It seemed as if the day's turmoil had barely reached its climax. As Martha held unbearably tight to the billowing cape of the mysterious woman in front of her, her backside aching and bouncing with every powerful stride of their mount, her mind raced with every thought that could occur in her situation. Most prevalent, albeit unwelcome, was the gory memory that occurred only minutes prior; the gruesome beheading of her burly attacker. It was the sickening squelch and limp thud that echoed in her ears, caused her hands to shake. She knew she was in shock, her previous doctor training (although interrupted by her fanciful adventures) at least teaching her that- but her mind nor her body seemed to comprehend a coherent solution; just as her thoughts wandered from her trauma, the pounding of the dark stallion's hooves brought her straight back. Martha knew she shouldn't be surprised anymore- of all the horrifying things she had heard, the screams of innocents as they painfully perished- but the blood that soaked her boots, stained the bottom of her jeans told her otherwise. This, she surmised, was far more terrifying than usual- most simply because the doctor was not at her side. Her safety was in her own hands, and if the throbbing wound on her arm gave any inclination, her hands were not capable ones.
With numb eyes, wincing from the cold biting wind that flushed her face, she gathered the paths they quickly traveled. The horse beneath her pushed with power and rhythm, winding around trees and smartly finding hidden roads. She briefly wondered how a beast could become so loyal, how he could blindly stampede in any direction with only a twitch of the reins, but her question only drowned under more relevant ones; where were they going?
Martha's silent question went answered within minutes of its arrival, her saving grace- hopefully- laying still in a forest grove. A small cottage, built years ago from wood and stone, lay peacefully still amongst thin fencing and grazing animals. With a soft muttered word and a light tug at the reins, the mount beneath them slowed to a walk, almost automatically following a dirt path leading to the small house in the middle of the clearing.
Looking with wonderous eyes, Martha saw the acres of farm land- harvestable vegetables and herbs sprouting from the sowed ground. She saw sheep and cattle grazing, chickens and goats wandering in between. She saw another horse- a mare, she presumed- nuzzling with her prancing foal. It shed a light on her heart- the quiet tranquility that seemed far too romantic to be real; it was like a fire of passion, a small part of Martha yearning for the same ease- but a fire quickly doused as she realized just who she was envious of: a murderer.
Her savior or not, Martha was not completely unaware of just who she was latched onto, and she refused to senselessly let her guard drop just because the mysterious woman's home was quaint. The dark stallion stopped near the front entrance- an unpainted, corroded wooden door- tossing his head and pawing at the ground.
"Siuthad," The woman in front of her said, barely pausing before dismounting. Martha felt embarrassedly naked sitting alone atop the horse, forcing her own dismount to be more rushed and awkward than necessary. As her heeled boot finally graced the ground- a relief to her aching backside- her flustered behavior came to an abrupt halt. The hooded figure in front of her gripped her arm with threatening force, half-dragging a wincing and wiggling Martha towards the front door.
"Hey, let me go!" Martha cried angrily, attempting to rip herself away. It wasn't the first time she had been held hostage, but she supposed her current situation was far too different to properly compare it to the other instances.
"Jaime, cùl-taic," The shrouded woman barked over her shoulder. Martha barely acknowledged the faint nicker of the stallion behind, before she was dragged into the dark of the house before her.
The interior, though clouded by shadows, seemed just as simple as the exterior. The ground beneath Martha's shuffling feet was dirt and stone, sparse furniture littering the small space. Roughly, she was shoved down into a stiff, wooden chair stationed by a long table. Wincing as her ribs bumped the chipped wood, her chest heaving with fear and adrenaline, she sat put obediently; she was far too aware of the last who had gone against this hooded woman, and feared she would also share in his horrid fate.
The mysterious figure- who solely drew Martha's increasing curiosity- turned away to an empty fireplace. With ease the woman reached and plucked chopped wood from a large stack, piling the kindling into the hearth. She just as fluently struck a match tucked away nearby, letting it fall and the flames to erupt. The fire was not slow-burning, heat immediately exploding into the small abode and warming Martha's shivering fingers.
Martha watched, frozen in hesitation and slight fear, as the figure in front of her bustled about. She could only watch as the woman brought two more chairs forward, turning and facing them towards the fireplace. She rubbed her hands, noting as they no longer tingled, her eyes following as the mysterious savior brought out a box and bottles of alcohol. Martha felt almost as if she were intruding, staring unashamed at someone who- by rushing about- looked almost as frazzled as she was.
"Who are you?" She found the words leaving her lips before she could catch them. The enigma in front of her faltered in her steps, hands pausing in placing duel cups down. Her hesitation caused something to rise in Martha's chest, nothing similar to the fear that had overwhelmed her earlier, but a pitiful longing for the tight-kept answers all hidden under a hood.
The woman turned to Martha, advancing on her swiftly, speaking gruffly "Bi air chois."
Martha arched her back and pressed into her chair, hoping- if anything- to take back her words and to avoid the conflict she imagined was coming her way. A slight cry left her lips as the cloaked figure yanked her up by her injured arm, dragging her towards the fireplace. Images of torture- anything burning and sizzling- protruded in Martha's mind, causing her to wiggle and attempt to break free with due haste. "I told you so" was chiming in her head, tears prickling at the corner of her eyes as she berated herself for her stupidity; never trust someone who beheads another.
It was a pleasant surprise when she was simply dropped off at the chair in front of the fireplace- but her swelled panic was far from soothed. She felt weak as a tear slid down her cheek, felt silly as she flinched when the woman merely sat across from her- but she was afraid; properly scared. She missed The Doctor, as stiff as their relationship was, and she wished he was here beside her to protect her.
"Bean uasal?" The foreign words meant nothing to Martha, but she did not miss the soft tone. Looking over, she eyed a mahogany box laid carefully in the cloaked woman's lap. Mistrust again flickered in her heart, dark eyes scanning every inch of visible skin to give any inclination of what was truly under that hood.
"Who are you?" Martha stressed again, uncaring if the woman could truly understand her. Her body was tired and weary from the pain radiating off her arm, her anxiety weighing heavily on her mind. She was exhausted; done with the running and the fear- her adrenaline waning only to leave a helpless and lost traveler. She needed answers, she needed help. She needed her Doctor.
The woman in front of Martha gave another pause, one of contemplation and hesitancy. Her blood-stained fingers tapped impatiently on the box in her hands, seconds passing by and forming into minutes. Finally, she released a sigh.
It seemed almost ethereal as the mysterious, hooded woman reached up and pulled down her cloak. Light blonde hair, plaited into a high braid- knotted and greasy- dulled blue eyes, a faded echo of what Martha didn't doubt were once shining gems. She was beautiful despite the dirt and the blood staining her round cheeks, despite the battered look that radiated off her body. Martha supposed she had been mistaken earlier when she had regarded her squared figure as confidence; now truly only seeing a scarred warrior.
"What's your name?" Martha hadn't hesitated to recognize that the blonde understood her words- a small gift despite the chaotic mess. It spread hope in her chest, like butter on bread. Maybe she could finally get answers, maybe she could finally be reunited with her friend. At least it was a start, despite the obvious dubiousness glowing in the young woman's blue eyes- and a start was all she needed.
"Alexa."
