Disclaimer-I haven't posted one of this ever and no hoard of lawyers have bore down on me brandishing their suitcases. I probably won't disclaim anymore, unless I hear the sound of overhead helicopters and people breaking down my door.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sabra crept as stealthily as she could towards camp. Hearing Andrew's disapproving snort, she glanced back at him, putting a finger over her lips. Before she vanished from his view, Sabra saw him put his ears back. She supposed it was his way of wordlessly telling her to be careful. Turning back towards the campsite, she found it deserted, though she could hear the sounds of swords clashing in the background.

Looking around, she didn't see even a single sword. That suited her just fine since she couldn't use one anyway. Instead, she found a bow, a quiver full of arrows and an evil looking dagger. Okay, these she could use. She also kilted her skirts so that it wouldn't hinder her if she had to run. Hearing cries of pain, she quickly strapped the dagger to her boot and fixed the quiver to her back. She fitted an arrow onto her bowstring.

Sabra rushed towards the sounds of clashing and shouting and as she turned the corner, she paused involuntarily. Nothing she had seen before could have prepared her for this, not even, what she had seen at the movies. Mouth wide open, she stared at the Narnians battling Servos' men until her Sue-ish powers took over and she pulled the arrow back, aimed, and released it. The arrow embedded itself in a Satyr's skull and it fell to the ground. For good measure, she shot a few more arrows at the enemy, watching them drop like flies. With this group of enemies dispatched, the Narnians separated, going in different directions in search of their comrades who were in need.

Sabra decided to do the same, ran forwards until she hit another group of battling foes. She caught a glimpse of Edmund slashing his sword at oncoming adversaries. Deciding that this group of Narnians were doing fine and did not need her help because of the reinforcements, she pressed on. Rounding another corner, she found Peter. He was fighting two people at once, both Servos and his lackey. Her blood boiled at the unfairness. Grabbing another arrow, she aimed for the lackey but paused upon catching sight of an enemy archer aiming a crossbow at Peter.

"Coward!" she screamed, shooting the archer down, but it was too late.

In the split second that it took her to change targets, the crossbow quarrel had embedded itself in the High King's right arm. He cried out and dropped his sword. Sabra shot down Servos' lackey, which distracted Servos long enough for Peter to pick up his sword in his left hand. Sabra reached back for another arrow only to find her quiver empty. She swore in an unladylike fashion and dropped her bow. The Mary Sue part of her had just decided to do something extremely stupid.

Servos had knocked Peter's sword out of his hand and was preparing for the final blow. Pulling out her dagger, she ran towards Servos at ramming speed and knocked him off his feet. This was good for Peter but bad for her, for now Servos was advancing on her. He grabbed her wrist once again, but this time she was ready for him and drove the heel of the palm into his nose. His grip on her arm lessened and she snatched it away from him.

Knowing that that would only stop him for a few seconds, Sabra hurried to Peter's side. While helping him up, she screamed out Andrew's name. Servos had picked up his sword and was advancing on them. "Andrew!" Leaving Peter propped up by his sword, Sabra turned back to face the despicable character behind her, brandishing her dagger. Servos broke into a storm of evil laughter.

"You're not serious, are you?" he roared.

"Deadly serious," she hissed.

Just then, she heard the thundering of hooves coming towards them. Servos took in the sight of Andrew bearing down on them, raised his sword, and moved towards her. Sabra swung her dagger in an arc, feeling in connect with his face. With a cry, Servos fell to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, she speedily helped Peter onto Andrew and vaulted on, herself. Spurring Andrew on, she led them away from the camp.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was hours until Andrew showed signs of slowing down. Sabra called out for him to stop, and ten strides later, a sweaty horse and its shaken riders had arrived at a small clearing. She clambered off the horse with as much grace as a rock and the proceeded to help Peter off. He swayed a little. Sabra proceeded to strip Andrew of all his tack, and when he protested, she told him to stuff it (in the most polite manner, of course).

"You have to go get help, Andrew," she said in an urgent voice, "And if our enemies catch you, pretend that you're a pretty horsey that's just nancing around."

Andrew grimaced (as best as a horse could grimace) but galloped away nevertheless, leaving an injured king and an increasingly panicky girl.

"We must help the others," Peter panted weakly. He was obviously in a great deal of pain.

"No. First, I must tend to that arrow stuck in your arm," she said sharply, pushing down so that he sat down against a tree stump. Sabra looked at the wound, Peter watching her patiently. She'd never removed an arrow from a wound before and told him so.

"I have. You'll have to just pull it out," he said.

She nodded, took hold of the arrow firmly, and yanked as hard as she could. The arrow came out of his shoulder with a soft, nauseating noise. He muffled a cry and fell forward slightly, face pale. Sabra caught him and pushed him back.

"Are you all right?" she asked worried. He nodded and managed a weak smile.

"Good." she looked at the blood spilling from the hole in his arm. "Now I have to wrap it."

Peter nodded and pulled his tunic off revealing a muscular body and a slightly hairy chest. The blood rushed to her face. Realizing she had no bandages, she tore about six inches off the bottom of her dress. Trying to appear professional and desperately not to stare, she began to wrap the arm area up with the strip of cloth. He stared her straight in the face the whole time with an unfathomable expression on his face. She tried her hardest not to blush.

"There, it's finished."

"Thank you."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

By nightfall, Sabra had gotten a fire going by striking two flint stones together, as Peter had shown her. She had also rummaged through Andrew's saddlebag and found some food and a water skin. After they had eaten, Peter dropped off pretty quickly. Sabra stared at the small fire, with her back to the tree stump, thinking about the day's happenings. She had killed people. She looked at her hands, realizing the gravity of the situation. Her inner voice tried to tell her that it was in self-defense, but she chose not to listen. She watched the flames dance until she drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, she awoke to find the High King missing. Looking around in a panic, she called out his name and he emerged from behind a tree carrying a load of dry branches. After dropping them beside last night's fire, he proceeded to thank her for saving his life. Waving it aside, she started to rummage through the saddlebag in search of a piece of twine to tie her hair back. As she swept her raven tresses of her face, she asked him why he didn't appear to have any qualms over killing.

"Out here its kill or be killed, lady," he explained, "And don't regret it because you saved my life."

She wasn't satisfied with the answer but fell quiet anyway at the sound of hoof beats coming towards them.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A/N-- Ha-ha! Aren't I evil? Yet another cliffy! (Trails off in psychotic evil laughter)

And there is also a long overdue thank you to my sister all-knowing alien, (more like unknowing) for beta-ing all my chapters. (Sigh) Thank you (In suffering voice).