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What followed was the most awkward journey either of the two young men had ever taken. They talked about the weather and likely camping spots and firewood and the health of the horses. They didn't talk about whatever Berit had been 'researching' for Sparhawk. Khalad wasn't buying that: Berit had a lot of strengths but poring over musty documents was not one of them. They weren't talking about the reason Khalad had been asked to make this journey: which was just as well as that had been made up on the spur of the moment just to come along.
One thing they were definitely not talking about, were skirting around, was what happened to Berit in the desert. Khalad had tried to wipe away the memories of his friend bleeding out under his hands: but that was proving surprisingly difficult despite the fact his friend was right here beside him complaining about travel rations. The sun had been so hot and there had just been so much blood... and then Berit had been so so still for far too long. But that was in the past and Berit was well and grumbling away. But if Khalad was having trouble with this he couldn't imagine what Berit must be going through. He had seen men take near-mortal wounds before and there always more than physical effects: you couldn't just brush off a brush with death. Except Berit didn't have any physical scars thanks to the healing he had been given, and Khalad didn't know what Berit was thinking as he wouldn't talk about it.
Though he knew many people and got on well with most, Khalad didn't consider that he had many friends. There were a lot of people to share a pitcher of something and a tall tale, but not many would-have-your-back-any-time type friends. Certainly none of the other knights treated him as an equal- though he would make sure that changed someday. And very few men tried as damn hard as Berit did to do the right thing. Khalad wasn't stupid: he could see the tension is Berit's shoulders sometimes, saw the darting glances into the shadows, noted how he sometimes woke with a start and he was determined to do something about it. No matter how many errands he had to make up.
If he had been any less worried about his friend perhaps he would have been less distracted as they sat around the campfire that evening, and perhaps the rest of their journey might have gone differently. But he wasn't paying attention so the first he knew of an archer stalking them was the grunt of surprise and pain from Berit as the arrow pierced his shoulder. No it must have been a crossbow bolt to cut through his chainmail. Or at very close range and even so... His thoughts at last flicked from the skill of the archery to the fact his friend had just been shot as a voice called out from the darkness "That was a warning shot. Lay down any valuables or weapons you have and there won't be any more."
Khalad couldn't tell where exactly the voice was coming from except vaguely behind him, and had no idea how many more arrows might be pointing at them right at that moment. He stood in surprise and moved to help Berit who was clutching at the arrow as if to remove it.
"Don't do that you fool." He cautioned, noting the blood oozing slugishly from the wound and pressed a hand against it.
"It... needs to come out. Take it out. Please." Berit said through gritted teeth. He had toppled from where he had been sat and was now on his knees.
"Yes it will come out but not like this! You'll do more damage." He instructed as their assailer once again spoke.
"Now just step apart, show us your weapons and your purses."
Khalad pulled up, caught by indecision. He felt the deep need to help his friend – he couldn't watch him bleed out, not again – and the need to destroy those who threatened him. He would need to stop this bleeding, figure a way to get the arrow out safely. At the same time he would need to try and defend the two of them. Berit was in no shape to fight, trembling beneath Khalad's hand.
He was about to roar a threat when he heard an urgent whisper from his left "Grak, do ya see? They're wearing Church tabards Grak! The Church!"
"Shut it Lant!" replied the original voice. "I'm doing my thing here."
"But The Church! You know what ma used to say about them. She said they could see inside you head, an could walk through walls an would drag ya off if ya talked back."
"I don't care whose colours they wear Lant, or what ya ma said. They can't read minds or they wouldn't have let themselves got shot would they? Now. Be. Quiet." Great. Just they're luck to be held up but a pair of arguing morons. They could still end up just as dead though and Khalad was no closer to a viable plan: he was still glancing about trying to work out where exactly the voices were coming from.
The second voice subsided into muttering and the first gave a sigh, clearing it's throat. "Now. As I was saying. Put down your weapons and your valuables and then you can tend to your friend and OH MY GOD DID HE JUST PULL THE ARROW OUT?"
Khalad snapped his attention to Berit who had indeed just ripped the arrow out from his shoulder. Of all the stupid, idiotic, insane... stupid things to do. It could have been caught on bone, or barbed, or hit an artery. Let alone the muscle damage he had just done.
Berit threw down the arrow, face pale and blood flowing. "We are of the Church. We can not read minds but you aught to have listened to you mother." As the beginning of the sentence Berit's voice was wavering, but it strengthened as he continued and the bleeding slowed to a stop. He slowly got to his feet and drew his sword, filling the air with the menacing sound of steel, no sign of restriction in his shoulder. "You had a warning shot. Do I get one now friend?"
There was a long indrawn breathe from one side and a high pitched "I told you" from the other. A moment later there was a crashing from the bushes and the sound of two men hurriedly reconsidering their life choices and considering that the next one was to be far away.
"Well that worked a bit better than expected." Berit said to himself quietly lowering his sword.
Khalad didn't care what he expected. In a few quick steps he had grabbed Berit by the shoulder, feeling for the wound. He dragged Berit a step closer to the fire even though he had plenty of light to see by. Where he had expected a gaping wound he found nothing but unbroken skin. There was lots of blood on his shirt and his chainmail would be need to go to the blacksmith. But there was no injury. No sign. Khalad lightly put his palm against Berit's shoulder to check it wasn't just his eyes deceiving him. Berit was slightly warm but other than that...
Khalad looked at his friend in confusion and concern and saw trepidation looking back at him.
"I can't explain this" Berit admitted "but we should talk."