse. He grinned a wicked snarl. Rhys shrunk down further, clutching the herb basket to his chest.
"Blasted wench. Think yer better than me?" The horse struggled, tangling herself further, and the rider slung an arm around the animal's neck to regain balance. Rhys gasped, then clapped both hands over his mouth. Luckily, there was too much commotion for him to be heard. He sighed in relief when she pulled herself upright, but she dropped her axe in the process. He looked around, but there was no way he could help. Rhys carried no weapon, and the bandit was close enough that he could see the tattered hem of his pants through the bush.
The bandit grunted as he hurled his axe at the rider, but she didn't have enough mobility to dodge. It embedded in her shoulder plate, and the blood gushed from beneath her armor. He heard a howl of pain, but it certainly wasn't feminine. He inched closer to the scene and was face-to-face with the dead bandit, an arrow sticking straight up between the eyes. Rhys whimpered and clutched his stomach, resisting the urge to be sick, as he rushed to the woman's side.
"Miss? Miss! Are you all right?" She lied face-down atop the horse, unconscious, arms slung lifelessly over the sides. The axe had caused more damage than he thought: Ribbons of blood oozed from beneath her armor, a puddle pooling in the dirt. Rhys squeezed his eyes shut, twisting his hands together, praying for the dizziness to pass. So much blood…
"Titania!" A frantic voice burst from down the path, followed by the sound of clunking through the woods. "Blast it! Titania!"
Rhys opened his eyes, but not before he was shoved out of the way. He landed hard on the ground, a lifeless hand cushioning his fall. He yelped and scrambled away from the body.
"Sorry, pal." A man in blue armor offered him a hand—he gladly accepted—while a hard-faced, ponytailed man yanked the brambles away from the horse's legs. "My friend here didn't mean to shove you."
The ponytailed man muttered a string of curses, pulling at the reins once she was free. He reached up to place a firm hand on the woman's back. "Gatrie. We need to get her to base. Now."
Rhys cleared his throat; his voice was weak when he spoke. "My village isn't far from here," he said. "I- I'm a healer. I can help."
The blue-armored man turned to him, an unexpected smile on his face. "Must be our lucky day! Lead the way, my man."
The two men stood on either side of the horse, steadying the woman—Titania, he assumed—as Rhys led the way. The horse seemed to sense their anxiety, pulling the men into a slow jog as she followed Rhys into the village. He kept on glancing back at Titania, his chest constricting every time he saw fresh blood on her arm.
"Hey, what's your name?" The blue-armored man asked.
Rhys quickly looked away, feeling strangely guilty for staring. "Me? I'm Rhys."
"Good to meet you, Rhys! I'm Gatrie." He jerked his head toward his friend, keeping one hand on Titania's backside. "This here is Shinon."
Shinon glared at him, scowling. "Let's make sure the Captain isn't dead before exchanging pleasantries."
Gatrie sighed. "Sorry, buddy."
Rhys's parents rushed toward them when they approached. He couldn't imagine what they were thinking, having him show up with this small band of mercenaries, one half-dead. Shinon and Gatrie allowed his father to help pull Titania from her horse, while Rhys scurried inside to make up the sick bed.
She was still out cold when they lied her down; thankfully she was breathing. Her wound had already dotted the sheets with blood, but Rhys was quick to patch it up with his staff. It stitched up nicely, but she was bound to be woozy from blood loss when she awoke.
"Hey, Rhys," Gatrie said, yanking off his shoulder armor. "Mind doing me, too?" He had a neat, even cut across his bicep that wasn't too bloody, much to his relief. He closed his eyes as the staff glowed over the skin.
Rhys's mother entered the small room, glancing anxiously at their patient. "Either of you boys want something to eat?" She held a hunk of bread. "It's not much, but supper isn't for a couple hours." Gatrie gratefully accepted, shoving half the loaf in his mouth. He held out a piece for Shinon, but his friend didn't take notice. He sat beside the bed, squeezing together his interlaced fingers, as he watched Titania sleep. Gatrie glanced over at Rhys, flashing him an easy, comforting smile.