Shiver
The Great Wicked
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Assassin's Creed nor any characters, they are intellectually property of Ubisoft. I make no money in this, I write for enjoyment.
The rivers current was strong and with the adrenaline fading as they were swept further away from the fort, further away from danger and closer to uncertainty. Their heads occasionally broke the surface for air before diving again, hoping that the Redcoats would give up with their search, assume them to be dead in the frozen waters. The cold stung a little less when she was underwater, was it her body growing used to the temperature, or her body beginning to fade? The hooded man grasped her forearm and gestured towards an inlet at the river bank that would provide some shelter. Breaking the water the last time and stepping onto the land it felt as though she was kicked in the chest, each breath hurt more then the last, worse then the Redcoats. In the shallows where the river lead them she felt to her knees gasping for her breath feeling her body beginning to react to the frigid air as it began a secondary attack on her wet clothes. The hooded man offering his hand to her and pulling her from the waters to the shore, safe from the Redcoats, they must have been several miles down river now. She still hadn't caught a glimpse of what this man actually looked like, no idea who he was, or whom had sent him. As she looked up to face him he turned his back to her and began walking.
Although she had seen this man kill, she did not fear him, he had spilt blood with such grace and almost a sense of tranquility that it was hard to perceive him as a threat, after all if he was her enemy he would have let her die. What could either of them say? Of course she wanted to thank him but breaking the silence seemed almost wrong, while searching for words the man in white pulled off his stark white coat twisting the fabric and wringing out the excess water, then doing the same to the rest of his garb. At the edge of wilderness this man who had shown no fear or pain for that matter began stripping his clothes as though the whole thing was… Normal.
On unsteady legs she followed him, he kept turning his face from her so she couldn't see him, was it a game? Was he doing it on purpose? She had to know now, and she wanted to see his face so she asked in her own tongue.
"Awani gia?" He gave no response, now down to his trousers and boots. Perhaps he did not speak her language? She tried another tongue "Qui êtes-vous?" Still he said nothing, nor did he acknowledge in any way that she had spoken to him, now her patience was wearing thin. In a few quick steps she now stood directly in his path now face to face with this man, her hands up in front of her barring his path. For a moment her words were lost on their way to her lips as she now could see him properly. She was quite struck, the face beneath that white hood was rather handsome, deep copper toned skin, faded light lines of scars decorated his torso in several areas each a prelude to another story, his build lean yet muscular. And that face, charcoal hair tied back, wet it clung to his scalp. His face was expressionless, lips thin and pressed into a hard line that gave nothing away, no thoughts, no questions. His eyes were deep pools of mahogany warm with something that the Redcoats lacked, emotion. And there was a fine line upon his cheek of a very old scar. The frustration at this man of silence was replaced with humility and curiosity as she finally remembered what she had meant to say, "Do you not know my words?"
He finally responded "I am no one to be trifled with." There was a subtle warning in the way he spoke, as though he didn't mean to frighten her but he wanted to be taken seriously. He released a deep sigh, he had come off a little too strong, he looked for something to break the tension that had settled, taking notice of the frost that was beginning to collect on the tatters of her sleeve. He brushed it with his fingertips, feeling slightly hurt when she recoiled from his touch. "Off." Her eyes widened in shock and she blinked several times saying nothing. That came out wrong. Connor swallowed hard. "Wet clothes." He stammered, trying to salvage what dignity he had left. He reached out to brush the sleeve off her shoulder absentmindedly trying to distinguish what manner of garment it had been, she didn't recoil this time but followed his hand with her eyes, he didn't seem all that dangerous now. "We need to keep moving." Connor with drew his hand and cleared his throat walking past her, trying to figure out what their next move would be.
After Connor was a few steps ahead, Chenoa reluctantly followed trying to shake off the strange sensation his fingertips had left on her skin. Droplets of water fell to the ground as she squeezed them from her hair and clothes before she began to pull at the leather ties, trying to ignore the blush creeping upon her. She was being foolish, why suddenly so shy? It didn't matter, she tried to push the thoughts from her mind and search for something else to think on and it was then that she began to remember just how tired she was. The adrenaline was beginning to ebb and fade away, the pain was gradually returning in the form of dull aches, she grew more weary as the moments passed. She hadn't eaten in days and the only water she'd had was the water from the river that she swallowed while fighting the current. Her body ached from the boots that knocked the wind out of her and her back began to burn once more, the cold doing more harm then good.
Once more her eyes felt heavy and the cold turned to numbness, her limbs feeling heavier with each step. Who was this man? From where did he come? Who were his people? She had never seen a man like this, he was unbothered by the cold or he was just very good at hiding it. Whoever he was he had training of some sort to deal with this, he was prepared and it was no surprise to her, she had seen the spirit of the warrior in his eyes. He walked like a man who had fought a hundred battles, carrying the weight of his deeds on his shoulders, it seemed to cause him to sink a little deeper into the snow with each step. Whoever this man was he had the strength to go on, Chenoa did not.
OOO
The sound of a body crumpling into the snow was unmistakable, so was the chill he felt up his spine and for a moment he did nothing. He held his breath and did not turn, hoping for a moment that what he knew was there, wouldn't be. He glanced over his shoulder and certainly, there she was. Her body was lifeless, and seemed so frail. He shut his eyes tight for a moment, trying to pretend he didn't see what he knew was there, careful to avoid touching her back he gathered her into his arms. He didn't like this. How powerless he felt, she could die right and here and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it. He felt his heart drop into his stomach, brushing her hair out of her face he swallowed hard and gently touched the side of her face, lightly tapping her trying to wake her. She was unresponsive, her breathing slow and she was growing colder. He should have thought out a better escape, he should have been smarter, he had reserves of energy he hadn't considered her. She seemed so small and so light. His own body heat wasn't enough to warm her, he had to find someplace warmer if she was to survive. With his clothes rolled and strung over his back he stood and with a deep breath he began to run.
OOO
Awani gia: Who are you?
Qui êtes-vous: Who are you?
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