This is a joint venture of Kaana Moonshadow and myself. We had lots of fun writing it and hope you have as much fun reading.

We don't own Bishop, but we sure as hell wish we did.


Wanna go hunting again, little mouse?

As he walked through the gloomy afternoon woods, grey light filtering sparsely through the canopy of the leaves, Bishop could only wonder what had possessed him to speak those words.

By all nine hells, he was supposed to kill her, not teach her how to find her way in the woods!

But the image of her, sitting at his feet, stroking Karnwyr's head... she had really surprised him there. And not much surprised him anymore.

It had been less that she found the courage to pet the wolf – well, that was a bit of a surprise, too. Most of what he had seen of her yet was scared girlie-girl.

He could not stop the wry grin that tugged at his mouth. Might have been a bit his doing, that. He'd done his best to keep her in a state of perpetual terror. But then, you could only be afraid for so long.

No, the really surprising thing had been that she wanted to touch the wolf. He'd have thought she would be too afraid to get her hands dirty in the process. But she really had been eager, had enjoyed stroking Karnwyr's fur. It had been so obvious in her face, that rapt little smile and the light in her eyes while she looked at his companion.

And the wistfulness in her voice, the longing on her face when she talked about her childhood, about the bear companion of that other ranger, and how much she had loved to spend time in the woods.

While he normally would have just shut out such boring prattle about childhood stories, hers struck a chord in him.

If there was anyone who understood the need to feel the freedom of the wilds, it was him. The thought of being forced to give that up, to be pressed into that prison of a life instead, with cumbersome dresses, rules left and right, tea parties and whatnot, full of stupid blabber, surrounded by blathering, gossiping, insipid so-called society...

He could not help but feel a stab of pity, even if it had been her own fault for listening to what her mother said.

And so, somehow, that cursed sentence had escaped him.

But there might be a bright side to this. Maybe the excitement of the hunt would make her forget about his blunder when Karnwyr first showed up...

He still wanted to slap himself for that. What ever had been going through his head?

Nothing. That was the sad truth. Nothing had been going through his head.

He had acted on pure instinct, every conscious thought gone when he heard her screaming. Only the urge to throw himself at whatever was threatening her left, his heart pounding with the fear that he might be too late, he had hurled himself into the hut, and when he had realised that it was only Karnwyr, that there was no real danger...

He could still see her, yanking at the chain, screaming, nearly out of her mind with fright. And before his brain started working again, he had dropped next to her, gathered her into his arms, only wanting to calm her down, to soothe her, to take away her fear... because he could not bear to see her like this.

As he had told Karnwyr, he truly was in trouble.

How could he let her crawl under his skin? If he continued this way, it would get really hard to kill her in the end.

All the more reason to get it over with. He'd do it. Tomorrow, he'd do it. The bruises had faded enough, so that hopefully no one would find anything amiss when they found the body. And a couple of days in the water, not to mention scores of hungry fish, would not make her any prettier, and probably obscure the last traces of his cock up at the cliffs.

For now, he'd try and act normally, see that he caught something to eat for tonight without her getting into the way too much. Then an early night, and tomorrow, farewell princess.

And he would be rid of her and all that unwanted memories she stirred.

At the moment, he'd keep up the charade. Would not do to let her know her end was drawing near. Not when he had been so addlebrained to take her out on this little jaunt. She would panic, probably try to run away again, he'd have to subdue her, and very likely there would be new bruises.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. She looked like a tomboy in his much too large breeches, bound tight around her narrow waist with the length of rope he'd cut. Her long, silvery hair was in wild tangles, falling into her face, which was flushed with excitement. Her eyes were bright, and she threw him a happy smile, like a child out for adventure.

The absurd trust that shone through her smile seemed to squeeze his heart, and he wanted to turn and shake her, yell at her.

Don't look at me like that, stupid cow! I'm about to kill you, remember? How can you look at me like I'm your best pal and we're out for a picnic?

She was happy to be here, with him.

She smiled at him as if she liked him.

She must be at least as corkbrained as he.

He felt the urge to go and bang his head against some tree, but he simply turned away, groaning inwardly, and proceeded through the trees.

At least she kept up with him.

In fact, she kept up astonishingly well, considering the stupid sort of footwear she had. And without that silly skirt, she even managed to walk fairly quietly. It had taken her a couple of minutes, but in the end, she simply had started to watch where he stepped and mimicked his moves, and the result was better than he had thought possible. Might even catch some deer despite having her in tow.

Another surprise.

He held up his hand as something caught his eye, and stopped. The girl moved up quietly and whispered: "What is it?"

Without thinking, he pulled her near and pointed ahead, at the depression in the ground, the earth dark, moist and furrowed.

She followed his pull willingly, leaned against him and looked ahead, and then turned her face up, a question in her bright eyes. Still leaning against his chest.

No hint of fear. So damned trusting.

What was she thinking?

"Wild pigs?", she whispered.

He nodded and put his finger of his mouth, and obediently, she stayed quiet. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his hearing.

Wind through the leaves. Birds singing. Insects humming. A rustle in the undergrowth, but relatively far away. No wild pigs in the vicinity. He would have heard them, they were not famous for their stealth.

The girl rested her head on his shoulder.

He wanted to weep. If she was on to punish him, she was doing a wonderful job of it. Screaming, crying, begging... he could handle that. Could ignore it, could let it bounce off of him. But that sudden, open, unwarranted faith she seemed to have in him – he did not know how to react to that.

No one had ever trusted him before this way. And for a good reason.

He'd told her what he was about to do, hadn't he? So why, why did she act like this?

He told himself to hang on. Just this day to endure, and tomorrow it would all end. He could do it. Just one more day.

He disentangled himself and said: "They're not around. Let's have a look."

Without looking at her, he proceeded to the depression in the earth, crouching down and examining the ground. She followed his example.

"See this?", he said, pointing at an imprint in the earth, looking like a broad triangle, split in the middle and pulled apart at the tip, with two tiny triangles set back a bit from the lower corners of the big one. "Track of a wild pig." Anything to talk about, anything to take his mind into another direction.

"Will you teach me how to follow it?", she asked, eagerly.

She really was enjoying this.

"Nah", he said, keeping his eyes on the tracks. A good way to avoid looking at her. "You don't want to meet a wild boar. Or a sow with young. They can get nasty. Let's find something smaller."

He got to his feet and she hopped up, energetically. "Alright", she said, sounding chipper.

Gods, he hated her.

Still refusing to look at her, he turned and started in a direction, away from the tracks of the pigs. Deer tended to avoid wild pigs, too.

After maybe half an hour, his eyes found another track, this one like a split triangle too, but much narrower, and the two halves flush together, at the broad end of each half something like a big dot.

He pointed them out to her, and she wordlessly looked at him, questioningly.

He'd have to give her that, she could keep quiet, and seemed to know when to be silent. She had not talked much since they had started out, and what little she had said she had kept short and quiet. A rare trait in a woman.

"Deer", he said under his breath. "Fresh track. Can you follow it?"

Her eyes sparkling, she smiled at him and passed him, taking care not to step on the track.

Not bad.

She crouched down, scanning the ground, her brows drawn together. It took her a couple of moments to spot the half track maybe two yards away, but she found it in the end, pointing and throwing him a questioning glance again.

He nodded, impressed despite himself. That one had not been easy to see. She had sharp eyes, no denying that.

Very, very slowly they followed the track of the deer. Once or twice he had to point out a nearly obscure imprint to her, or a freshly nipped branch, or some upturned leaves, but she did surprisingly well.

A shame she had listened to that dimwit of a mother. She had talent, could have been a decent ranger.

Now, of course, it was too late. Because by this time tomorrow, she would be fish fodder.

But a shame, nonetheless.

When he could see from the tracks that they must have nearly caught up with the deer he touched her shoulder, and when she looked at him, he motioned at her to stay put. She nodded, and he took his bow from his shoulder, an arrow out of the quiver and after determining the direction of the wind, began to circle round.

Soon, he saw the deer, browsing at some young leaves.

Nocking his arrow, he took careful aim and let it fly. It embedded itself into the deer's eye, and without a sound it fell, instantly dead.

Bishop put his bow back over his shoulder and hoisted the deer up, returning to where he'd left the girl, fully expecting her to get all teary because of the poor deer.

She had not moved much, and though he walked quietly, her head turned as he approached. Good ears, too.

Pity she had to die.

Her eyes went to the deer and widened a bit. But instead of the piece about the poor, dead deer, she said: "I wish I could shoot like that!", her voice full of awe and envy.

She'd surprised him again.

"Can you shoot, mousie?", he said, full of disbelief.

She shook her head. "No, not really. My grandfather showed me once, when I was little, but my mother would have none of it. And then... then I started playing with the girls, and there was no opportunity to learn anymore..."

He put down the deer and took his bow again.

"Come here", he said.

She stepped closer, throwing him another questioning glance.

"Take it", he said, handing her the bow and taking out an arrow.

She took the bow, slowly, hesitatingly, suddenly looking shy. As if she was touching some kind of relic.

He stepped around her, behind her, his chest against her back, and reached out, took the bow again and placed it in her left hand, putting his own hand over hers.

"Like this", he said. "Hold it firmly, but not rigid."

Handing her the arrow, he took her right hand into his, guiding it to the string, showing her how to nock the arrow.

"Now, pull", he said. She did, and he helped her, until the bow was drawn.

"Feel that?", he asked. "Just try to get a feel for the position, how to hold it. Even if the bow is too large and heavy for you. You'd need a much smaller, lighter one to handle properly."

She nodded, eager again, and leaned back against him.

It was the potatoes all over again. He had her in his arms, so warm and fragrant, and her hair tickled his chin, and his heart was speeding up, and breathing seemed to take a lot of effort...

How could she still smell so good, after all the time they had spent in the hut?

And why did she always end up in his arms?

His own damn fault, too. What was he doing here, showing her how to shoot an arrow? No bloody use, because she was dead already, right? Besides, he'd never felt any inclination to teach his skills to ranger wannabes. He had better things to do. Just could not think of something at the moment.

Well, he'd started it, so he'd best finish it to get her out of his arms and into a safe distance again.

He swallowed and tried to sound even. "Now, when you let go of the string, take care not to move the other arm. If you get hit by the string, it hurts like hell."

She nodded again, and he made some minor corrections to her stance, repressing the urge to nuzzle her neck, so tantalisingly close.

"Let go by three", he said, slightly hoarse. "One... two... three."

They both let go, and the arrow flew, ending up sticking out of the trunk of a large oak.

She turned in his arms, hopping with excitement, giggling delightedly. "Again!" she exclaimed. "I want to try again!"

No way!

He stepped back, taking the bow and putting it on his back. Then he stepped up to the tree, yanked the arrow out and put it back into the quiver.

"Party's over, princess", he growled. With that, he hoisted up the dead deer and began the march back to the hut, leaving her to follow as best as she could. He just walked swiftly, not looking back at her, but keeping his ears concentrated backwards. If her steps ceased to follow him, he'd hear. No need to look at her.

Amazingly, she still did not try to run.

xxx

Back at the hut, Bishop sent the girl ahead, with Karnwyr to guard her. He stayed back in the trees, to clean out the deer and bury the entrails. He needed some alone time to clear his head.

He'd have to be more careful. Keep some distance. He'd told himself countless times - about time to start listening to himself, it was good advice. Just so damn hard to do, when she stirred up all those emotions he had worked so hard to bury.

He intended to take his time, not to get back until he had his bearings together again, but he could not shake an uneasy feeling that crept up in him as soon as the girl was out of his sight. He was working on the deer, telling himself he was being stupid, that everything was fine, and that Karnwyr was with her, when he heard the wolf's voice, raised to an angry howl, telling him something was wrong.

Damn! Should have listened to his guts – they usually were right.

Cursing, he drew his scimitars and hurried until he could see the hut through the trees. Pressing behind the trunk of a large oak, he peered around and stole a quick glance at the hut. The door was open, and no one in sight. He could hear Karnwyr's deep growl from inside.

Quietly, Bishop crept up to the hut, taking care to crouch under the window, and approached the door from the side. He could hear a rough voice talking.

"Lookie here", the man said. "A chickie! How nice of her to drop by. Now, chickie, ye tell the lil' doggie to keep it down, unless he wants me to cut yer throat."

"He… He's not mine", the girl said, her voice shaking slightly, but obviously trying to sound brave. "I can't tell him what to do."

Karnwyr's growling increased.

"Kill the wolf", the coarse voice commanded. So there was more than one. Bishop tensed, ready to jump into the hut if they really attacked Karnwyr, smiling grimly. They would find the wolf harder to kill than they thought.

"No!", the girl cried out. "Leave him alone! You'll be sorry if you hurt him!"

She was defending Karnwyr?

A roar of laughter followed her words. Bishop tried to guess how many voices he heard, but could not be sure. Four? Five? Six? How strong might they be?

"Oh chickie, yer a blast, I can tell already. Who will make us sorry? Ye?"

"No", she said, and the tremor was gone from her voice. Instead, there was a snide undercurrent. "Not me. But his master will. Believe me, you don't want to make him angry." She sounded sure of her words, and, oddly enough, proud.

Strangely touched by her words, Bishop felt an irrational stab of pride himself at her show of courage.

There was a cacophony of raucous laughter again.

"Oh chickie", the coarse voice answered. "Think we're afraid of one man? There are five of us, and we have ye."

"That probably won't make much of a difference", Bishop heard her murmur under her breath.

So they were five. He could take on five, as long as they were not too strong. Bishop straightened himself a bit and cautiously peered through the window into the hut.

He could see five figures, all in various, but advanced stages of neglect. Shabby clothing, long, stringy hair, shaggy beards, and their grins showed the blackened remnants of what once must have been teeth. Two stood just a step into the hut, their backs turned to the door. Two had their weapons drawn, holding Karnwyr in check, who was still growling viciously, his hackles raised, his impressively large teeth bared. The last one had the girl, her arm wrenched behind her back.

Bishop repressed a similar growl that rose in his chest. That impudent dog! He'd make him pay for that.

"See, chickie", the son of a bitch who held her leered, "ye've been sleeping in our house, eating our food. Me thinks ye got to pay for that. So me and the boys will have us some fun tonight, after we killed yer lover. What do you say, boys?"

The other men cheered. Bishop made use of the noise and crept up to the door. There, he got up silently, gripping his left scimitar so that the blade was flat against his wrist and arm, and then reached into the door, gripping the first man by his collar while he stepped into the doorway, yanking the bastard back, against his chest, digging the blade of his second scimitar under his chin.

"Sorry boys, the plan just changed", he said sharply, and the cheer stopped abruptly, while all eyes turned to him. "Release the girl, or this one bites it."

"Ye're bluffin'", the first one said, wrenching harder on the girl's arm. She winced, but tried not to make a sound.

Cold fury coiled in Bishop's stomach, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a cruel smile. With a fluent motion, he slit his hostage's throat and threw the still twitching body against the second man standing next to him, who just stood, gaping in surprise and not able to react yet.

"No, I'm really not", he said, baring his teeth in a small, mean smile.

The first one yelled in anger, wrenching even harder at the girl's arm, starting to draw his blade with the other hand. This time, a pained whimper escaped her.

Bishops eyes narrowed to angry slits, and a feral growl escaped his throat while the cold fury in him turned to hot rage. With a flick of his wrist, he threw his scimitar. It drew a perfect arc, spinning once in the air, and embedded itself in the forehead of the bastard that dared to hurt his girl. The man dropped before his weapon had even left its sheath.

The girl yelped as the weapon passed her face with only inches to spare, but moved her back to the wall as soon as her captor fell to the ground, rubbing her hurting shoulder. Bishop gave the dying man on the floor a look of deep satisfaction.

No one touched what was his.

But the other three had used his moment of distraction to surround him, yelling with shock and anger. He turned just in time to block one attack with his scimitar, and ducked the second, but the cutlass of the one behind him bit into his shoulder, leaving a deep, bleeding gash.

Karnwyr's growl rose to a crescendo, and he jumped the attacker behind Bishop, throwing him to the ground.

"The girl!", Bishop yelled, crouching, drawing the dagger he had hidden in his boot. "Guard her!"

The wolf took one savage bite to the throat of his victim and moved over to stand in front of the girl, blood dripping from between his bared teeth.

The two standing in front of Bishop swung their weapons, aiming for his throat, but he jumped, diving forward under their swords, rolling gracefully, ending up on his feet behind his two adversaries. Swiftly, he switched the weapons, so that he held the scimitar in his main hand.

The third man was just scrambling to his feet, holding his bleeding throat, coughing painfully. He glanced at the girl indecisively, but when he saw the viciously snarling wolf standing before her, he quickly stumbled some steps backwards.

The other two turned to face Bishop again, and he pirouetted, whirling around, his scimitar drawing a deep, bloody gash over one man's chest, the dagger blocking the other's attack. The second one, not expecting Bishop's movement, missed wildly.

Using the momentum of his pirouette, Bishop let the dagger fly, and it ended up stuck in the throat of the wounded man. This one went down with a gurgling noise.

The second one, his eyes wide with sudden fear, retreated a step, but Bishop followed, a wild grin on his face that seemed to unnerve his opponent even more. Bishop saw the weapon waver uncertainly, and, making use of the opening, ran the last attacker through with his scimitar, twisting it with a turn of his wrist and yanking it out with an upwards ripping motion.

The forth one down. Slowly, determinedly, the savage grin still on his face, Bishop turned to face the last one standing, the one Karnwyr had bitten, the one keeping his back to the wall, clutching at his wounded throat.

"I… I give", the man coughed as Bishop approached, dropping his weapon. "Don't kill me, please!"

"Sorry", Bishop said, coldly. "No witnesses."

With these words, he pierced the man with his scimitar, drawing it up and slicing him open.

Then he dropped his weapon and turned, his heart still pounding from the fight and the worry. Two quick paces brought him to the girl's side, his eyes scanning her for injuries. To his relief, he could not detect any, no blood or gashes. He took her chin into his hand and lifted it, to check her throat, but it was unhurt, only the last, faded remnants of the bruises he had given her left. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, while his body slowly calmed. That had been close. She could have been hurt. She could have been killed.

But other than the shocked expression on her face she seemed fine. He did not want to dwell on the relief that flooded through him. And the grim satisfaction he felt at the death of those freaks that had dared to threaten his girl.

His girl.

Oh boy, was he in trouble.

He turned abruptly and bent down to yank out his scimitar out of the head of the corpse lying next to her, the grating sound making her wince. Without looking up he cleaned his swords on the dead man's clothes.

He felt her hand touch his shoulder tentatively, her fingers shaking slightly. "You're hurt", she said softly.

Bishop shrugged her hand off. "Never mind. Just a scrape."

With that, he got up, the dead man over his shoulder.

She grabbed his arm. "You're bleeding. Let me have a look.", she insisted.

No, no, no. No more touching. Touching was bad. And there was an expression on her face... concern? For him?

A strange, warm feeling rose in him. He felt the impulse to just drop the carcass and draw her into his arms and wanted to slap himself. Bad. Very, very bad. He'd have to put a stop to this kind of nonsense.

Impatiently, he wrenched himself free. "It's nothing", he snarled, turning away and making for the door. He felt her gaze at him in confusion, but ignored her and went outside.

Five bodies. And he really felt no inclination to dig a hole for them. He'd just leave them outside for the night, burn them tomorrow.

He took the bodies out, one after the other, still ignoring the girl. She had started a fire and was filling the pot at the well to heat some water, probably for cleaning the floor. And she kept throwing him bewildered glances.

After he had dumped the last carcass some yards away from the hut, he let himself drop on the lopsided, worm-eaten bench leaning against its wall, resting his face in his hands, tiredly massaging his forehead with his fingertips.

Just one more night. He could do it. Soon, it would be over.

He could hear the girl rummaging inside and briefly wondered what she was using to clean the floor. Probably one of his shirts, considering her habit to ruin them. Well, he had no desire to go in and check. One shirt was a small price to pay for some moments of peace.

His peace was interrupted when the door to the hut opened and the girl dragged the tub outside, emptying its now pink contents to the ground. She straightened and turned to him.

"I... I had to use the shrunken tunic to clean the floor", she said, hesitatingly. She was wearing her dress again, but it was hanging loose around her body, the laces open.

Bishop just shrugged, leaning his head against the wall, closing his eyes. He did not want to look at her. The dress looked as if it wanted to slide down her shoulders any moment...

"Could... could you fasten the laces again...?", she asked, haltingly. "I can't reach them, so..." Her voice trailed off.

He groaned and got to his feet. "Turn", he said harshly, his lips compressed to a tight line. He really did not want to do this.

She complied, and he threaded the laces through the hoops, taking care not to touch her, fighting the temptation to run his mouth down her neck to that piece of bare shoulder that showed through her open dress, wanting to sink his teeth into her soft skin...

Luckily he had gathered quite a bit of experience with lady's garments, otherwise the task might have taken him ages. He finished quickly, and stepped back, anxious to get some distance between them.

The girl turned to him and smiled at him, shyly, obviously still shaken from what had just happened in the hut.

„Thanks,", she said quietly, her voice still a bit shaky. She made a move to return to the hut, but then stopped and turned around to face him once more, her eyes shining bright. "I still wanted to thank you for taking me hunting, and for showing me how to shoot. It was… lovely."

Groaning inwardly, he retreated a bit more. "I'll work at the deer", he said gruffly, ignoring her words. "I want to eat sometime today."

She followed, her eyes falling to his shoulder, frowning. "You're still bleeding", she said.

"I told you it's nothing, so stop nagging about it, will you?" Why was she following him?

Surprisingly enough, she smiled into his scowling face, a sudden twinkle in her eyes. "Don't be daft", she said. "I just wiped the floor, so I don't want you to go in and make it bloody all over again. And you don't have to worry, I can dress the wound – that's something my mother wanted me to learn, so I know how to do it."

He stared at her for a second, and could not stop the corners of his mouth from twitching. She was giving him cheek?

"Daft?", he asked, holding her gaze.

Her mouth twitched as well. "Yes, daft", she answered.

Admittedly, his shoulder hurt like a bitch. It would be awkward to impossible to bandage it himself, so it probably was a good idea to let her do it. Only he did not want to let her that close again.

"I'm not wiping that floor again", she said.

A short chuckle escaped him. "Watch it, mousie", he said.

She just cocked her head, that twinkle still in her eyes.

He rolled his eyes and groaned in defeat. "Fine", he said, turning back to the hut. "Do what you have to do. Just try not to make it worse, will you?"

"Don't worry, I'll be gentle", she answered, teasingly.

He just had to laugh and quickly disguised it as a cough, glad she could not see his face. She had a sense of humour and a quick tongue when she was not paralysed with fear, and he had to admit he liked that side of her. It made him feel a trace of respect for her.

Which did not make things easier.

Back in the hut, Bishop started to rummage in his backpack until he found the stock of bandages he carried. He took one out and threw it to her.

"Do your worst, mousie", he said, still slightly amused by her sudden mutiny, pulled his shirt over his head and sat down on his bedroll.

She deftly caught the bandage, then took a step into his direction, lifting her eyes to him. Her step faltered, and he could see some colour rising in her cheeks.

Now she turned prissy again?

He drew up his eyebrows and said, mockingly: "You wanted to do this, princess. Are you going to get over your maiden virtue, or should I get dressed again?"

"No, I...", she started, but then closed her mouth with resolve and walked up to him. Her gaze fixed on the – admittedly still slightly bleeding – gash in his shoulder, she knelt down besides him, a small frown furrowing her brow, examining the wound.

Then she got up, marched determinedly to the small table, took the bottle still standing on it and poured a liberal amount of the contents over the gash. It stung like hell, and he winced a bit.

"Bloody hell, girl", he gritted out, "you could just have said you wanted to torture me."

She grinned at him, mischief clear as the morning in her eyes. "Don't be a baby", she said. "I had to clean it. Now I can dress it, and it won't get infected."

He suppressed a grin, and she started to quickly and firmly dress his shoulder, her fingers brushing against his chest and back. He forced his mind away from the small, inevitable touches, staring straight ahead, his amusement melting like snow in the sun, making place for a very different kind of feeling.

"You are carrying a lot of bandages in your backpack", she said, her voice sounding a bit strained. "You seem to get hurt a lot."

He just grunted noncommittally. "As I said, I've had worse."

She fastened the bandage around his shoulder, and then he felt her fingertips running down his back, just left to his spine. He inhaled sharply and tried not to shiver under her touch.

"I can see that", she said softly, a strange, sad tone in her voice. "Where did you get that one?"

That must be the long one, the one he got in the fight with Tholapsyx. He'd nearly bought it that day when the huge dragon had managed to get past the warriors of their small band to squash the little insect stinging him with its arrows. His leathers had not provided much protection against an angry, huge red dragon... Well, no wonder it was angry, considering there was an arrow stuck in its eye. Had to hurt, that.

When Riana reached him, lying on the ground, bleeding massively, after the rest of them finally defeated the beast, the world had already started to get dim around him, and even her considerable healing powers had not been enough to close the wound completely...

Oh yes, that had left a nice scar, that one.

"Dragon's claw", he said curtly.

He heard her gasp. "You mean... you fought a dragon?", she asked, awed.

He shrugged. "More than one, but that one was a nasty critter. Now, are you done?"

Her fingers followed the scar again, upwards this time. Bishop closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, torn between turning round and shoving her away, and turning round and dragging her close...

"You could have died", she said, her voice shaking a bit.

"Nearly did", he gritted out. "Any more questions you want answered?"

"No", she said quietly and bent forward slightly, picking up his shirt. "I'll fix the slash in it tomorrow", she continued, still in that subdued tone. "And I will wash the blood out."

Tomorrow? Tomorrow, she would be dead.

She stared at the bloody, torn shirt for a moment and then looked up, into his eyes. "Thank you for your help", she said, softly. "Those men... I thought they were going to... and they were five. But you… I thought they were too many, but you were… I never saw anything like it. You saved me. So… thank you."

Gods help him. They were back to the hero fantasy. Had she totally forgotten who he was, what he was about to do?

He kept her eyes, staring at her hard, so that she finally got the message. "They were small fish", he said, harshly. "Could not let them hurt you. Has to look like an accident, remember?"

He saw her eyes widen, and her face blanched. Hastily, she turned away and got up.

Well, good to have that straightened out.

Bishop got to his feet as well, practically fleeing the hut to finish working on the deer, leaving Karnwyr behind to guard the girl.

Just one more night.