The darkspawn had come out of nowhere; their scouting party taken utterly by surprise. They'd been outnumbered four to one and Fergus Cousland had already seen most of his companions get slaughtered by the blighted monsters. Only he and one other – Ser Hayley Cale – were still left, and while they both were exceptional warriors he doubted that they would both make it back alive. He was wounded, his left arm burning with pain so badly he could no longer carry his shield. Though he could still fight, he did not know how much strength he had left. He just hoped that at least she would be able to get out of this fight alive and back to Ostagar.
Fergus sword clashed against the Hurlock's, the sound of metal against metal ringing in his ears, mixed with the horrifying sound that came from the darkspawn as his blade cut through it.
As he turned from the now dead darkspawn his eyes caught the unthinkable happen. Hayley cut down, blood gushing from an open wound across her throat. Her hand slid up to cover her throat, the thick, crimson fluid slowly seeping through gauntleted fingers.
"No!"
He lunged forward, sweeping out with his sword at the darkspawn in blind rage but missed, the Hurlock dodging his attack and then struck back, its sharp blade cutting through his chainmail, leaving a deep wound on his chest and he stumbled back. It came at him again, this time going for his head, but he managed to parry the blade. The darkspawn grabbed his collar and raised its sword once more, but before the stroke fell, Fergus head-butted the bastard, who roared in response as it staggered back, getting go of him and he took his chance to drive his blade through the darkspawn.
The creature fell to the ground with an ear piercing shriek as he pulled his blade out from its body. Fergus slumped onto the blood soaked ground next to his fellow soldier, pulling her into his arms. She tried to speak, but the only sound she was able to make was a low gurgle, and her eyes could not seem to focus on his. Unable to do anything to help her, he did the only thing he could and stayed with her until she passed on. It took only a few moments before she bled to death and her lifeless eyes stared up at the blue sky above them.
Fergus softly laid her onto the ground again and placed her arms over her chest, with her sword in her hands and closed her eyes. A knight like her did not deserve to be left on the battlefield like this, none of the fallen did, but he could not bring them all back to the camp, so he left them.
As he stood up, he caught a glimpse of something, hiding in the treeline. Something big and dark, a black wolf, its eyes was gleaming in the sun as it watched him, but was gone in the blink of an eye. He shook his head; sure he had imagined it for certainly no wolf was so big.
He moved slowly, the pain from his arm and his chest making him lightheaded and already clouding his vision and he did not get far before he had to stop, supporting himself against a tree. He tried to move again, but stumbled to his knees after no more than a few feet, barely able to stop himself from falling face first into the dirt. For a moment his vision went dark and the whole world seemed to spin around him. Fergus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, turning over and leaning against a tree, realizing he wasn't going anywhere.
When he opened his eyes he again saw the black wolf, slowly moving closer to him. He let out a strained laughter and fought to keep himself from passing out. "Never thought I'd die in the wilderness and get eaten by an enormous wolf."
The wolf stopped no more than three feet from him, cocking her head as she seemed to study him and he tilted his head in response. Then he noticed her eyes, a pale green, like the early leaf buds on the trees in Highever during spring. His lips curved into a grin as he looked at her, and he reached out a gauntleted hand to let the wolf smell him. "You are not like any wolf I have ever seen," he chuckled, feeling his consciousness slipping. "Granted, I may not have seen… many wolves… in my days…"
His hand fell to the ground with a low thud. She continued to study the man. Was he dead? No, she could still hear a heartbeat, if faint, and there were shallow breaths, his chest slowly rising and sinking. But there was a lot of blood, and he would not survive long.
Perhaps she should leave him. Even if he wasn't dead yet, she might not be able to help him even if she got him to a healer. There was no guarantee he would survive.
She huffed. Her conscience got the best of her and she decided that she at least should try to help the man. But she could not do it in this shape.
Avani summoned her magic, growling loudly as the bones in her entire body shifted and stretched, soon the black wolf was no more and instead she stood hunched over beside him in her usual form. It was an odd feeling, returning to her human state. While she this way could see the colours of the world, it felt like it was less colourful at the same time. Her hearing and sense of smell were considerably reduced and vision nowhere as good as it was when she walked the earth as a wolf.
A cool breeze against her naked skin made her shiver as she looked over to him, her eyes sliding over his armour. It did not look as heavy as other armours she had seen. While she was strong it would still be an unnecessary weight for her to carry.
She moved closer to him, kneeling down beside him and started unclasping the first of the buckles, removing the pauldron from his shoulder. She pulled the gauntlets of his hands, and then lifted his wounded arm carefully, starting with the rerebrace, sighing at the amount of armour the man was wearing. She did not understand why he was wearing so much. Clearly he had been a part of a scouting party, and while heavy armour certainly had its advantages in battle, lighter armour would be easier and faster to move in. This armour had not even ended up serving it purpose of protecting him.
Once the armour laid in pieces on the ground, Avani turned to his arm, pulling up the sleeve to get a better view of the wound. It was a deep cut, and the bleeding was strong. She needed to stop the flow before he bled out, but she was no healer. She placed her hand over the wound, summoning her magic, and tried to stem the blood flow as she had been taught by the village healer, but could not halt it entirely. She had to cauterize the wound, and she knew this would not be pleasant for him, conscious or not.
Heat gathered in the hand she held pressed against the wound, and the smell of burning flesh quickly filled the air around them. The man's eyes snapped open and he cried out in pain. He tried to escape her grip on him, but her hand clutched tighter around his arm and she pushed him back against the tree, holding him there as he struggled.
"It hurts, but I am trying to help you," she snapped, frowning as she met his eyes, "You must stay still."
Fergus looked at the strange woman, his vision clouded and she was barely more than a dark mass in front of him. He cried out once more as the heat grew more intense, but he tried to remain as still as he could. Even after she let go of his arm, the pain did not disappear and he glanced down, the palm of her hand burned into his arm.
"I must close your other wound as well," she said in a harsh tone as she pulled him down, laying him down with his back to the ground and pulled up his bloody tunic. It did not look as deep as the wound on his arm, but it was still bleeding profoundly.
"No, no please," he begged, breathing heavily and his voice uneven, "Please, don't–!" His pleas were cut off, replaced with his screams as Avani again placed her blazing hot hand on his skin, drowning out the sizzling of his flesh. He cried out, begging for his Maker and for her to please stop, but she ignored him. The wound was longer than the first and it took longer for her to cauterize, and he soon passed out again from the pain.
When she was done, she huffed as she looked at his face to see that he was unconscious again. She had hoped that he would remain awake to tell her if he had more injuries, but it seemed as if she would have to look herself.
She carefully pulled him off the ground to check for more open wounds, but it seemed there wasn't any. Neither were there any injuries she could find on his legs.
Avani took a deep breath and studied him in silence for a few moments. It would take her a few hours to reach her village when she had to carry him, and it would not be easy to do so, but after having put him through the pain of burning his wounds closed it seemed heartless to leave him behind.
She cautiously pulled his arm around her neck, heaving him up over her shoulders and stood up, not moving for a while to get used to the weight. He was heavy, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. As she started walking she prayed she wouldn't run into any trouble on the way.
The familiar smell of the swamp filled her nose and she sighed in relief. The man over her shoulders was still alive, but he was starting to feel feverish and his heartbeats had become slower over time. It had taken her longer to get to her home than she had thought and she feared that his wounds had started to fester.
As she got closer to the shoreline one of the boatmen started walking towards her, his expression turning into a frown as he noticed the man heaved over her shoulders. "Dedamian," she greeted.
"Who is this, Avani?" he asked, walking in a circle around her as he examined the man.
"A soldier," she replied shortly, ignoring the look of disapproval she got from him as she carried him over to one of the ferryboats, carefully laying him down in it before sitting down next to him. "He is badly injured and needs healing."
He huffed, exasperated, but said nothing as he got in the boat.
She turned her gaze to the village as they started moving, watching her people moving across the docks and bridges that joined the small houses together. The waves hitting against the hull was calming and as they got closer the smell of spices and wet wood reached her and she closed her eyes. She had always been one to wander, wanting to see the cities and stonewalls of the self-proclaimed civilized people, but she always came back to the village. This was her home, the ripples in the water and the carvings in the tree bark as big of a part of her as markings on her skin.
The boat slowed down when they reached the dock, and she awoke from her thoughts. She looked over at the ferryman as he got out of the boat, and she carefully pulled the unconscious soldier into her arms and Dedamian helped her get him out of the boat.
Avani looked up at Dedamian as she got up on the dock, and told him tell the village's healers of their arrival. He replied only with a short nod before he turned and walked ahead of them, and she placed a hand on the soldier's forehead. He was burning up.
She picked him up from the dock and carried him towards the hut where the healers took care of their sick and injured, the wooden boards creaking under her feet as she moved over them. Two women came out to meet her, greeting her with a nod before both of them turned the attention to the man she held in her arms, holding the door open for her to get inside. She walked inside, over to one of the beds where she laid him down before turning to the women, standing up. "Help him."
The older of the two women nodded and walked past her, immediately calling for the other healers to help her and to get potions and salves. Avani stood by the door, watching in silence as they worked, their quiet talk, the creaking of the floor and clinking of glass vials filling the room.
She had tried her hand at healing magic, but couldn't seem to find the patience to learn the skill, which had always seemed odd to her. She was a shapeshifter, a talent that took a lifetime of practice to master, each new form years to learn. Her father had told her healing might not be for her, while shapeshifting was in her blood, as it was in his. It was the earth who called to them, and the song it sang was different for every creature. Just as not all were born mages, not all would be healers.
"Avani," said a familiar voice in a low tone and she felt a warm hand being placed upon her shoulder.
She turned and met eyes the same green shade as her own. "Father."
He was a tall man, taller than even her, with broad shoulders covered by a bear pelt, his many years showing the wisdom who belonged to the tribe's Shaman in the lines on his face and streaks of white in his hair. His expression was stoic and he did not look away for several moments, but when he did his eyes turned to the strange man lying unconscious on the bed as he was being treated by the village healers. A few of them greeted him quietly, "Dara."
"He should not be here," his voice boomed.
"He is wounded and he needs our help," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.
His eyes turned back to hers. "They have healers in their cities that could tend to his injuries. I would have thought that you had outgrown bringing home wounded animals."
Avani furrowed her brow. "I am not a child and he is not an animal." She paused, looking over her shoulder for a moment before she looked back again, the frown fading. "I am only doing what you have taught me to be right, father."
He sighed, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. "I have taught you well then. Come. Best leave the healers to work in peace." He placed a hand on her back and led her out of the hut. "Are you hungry?"
She huffed, glaring up at him. "I told you, I am not a child."
A rumbling chuckle came from him and there was a gleam in his eyes when he met her gaze which gave her a feeling of irritation. "You will always be a child to me, my daughter," he replied with a smile, "And as I recall, you always eat as if though you have been starving when you return from your runs. Or is my memory starting to fail?"
Avani huffed once more, looking away, but did not reply. His memory did not fail him.
A few nights had passed since she found the wounded soldier in the wilds and he had yet to wake up. Avani was sitting in the healer's shelter on a chair across the room, listening to the light patter of the rain on the wooden roof and the man's heavy breathing. Outside was one of the healers, speaking in a low tone with her father, but she could still hear them.
"He seems to be out of danger for now, but he has not awakened yet," the woman said quietly, and Avani looked over to the man, watched his chest rise and sink. "I cannot be sure when he will, if he ever does."
She sighed and turned her head, looking out the window once more. It felt so odd, not knowing who the man was or where he came from, not even knowing his name. She might not ever find out.
The door opened and closed behind her. She didn't need to turn around to see who it was; already knowing it was her father. He sat down at the chair next to hers, not saying anything to her, but instead turned his head to look at the stranger who lay on the bed across the room. He sat that way for a while, still not uttering a single word, just kept his gaze locked on the man.
"You remind me of myself," he said after a while, breaking the silence and turned to look at her with a gentle smile on his face.
Avani then turned to meet his eyes for the first time since he entered the room. "Why is that?"
His smile widened slightly, "It was how your mother and I met." She huffed, rolling her eyes at him and he chuckled as he placed a hand over hers. "She ran away from her home and an arranged marriage and she found our village. At first her presence bothered me, for she was an outsider that did not belong with us, but soon she proved me wrong and I grew to care for her more each day."
She glared at him with furrowed brows. "I wanted to help him, father, not have him as my husband."
"You cannot know what the future will bring you."
Avani looked over to the stranger and murmured quietly, "I know that if he doesn't wake up, he will die of starvation."