Disclaimer: You know the drill. No real owning of the goods from Nintendo
or Namco. . .though maybe I have Link in my closet, maybe not XD.
AN: Same stuff as before and such. Thank you all so much for the great reviews! I honestly didn't think I'd be any good at this, but it makes me happy to know I may be at least decent. Just thought I'd clear up that the girl is an original character for ppl who may be confused like Dark Triforce. Other than that, no other thoughts!
Chapter 3
The minutes march by like an eternity as she stares at the lifeless body of her attacker. She had only tried to protect herself, though a small voice in her mind screams at her that she had just done something terribly wrong.
"What do I do? He seems hurt so badly. . .Did I truly injure him that much?" she murmurs numbly as the wind brushes her hair around her shoulders. Her thoughts wrestle with each other debating fleeing, helping him, or just waiting to see if he will recover. Leaning over him again, she takes his empty hand in hers and carefully works the soft leather glove off his fingers and lays it aside. He seems so pale, almost ashen to the point where she wonders if his blood loss is the cause or is he naturally that way. Laying two fingers over his wrist, she feels for his pulse; adjusting the placement of her fingers after every few minutes until she feels a movement of life from his veins. It seemed steady, though to her dismay it felt forced and weak. "What would you do, Hikaru. . .should I try to save him? Would he try to give me a turn in exchange for the damage I've caused?" she wonders as her eyes study the lines in his hand where he had held the sword only moments earlier.
A soft but pained moan breaks her mental scuffle and draws her gaze to his face. A possible omen or an unconscious plea for her aid maybe; but in any case, she lays his hand down and returns to her pack; picking up her cold glaive to lay against the wall before returning to him with the pack clutched to her. She settles on her knees beside him, digging through the contents she had brought with her until her hand closes over a bundle of white cloth. Laying it aside, her hand plunders her pack of her water kept in a waterproof sack and corked tight at one end. "I will try to not hurt you further. . ." she says softly to her ward, setting the water down too. His tunic is a mess of blood and covers his injury from her care, but first things first; her dagger.
Her fingers shake as they close around the handle of the small blade; holding it in a half-frightened grip. "I'm sorry. . .this may hurt. But it's the only way." She says in a low voice before flexing her arm muscle and drawing the blade out as carefully as she can manage. It pulls free as her arm jerks back from the sudden lack of resistance against her efforts while the wound pushes a meager amount of more blood through his tunic. "Good thing it seems like it's not too deep. . .maybe it was good I didn't get a bigger dagger after all." She needed to check the wound itself to be sure however; and to do that, his tunic would pose a problem.
Should she undress him. . .? Her cheeks burned a light pink at the very thought of doing something so intimate with a perfect stranger. No, she'd just cut away a portion of the cloth. . .it was stained already anyhow. The bloodstained blade slices through the fabric slowly as she pulls it carefully in her direction; creating a gash in the cloth from the neckline to almost under his arm. Her free fingers peel away the wet garment, exposing his shoulder and upper chest. The ugliness of the wound clashes bitterly with his pale skin so much that she wants to look away; and almost does except for her resolve to help him now that she had started.
Dropping the dagger aside, she takes up her water bag, uncorking it with her teeth and pouring the contents liberally over the gash. The blood washes away, showing a clean slash in his delicate looking skin. She pushes the cork back into the bottle with her teeth again and sets it aside as well, her clean hand touches the injury, pulling it aside a little to see how much damage she'd produced. "It's shallow. . .I may not need to stitch it up, but just in case. . ."
The evening dropped gently around the two figures resting by a small fire. The lifeless one swimming through muddled dreams; images of home, people he knew, the princess. . .that girl. She had such haunting green eyes that pierced him. . .pierce? His chest, he remembered.
It hurt.
His hand gropes drunkenly around; eyes still closed until he finds his chest. It is bare; and that does not seem to make sense. . .nor does the odd texture of the aching wound. He forces his eyes open, squinting at the dancing flames near his feet. His mind, too sluggish to make good logic, ignores how or who had made a fire here. His elbows fall back and he sits up, biting his lower lip to hold back a groan of pain and settles for the grunt it comes out as instead. His eyes fall to his chest, noticing the ruined tunic and the absence of blood on his skin despite the mess on the tattered cloth hanging down over his belt.
"What in the worlds happened. . .?" He tilts his chin sharply inwards so he can get a look at his injury and finds it bandaged over for the most part, but the hint of thread hanging out of the bottom. His fingers peel up the bandage partially so he can see the wound itself, finding it swollen, but now a healthy shade of dark pink and held together with tiny, neat, even stitches. Letting the bandage back down, he undoes his belt and pulls the tunic off over his head, knocking his hat off and mussing his hair recklessly.
The cool night air makes him shiver a little, but he does not mind; knowing that if he stays moving, he will warm up and keep from getting stiff muscles. "So much for this tunic. . .I'll have to buy a new one. . .and I liked this one too." He scowls a little then smirks at his own shallowness. "I wonder where that girl went. . .probably long gone. Did she heal me? Why?" he muses as he remembers the scuffle. "I suppose I deserve this. . .I got reckless. You shouldn't attack females unless needed; and she didn't seem to want to harm me. . .unless you count that bit at the end."
"Good for her though, I'm glad one of us was thinking like a warrior." He tosses a few sticks scattered around into the small blaze and looks around the ruins. It was peaceful; nothing at all like before he'd fallen into darkness. His eyes scan the floor for his sword and shield, finding them propped near where he'd been laying; and near the bottom of a boot. He looks over and finds the other figure sharing the fire with him, covered in that cloak from earlier.
Her body lay sprawled on the cobbles with her side rising and falling gently, as if she'd slumped over in exhaustion while sitting up and fighting rest. He moves over to her on his knees and gets a closer look. Her hair reflected the light and framed her face with warm hues in an attractive way. She looked so peaceful, yet so forlorn all at once; as if she slept grudgingly and was unhappy to do so. He dares to reach over and pluck a piece of grass from the strands of hair on her shoulder as she lay on her side; her mouth open slightly and red-tinged fingers completely limp on the ground.
"Why did you stay. . .?" He says softly, as if expecting an answer. She had helped him, he knew it now, and he was indebted to her; even if she'd been the one to injure him. "I'll explain it all to you in the morning." He adds, smiling sheepishly and settling his back against the wall close to her head. "For now, I'll just make sure we both stay safe for the night." He pulls his spare cloak from his traveling pack and wraps it around himself, relaxing back in the warm cloth and settling his eyes on her as he keeps watch for the night until he gives in at last to sleep against his will with a hint of a smile on his face.
AN: Same stuff as before and such. Thank you all so much for the great reviews! I honestly didn't think I'd be any good at this, but it makes me happy to know I may be at least decent. Just thought I'd clear up that the girl is an original character for ppl who may be confused like Dark Triforce. Other than that, no other thoughts!
Chapter 3
The minutes march by like an eternity as she stares at the lifeless body of her attacker. She had only tried to protect herself, though a small voice in her mind screams at her that she had just done something terribly wrong.
"What do I do? He seems hurt so badly. . .Did I truly injure him that much?" she murmurs numbly as the wind brushes her hair around her shoulders. Her thoughts wrestle with each other debating fleeing, helping him, or just waiting to see if he will recover. Leaning over him again, she takes his empty hand in hers and carefully works the soft leather glove off his fingers and lays it aside. He seems so pale, almost ashen to the point where she wonders if his blood loss is the cause or is he naturally that way. Laying two fingers over his wrist, she feels for his pulse; adjusting the placement of her fingers after every few minutes until she feels a movement of life from his veins. It seemed steady, though to her dismay it felt forced and weak. "What would you do, Hikaru. . .should I try to save him? Would he try to give me a turn in exchange for the damage I've caused?" she wonders as her eyes study the lines in his hand where he had held the sword only moments earlier.
A soft but pained moan breaks her mental scuffle and draws her gaze to his face. A possible omen or an unconscious plea for her aid maybe; but in any case, she lays his hand down and returns to her pack; picking up her cold glaive to lay against the wall before returning to him with the pack clutched to her. She settles on her knees beside him, digging through the contents she had brought with her until her hand closes over a bundle of white cloth. Laying it aside, her hand plunders her pack of her water kept in a waterproof sack and corked tight at one end. "I will try to not hurt you further. . ." she says softly to her ward, setting the water down too. His tunic is a mess of blood and covers his injury from her care, but first things first; her dagger.
Her fingers shake as they close around the handle of the small blade; holding it in a half-frightened grip. "I'm sorry. . .this may hurt. But it's the only way." She says in a low voice before flexing her arm muscle and drawing the blade out as carefully as she can manage. It pulls free as her arm jerks back from the sudden lack of resistance against her efforts while the wound pushes a meager amount of more blood through his tunic. "Good thing it seems like it's not too deep. . .maybe it was good I didn't get a bigger dagger after all." She needed to check the wound itself to be sure however; and to do that, his tunic would pose a problem.
Should she undress him. . .? Her cheeks burned a light pink at the very thought of doing something so intimate with a perfect stranger. No, she'd just cut away a portion of the cloth. . .it was stained already anyhow. The bloodstained blade slices through the fabric slowly as she pulls it carefully in her direction; creating a gash in the cloth from the neckline to almost under his arm. Her free fingers peel away the wet garment, exposing his shoulder and upper chest. The ugliness of the wound clashes bitterly with his pale skin so much that she wants to look away; and almost does except for her resolve to help him now that she had started.
Dropping the dagger aside, she takes up her water bag, uncorking it with her teeth and pouring the contents liberally over the gash. The blood washes away, showing a clean slash in his delicate looking skin. She pushes the cork back into the bottle with her teeth again and sets it aside as well, her clean hand touches the injury, pulling it aside a little to see how much damage she'd produced. "It's shallow. . .I may not need to stitch it up, but just in case. . ."
The evening dropped gently around the two figures resting by a small fire. The lifeless one swimming through muddled dreams; images of home, people he knew, the princess. . .that girl. She had such haunting green eyes that pierced him. . .pierce? His chest, he remembered.
It hurt.
His hand gropes drunkenly around; eyes still closed until he finds his chest. It is bare; and that does not seem to make sense. . .nor does the odd texture of the aching wound. He forces his eyes open, squinting at the dancing flames near his feet. His mind, too sluggish to make good logic, ignores how or who had made a fire here. His elbows fall back and he sits up, biting his lower lip to hold back a groan of pain and settles for the grunt it comes out as instead. His eyes fall to his chest, noticing the ruined tunic and the absence of blood on his skin despite the mess on the tattered cloth hanging down over his belt.
"What in the worlds happened. . .?" He tilts his chin sharply inwards so he can get a look at his injury and finds it bandaged over for the most part, but the hint of thread hanging out of the bottom. His fingers peel up the bandage partially so he can see the wound itself, finding it swollen, but now a healthy shade of dark pink and held together with tiny, neat, even stitches. Letting the bandage back down, he undoes his belt and pulls the tunic off over his head, knocking his hat off and mussing his hair recklessly.
The cool night air makes him shiver a little, but he does not mind; knowing that if he stays moving, he will warm up and keep from getting stiff muscles. "So much for this tunic. . .I'll have to buy a new one. . .and I liked this one too." He scowls a little then smirks at his own shallowness. "I wonder where that girl went. . .probably long gone. Did she heal me? Why?" he muses as he remembers the scuffle. "I suppose I deserve this. . .I got reckless. You shouldn't attack females unless needed; and she didn't seem to want to harm me. . .unless you count that bit at the end."
"Good for her though, I'm glad one of us was thinking like a warrior." He tosses a few sticks scattered around into the small blaze and looks around the ruins. It was peaceful; nothing at all like before he'd fallen into darkness. His eyes scan the floor for his sword and shield, finding them propped near where he'd been laying; and near the bottom of a boot. He looks over and finds the other figure sharing the fire with him, covered in that cloak from earlier.
Her body lay sprawled on the cobbles with her side rising and falling gently, as if she'd slumped over in exhaustion while sitting up and fighting rest. He moves over to her on his knees and gets a closer look. Her hair reflected the light and framed her face with warm hues in an attractive way. She looked so peaceful, yet so forlorn all at once; as if she slept grudgingly and was unhappy to do so. He dares to reach over and pluck a piece of grass from the strands of hair on her shoulder as she lay on her side; her mouth open slightly and red-tinged fingers completely limp on the ground.
"Why did you stay. . .?" He says softly, as if expecting an answer. She had helped him, he knew it now, and he was indebted to her; even if she'd been the one to injure him. "I'll explain it all to you in the morning." He adds, smiling sheepishly and settling his back against the wall close to her head. "For now, I'll just make sure we both stay safe for the night." He pulls his spare cloak from his traveling pack and wraps it around himself, relaxing back in the warm cloth and settling his eyes on her as he keeps watch for the night until he gives in at last to sleep against his will with a hint of a smile on his face.
