The dawn was beginning to soften the dead black of the night sky. The raiders' camp was stirring. A few of the camp followers were just starting breakfast, and some early-rising mercenaries were chatting somewhere near where the horses were tethered. Tara sat by the campfire with her armor in her lap, glowering as she cleaned and repaired it. She had gone and taken a cold bath already that morning to cleanse the gore and war paint from her skin, but she still looked dangerous. Every now and then, she put a large bottle to her lips and drank deeply. Everyone was careful to give her a wide berth.

There was a stirring, and footsteps approached. Tara looked up to see Drea standing near her. She scowled and looked away, impatiently thrusting a fringe of red hair out of her eyes. There was a pause. Then Drea sat down beside her. "Morning."

Tara glared at the fire and took a long, determined swig from her bottle. "Go away."

Drea shot her a quiet smile. Tara could see it out of the corner of her eye. "What's up?"

The larger woman turned abruptly to glare at her, setting aside the tool she'd been using to repair her armor. "Why in Hades should anything be up? I'm not in the mood to chat. Bugger off."

"Come on, Tara. I've known you for a long time, so give me some credit. I know the signs – you're chugging your bottle of sherry at six in the morning." Drea tapped the offending container with one callused finger. "Kick my ass if you want, but I'm still gonna ask. Now, you stubborn old warhorse, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Tara growled. "Now go away, or I will kick your ass."

The dark-skinned woman raised one brow. "Mm-hmm." She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. There was silence for a while. "Look," Drea said at length, "I get it. I'm as hard-bitten as they come. I'm a tough old bitch, and so are you, and we don't do the hug-around-the-campfire thing. But we're still human." Her brown eyes caught Tara's. "That's nothing to be ashamed of."

The redhead scowled and looked away. "Just because we used to warm each others' bedrolls doesn't mean I won't bloody your nose, Drea."

"So bloody it. Wouldn't be the first time," Drea said cheerfully. "In the meantime, spill – you're feeling bad about beating up Epona, aren't you?"

"Excuse me?" Tara's voice dropped dangerously.

"Come on, Terror. It's not like it's some big secret, you know." Drea smiled. Tara's eyes met hers coldly; she took another long drink from her rapidly-emptying bottle. "So you've got a soft spot for Pony. What's so bad about that? She's a cute little thing. She's sweet and innocent – makes you want to protect her. Nothing wrong with that."

Tara deliberately set down her sherry. "She is my slave," she said through gritted teeth. "She defied me in front of the camp, and she deserved every lash I gave her for it."

"Who's arguing?" Drea shrugged, looking up at the sky. "Like you said, she's your slave. What you do with her is technically your business. All I'm saying is, it's fine if you feel bad about it, too. You don't always have to be channeling Ares, you know."

The dangerous glint vanished abruptly from Tara's eyes. She took another halfhearted drink from her bottle. "It's the Morrigan, not Ares," she corrected quietly. Her hand rubbed tiredly through her mussed hair. "I'm a Gael, not an Argonian."

"I doubt that matters much. The two of 'em are about the same, seems to me," Drea said dryly. In the silence that followed, the olive-skinned warrior absently drew a dagger and began to polish the blade. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you about what happened," she said. "You do have the right to do what you want with Epona, so don't think I'm questioning that. But the way things went down…" Tara stared silently into the flames. "One of the things I have to do as the leader of this group is keep the fellows happy," Drea went on. "We're all glad if we can get a good fighter with us, and you're definitely that. You killed nearly half of those guards by yourself yesterday. The boys notice things like that. But they really don't like you."

The redhead shrugged. "So? I'm not here to make friends."

"Maybe not," Drea agreed quietly, "but if you're going to be my second – and I want you to be, Tara – the boys at least need to not hate you, all right? All they've seen of you so far is violence, and the fact that you don't drink or game with them. And whether you like this or not, people here kind of like Pony, and the fact that you beat her in front of everyone didn't really endear you to them, whether she deserved it or not." Tara scowled, but said nothing. "I'm not exactly rebuking you yet, all right? Just…well, maybe think about things a little more. Okay?"

"Fine," Tara muttered. "Whatever."

"All right." The dark-skinned woman seemed relieved. She stopped her idle playing with her knife and sheathed it. "Listen, a couple of the camp girls wondered if they could give Pony some food and patch her up some. She's had a miserable night."

Tara shook her head firmly. "No," she said. "She's still being punished. I'll take care of her in a bit, but I'll do it myself."

Drea hesitated. She seemed about to argue the point, but then sighed and shrugged. "All right. I'll pass it on." She clapped Tara on the shoulder. "Try to leave some booze for the rest of us, all right?"

"Sure." Tara's dark eyes followed the woman as she left, and then dropped pensively back to the fire.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Epona was huddled on the ground, shivering. Tara could see her there – she was still on the spot where the warrior had dropped her the night before. Probably too scared to move, Tara thought wryly. She sighed and glanced up at the sky. It was getting close to noon. It was probably time. The redhead got up, grabbed a bundle and flask that lay nearby, and headed toward the quivering form of her slave.

The wide green eyes noted Tara's approach. Epona struggled up to her knees and hunched there, trembling visibly, with her head down. Tara thought she was probably crying. The warrior moved to stand over her. She was silent for a moment, running her dark eyes over Epona's form. The girl was still naked to the waist, having not even dared to put her tunic back on; the wicked cuts and welts stood out in stark relief against the white skin. There might be infection, Tara mused. I'll have to get her over by the fire to treat her properly. "Come on," she said shortly. "Bring your shirt." And she strode back toward the flickering flames.

Conversations flagged as curious eyes fell on Tara. She swept the raiders with a cold glare, and all eyes were suddenly averted. She knew, though, that she and her slave were still being watched. Tara sighed and turned to the cringing girl. "Kneel down," she ordered. Epona obeyed in silence. Tara went down on one knee to assess the damage.

The whipping had been pretty brutal, Tara thought grimly, her fingers gently probing at the torn back. There were countless blue-black welts, and at least twelve long cuts. Five of the gashes were puffy and red with infection, although none of them looked ready to drain yet. Without comment, Tara added a handful of herbs to a pot of water and let it sit for a few minutes. Then she strained it and dipped out some of the liquid. "Don't move," she said quietly. "This will sting, but it'll help keep your back from getting too infected." Epona nodded miserably, and Tara began to wash her wounds.

When the cleansing was done, Tara turned her slave so she could examine her face. It was still caked with dirt and dried blood. Gravely, Tara dipped a clean rag in water and bathed away the filth. The left side of Epona's face, from eye to chin, was covered in an ugly purple bruise. Her lip was badly cut. That'll be where I hit her with my sword hilt, Tara thought, probing the wound gently. "That lip's going to need stitches," she said with a shake of her head. "Hold on a minute." And she held the tip of a needle in a flame for a moment or two.

Epona flinched as Tara approached with the wickedly-sharp little implement. The warrior paused. "This will pinch a bit," she said quietly. "You need to hold still and take deep breaths. I'll work as fast as I can."

"Yes, ma'am." Epona's voice shook, but she bravely screwed her eyes shut. Tara hesitated. Then she gently pinched the sides of the cut together. She skillfully placed two stitches, sewing the gaping wound closed. The slave didn't move, but a whimper passed her trembling lips.

"Good girl," Tara murmured. "That should heal cleanly now."

"Ma'am?" The warrior paused in the act of packing away her healer's kit. The slave's green eyes were full of pain and fear, but she bravely met her owner's gaze. "My…my arm…," she whispered timidly, holding out her left wrist. Tara looked at it. The forearm was grossly swollen, and the skin was a deep, livid purple. What…how did… The warrior gently took the poor little limb in her hands and examined it, her brow creased. Did I actually break her arm? How did…oh. The memory of holding the shrieking slave by her wrist flashed before Tara's eyes. Ye gods. Sometimes I don't know my own strength.

"Your arm's broken," Tara said shortly. She reached over, caught up her flask, and thrust it at the wide-eyed slave. "Drink this. Drink all of it. It'll make this easier to bear." Epona tasted the whiskey cautiously, shuddered, and hesitated. Tara scowled. "Drink!" The slave obeyed.

Even with the poor girl half-drunk, the setting of her arm was an ugly affair. Tara had to pull and twist the shattered limb four times before the bones were finally aligned properly. By the time she finished splinting and bandaging the arm, Tara's face was slick with sweat. She wiped her brow and took a deep breath. Then, wearily, she gathered the sobbing girl into her arms and rose to her feet. "Come on, beag luch," she said quietly. "You've had a long night. Let's get you lying down."

It felt good to prop herself up against a fallen log and draw Epona down into her arms. Tara sighed and pulled the curly head up against her shoulder. The slave was still sobbing weakly. Her slender body felt tense in Tara's arms. "Shh," Tara murmured. "You're all right. It's over now. Rest."

"Please," Epona whimpered, "I…"

"It's all right," the warrior said. "You've been punished. You're forgiven. It's over."

Epona shuddered. Tara laid a hand against her unbruised cheek and held her quietly. She heard the slave gulp a couple of times. "Ma'am?" The voice was tiny. "Did…did you have to kill that boy?"

"That wasn't your decision, and it wasn't your affair," Tara said coldly. She felt the slave girl flinch. Calmly, she ran her fingers through the dark curls that lay against her chest. Epona's body still felt tense; Tara drew her head up a little and kissed her brow. "Sleep now." Normally, Epona would probably have been in too much pain to rest, but she had swallowed a lot of whiskey. Tara felt the slender form slowly relax in her arms. A few minutes later, the dark head rolled heavily against the side of the warrior's neck. Epona was unconscious.

There was movement nearby, and Drea appeared. She regarded the sleeping girl gravely. "She doing better?" she grunted.

"Yep." Tara jerked her head curtly.

"Good." With a stiff nod of her own, Drea turned and headed back toward their tent.