Disclaimer: I do not own Escaflowne and/or any stories and merchandise affiliated with it.


Patrick thought he saw it on the moist, red soaked ground before anyone else did. He peered and shook his gnarly head in disbelief. This sort of thing did not happen. Not here in Fanelia, not to their Elyda, the little farmer's valley at the edge of the local lavender fields. Not to Angela, foolish headstrong Angela whom he had known since he was a boy. This was some kind of illusion, some trick of light. That could not be whimpers and moans coming from it.

Perhaps he was not feeling well. Some older folks in the valley say that they imagined things. If the day was hot, if there had been too much sparkling wine the night before. But he had gone to bed early. He had not even drank in weeks. She had banned him from their cellar. Dear, good Eleanor had been feeding him disgusting fennel tea instead.

Patrick raised his arm to wipe his crumpled face and at the same time a cloud slid over the moon. It wasn't as clear as it had been before. He must indeed have been hallucinating. But now he must pull himself together. He had people to protect. If the valley wanted to be safe, it would not want a madman, someone crazed by old age and paranoia fancying the downfall of a senile friend.

"How are you coping, Pat?"

"Don't call me Pat, boy…" he hissed, leaning forward from his nervously stomping mare, "…unless ya want a good bit of spanking, you hear me, lad? Besides I'm good; but my poor Penny doesn't like wolves too well, now do you girl?"

"Why?" he shouted a bit farther away, twisting his sword into mangy, greasy fur.

"Why what?"

"I do not call Eleanor 'mother', either. Would you like me to say, 'dearest father' instead?" he added smirking.

"Will ya shut up Andreas. Concentrate, boy or ya gonna get your pretty head bit"

Patrick sighed and wiped his slick, hot face. Wisps of rust hair still stuck on his hollow shriveled cheeks. He was too old for this. But the prospect of tranquil retirement was as likely to be granted to him as any concession to his wife's little organization. Life was unjust. Obviously.

"I believe I got the last one, dearest father" announced his son loudly and flipped down his softly neighing, black stallion.

"Yeah…it seems so" Patrick agreed, slowly sliding down his old companion's soft and torn saddle. "Nice one, boy", he added, patting his son's shoulder as encouragingly as he could. This would be a cold, clammy night, with plenty of cleaning till the morning. Weeks before he bravely endured his creepy, prickling sunburned back and laboriously planted the soft, aromatic lavender bushes. He often wondered why he helped…it was the same shit every few weeks. But the devastated farmers liked it. And he would listen to their burdens while he sat next to their rotting barns, adding to their illusion that if the king did not listen to a traumatized single-mother in some forgotten valley, he would listen to an overworked, senile soldier of some superfluous troop. They liked that too.

"So, I will not have to endure a good beating then?" Andreas nudged him playfully.

"Will ya shut up, lad" he grumped. "We never raised our hands to ya or Lillian. Ya know that. It. Ain't. Funny. Boy!"

"God…Sorry, sorry!" Andreas grimaced insulted, "For peace's sake, I was just trying to lift you abysmal mood, father" he murmured and shook his head in exasperation, wiping his red, sticky hands on his pants carelessly.

"Whatever…" he paused "…don't worry, just start collecting the monsters as usual. Ya know the drill, right?"

Patrick sighed. He should know better. He had been unfair. The 'children' didn't like it if you offered them reprimands instead of advice; the farmers did not want you to assume they were in need of rescue. Officers did not like being greeted without a lavish parade, and his own family wanted to be thought of as strong fighters rather than simple civilians. Patrick had learned to wait carefully before he spoke.

And as he looked across the field he saw the next test of the day arriving: A brisk woman, wearing a cacophonous hat that only eccentrics or gypsies wore, a hat that did nothing for the face, but only magnified the ridiculous nature of its aging state. She was on her own and stopped to look at the reeking, bloody devastation before her.

"Holy Fuck!"

"Aahh" Patrick chuckled for the first time, very relieved "Well, I'm certainly glad that nothing can leave ya speechless old, gal!"

"Or with a clean mouth, Angela" shouted Andreas in good mood again, waving enthusiastically halfway through hauling an almost decapitated wolf to a sour stinking pile of carcass he had started.

"Watch it dear godson, or I'll come and clean up your's. Thoroughly." she shouted loudly and shook her long, scrawny finger admonishingly. "Holy, fucking shit, Patrick." she then moaned miserably, stomping towards him, "Not again. Not me, too. You know how much of my harvest will be gone because of this fucking mess?"

"I know, I know, Angela…It's a damn mess. Again." He stepped forward lay his hands around her wiry shoulders soothingly.

"Holy, damned, fucking shit, old boy" She shook her head and grimaced bitterly. "You and Andreas are not hurt are you?" she suddenly asked and jumped back from his callused hands, analyzing his physique anxiously.

"No, no…We're fine. Not a hair split, trust me" he grinned, "I'm so happy to see ya alright, though, old girl…"

"This is were you were working yesterday, Angela" interrupted Andreas darkly, with his hand over his mouth in shock. "Oh my God, it could have been you."

"Well, it wasn't, so what's the point of saying that?" Angela replied firmly, slightly confused.

"No, you don't understand" cried Andreas frantically "Come quick, both of you…Good God, what was she doing here?"

And then, for the first time, Patrick realized it was true. There was a person. Not just a trick of the light. There was a faint sound of moaning and whimpering from where Andreas sat crouching numbly. The others had heard it too. He could not put it down to an old man's failing sanity. He began to tremble and hold on to Angela to support himself.

"Patrick, quick!" shouted Andreas, as Angela had already abruptly escaped his hand without a glance, and was clumsily whisking her heavy, flowery skirt through the soft, blood soaked ground. "There was woman beneath that wolf" he pointed in repulsion to a grimy animal next to him "…and she does not look well…"

"Let me, see Andreas" Angela said surprisingly calm, as she tried to step over three greasy, bloody carcasses, "Stupid, fucking devils, now…"Angela paused "Good God!" she breathed.

Patrick did not move his lips. He did not move at all, as he stood as if transfixed, watching the skeletal, delicate woman, who was sprawled unnaturally on the ground. She lay an inch deep amidst the reeking, muddy earth and the flowing pleats of her soft, ivory dress were ragged with scarlet stripes and brown scars like grotesque blots in the middle of a painting.

"Oh God Lord…look at her leg…that thing slashed it like a rack of meat" Angela cried out.

"Poor angel." Andreas whispered despondently and sighed. He cautiously leaned forward and gently wiped away a bright red trickle that had slid down her translucent throat. Patrick wondered why he did it…it was hardly her gravest hurt. But the girl's injuries disturbed Andreas, and as he stared numbly at her face, the long honey strands that even as they stuck to her hot and sweaty face, shone pale and white in the cool moonlight, she looked so much like her. That disturbed Andreas, too.

"Do you know her?" asked Andreas with his hand on her soft, hollow cheek.

Yes, that's her. That's Nicola! Patrick wanted to cry out, but he knew that such thoughts really were in fact only the product of a broken heart and a senile mind. Besides he did not need to state the obvious. Their faces. They all were thinking the same thing…especially the poor boy.

"No, indeed, we all know everyone here" Patrick wiped his cold cheeks with his uniform's rough sleeve.

"It must be horrible for you and Andreas, Patrick" Angela whispered gravely, from the ground.

He felt tears come to his eyes. She was right. It was terrible for him. He had endured this before, he saw her sprawled lifeless on the ground, he saw her eyes, bleak and still, he saw her injuries, deep and irrevocable. He saw that he was too late that day, as well. Yes, it was horrible for him. He glanced at her piteously.

Her face was kind but she was practical, too. "Why don't you go and fetch a blanket, so Andreas can take her to your house? Mine is closer, but I need Eleanor's help."

It was the spur he needed. "You're right!" he said and began to walk away briskly. "I'm getting to old for this. To many memories, you see?" he suddenly shouted back apologetically.

"Yes, he is" whispered Andreas sadly to his father's retreating back as he watched Angela expertly wrap her peach shawl around the woman's injured leg.

"I just wonder, who she is. I mean what was she doing here all alone?"

"Visiting relatives, probably."

"Well, whatever she was doing, it shouldn't have been on her own. I mean, what kind of pathetic ass let's his wife travel alone during these times?" Angela seethed "Men…"

"Husband, you say? How do you…"

"Yes, dear boy…Goodness, a soldier like you really needs to get himself together, Andreas…you're just like your father!" she sighed exasperated, tying the shawl's ends "Look at her ring finger…Anyway, I for one hope that one of your stinking, shitty friends over there…" she tilted her head meaningfully "ate his sorry behind and…"

"Yukari?" the woman suddenly breathed hoarsely, her throat almost dry and voice nearly imperceptible.

They both grew quite. Her eyes!

But Angela calmly leaned forward and caressed her cheek comfortingly. "Shhh…It's OK. It's all right now, love. Everything is good now. Everything is good…and no dear,not quite right, I am faraid. I'm Angela and this" she touched his shoulder "is Andreas."

"You are safe."

"What?" she breathed.

"You are safe." Andreas repeated and caressed her bare arm carefully, afraid that like a delicate porcelain doll, she, too, would shatter beneath his fingers.

"No…"

"Yes, love. You are safe, dear. It's…"

"NO! Leave me alone!"

"We won't hurt you, dear..."

"Go away! Go away!" she moaned. "I don't want to be saved" She coughed loudly. Blood cruelly trickled down her sickly throat. "Leave me. Go away, just go! Please, go away! Just leave me…Go away…Go away!"


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