She was in a forest, of that she was certain. But something was wrong, it was uncharacteristically clear for Hjaalmarch, which led her to believe that she was not at home. The warmth she felt on her skin also supported this hypothesis.
With one hand she grasped the other, running her fingers over her own pale, pink skin. Looking down, she realized she was wearing her satchel, but little else. Whatever the reason, this bothered her very little. With bare feet, she took several steps forward and looked around again. Somehow, the setting had changed and she was in a big, empty field. This bothered her, and she began to feel afraid.
A sharp crack stirred the sleeping woman, kindling for the fire her unconscious mind was unaware of. Ana rolled over, now facing a large, scraggly dog that lay so close as to be almost cuddling her.
Wind rushed through her hair, pushing the orange mass into her face as the warmth she'd earlier felt ebbed away. Looking up in horror, she realized she had been shaded from the sun by a pair of magnificent black wings. Because of the sun behind them,she could see the outline of every vein and bone in the leathery set.
She stumbled backwards, realizing too late that the dragon was in descent, aiming for her. She turned tail and ran, but for some reason was unable to move. Though moving her legs, she wasn't going anywhere.
She looked up again, and this time let a scream tear out of her throat.
"No!" she shouted, bolting upright. A fur travel cloak fell off of her shoulders. Sweat dripped down her forehead, sticking her frizzy hair to the sides of her face and the back of her neck. She panted for several seconds, disoriented. Firelight flickered to her right, and to her left was a wall of tree trunks. A forest.
She heard a snort from behind her, and Ana whipped around. In doing so, she disturbed Meeko who gave a halfhearted growl. Her eyes went wide when she saw a man. An Orc. Mossy green skin was covered in a loose fitting tunic and brown leggings with bare feet protruding from their ends. In his hands were two pieces of cloth out of which he wrung murky liquid... swamp water. She watched as he laid them out next to the fire, not looking at her. Instead of addressing her, he started to pick something out of the diastema between his enlarged lower canine and his lower incisors. A bug ran by his left leg and he squashed it with his heel.
"You k-killed it," she stuttered.
The man turned his deep auburn eyes on her and for the first time she got a good look at his face. Greasy black hair framed a face that had seen combat the multiple scars attested to. Somehow, though, his eyes still looked kind and feint laugh lines framed his stubbly cheeks. "You should bloody thank me," he cursed.
She blinked, momentarily confused. "Oh, no, I meant that." She raised a thin, pink skinned hand to point at the smear on his calloused heal that had once been a living creature. Annoyance flashed across his face so Ana blurted, "But thank you, thank you for saving my life."
He grunted, still looking vaguely irritated with her. "Typical milk-drinkers," he scowled. Without finishing his prior sentence, he said, "I was in the area. What, did you think I came all the way up here for you?"
Ana was deterred by his foul mood, but not entirely. "Really," she said, opening her eyes wide and trying to look as sincere as she could, "I'm in your debt."
He scoffed. "What could I possibly do with you?"
This put her off and the pair fell into a heavy silence while Ana thought. She looked him up and down once more, this time noticing the way he sat awkwardly hunched to one side. "You're hurt," she observed. "I can help with that."
This seemed to anger him, "I'm fine," he snarled. "I don't need your damned help, bloody milk-drinking bitch..." he trailed off into an unintelligible mess of curses.
Ana bit her lip. All she wanted to do was flee, dealing with aggressive Orcs was no one's favorite activity. Even still, she knew she owed this man something. "Do you know where my satchel is?" she asked, fully anticipating the stream of insults he hurled at her before pointing with a shaking hand at a lump comprised of his armor, pack, and, yes, her satchel. She got up, trying to be tender about her own aching limbs. After retrieving the satchel (while disturbing as little of his belongings as possible) she sat down next to him. "I can help, okay, it's the least I can do."
"Bitch," he spat. He inched away from her, but could do little else due to his pain.
She took a deep breath, preparing herself to do what she knew she had to. "Your ribs," she started.
"Fuck off my ribs."
"Your ribs," Ana began again, "are they broken?"
He growled, looking her up and down. He seemed to be considering her. His moss eyes dropped down to her chest then trickled down the rest of her body. Ana was suddenly vastly more appreciative of her practical black robes. "Fine," he finally uttered in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. "Yes, they're broken. Three, I think."
She winced, this would be tougher than she thought. "Okay," she said slowly, rummaging through her satchel. Although it was primarily filled with poisons, she also had several vials of a strong healing balm she used when Meeko got into fights with wolves and a bottle full of a gleaming red oil that would soothe any pain he was in and make the accelerated healing process easier. However, she knew from experience that the effects of the balm were... unpleasant... to say the least. "I'm going to need you to take off your tunic." Ana kept her gaze averted.
"How do I know that witch liquid won't burn me?" He was apprehensively eying the potion in her hand.
Ah, now she saw. "Have you never used healing balm?"
He just grumbled but did not address her question. "I just want to make sure you know what you're doing," he said, glaring up at her.
Ana gave her best reassuring smile and said, "trust me. You saved my life, I wouldn't hurt you. And you need help."
This time he gave her an all out glower, "I wouldn't have gotten hurt if I hadn't been trying to keep your ass from getting killed."
Ana chose to ignore that, instead purposefully uncorking her little vial. She didn't have much left – not enough to fully heal him – she'd have to find the ingredients for more. With a sigh, she looked back to the orc. Her nerves were beginning to settle as her hands prepared to resume the familiar task of healing. "Are you ready?" He only grunted. "Look," she said, "I can do nothing for you if you don't let me see the wound. Please," she added, widening her eyes in sincerity- or at least she hoped what looking like sincerity.
It seemed to work because slowly, painstakingly, he lifted his arms and began to peel off his tunic. Ana, though she would have with an injured villager, didn't move to help him. She was predominantly afraid of what his reaction might be, but was also a touch curious- she had never actually seen an orc's body before.
Well, it was green, as she'd anticipated. On some level, Ana had expected to see some grotesque sight matching the orc's horrific reputation. Perhaps he skin was covered in squirming leeches or else marred entirely with scars. This was not the case. His shirt slid up to reveal a well muscled, if not entirely stocky, torso that was lightly covered in a thin layer of hair centering in a line that ran vertically between his ribs and up to his chest where it bloomed outwards into a butterfly of soft black hair. On the skin she saw few scars; a vertical one running down the left half of his chest past his nipple was the most noticeable.
Ana realized with some mild embarrassment that while she'd been inspecting him he had finished removing his tunic and was looking expectantly at her. "Well," he grumbled, "how bad is it, alchemist?" He rolled the word 'alchemist' around in his mouth, as if savoring each syllable, then spat it out distastefully.
Ana shook her head gently, telling herself to focus. He is not an attractive orc, she scolded herself. You do not see him that way. No. Even with her admonishment, she couldn't lie to her inner most self… she liked what she saw.
Suppressing an unwelcome flush, Ana turned her attention to his visible wounds. A blossom of bruising spread across the lower right portion of his ribs, presumably where there had been some impact. She was amazed to see no scratches… his armor had done it's job well. "It's better than I thought," she said honestly. "You'll still need to move gently for the next few days."
"What good's that witch liquid for, then?" He growled.
"I said a few day," Ana scolded, "not a few weeks. Be grateful." That should shut you up, she added inwardly. He looked like a man that knew extended injuries well.
Indeed, it did quiet the disagreeable orc. Ana was able to prepare the area in relative peace, cleaning it gingerly with water from her waterskin. He only grumbled the slightest bit, cursing for, what Ana thought, was emphasis. She ignored him, now relatively sure he would not physically lash out at her. "What's your name?" She asked as she shook out a septim sized amount of her healing balm onto her fingers.
"Bagamul," He growled.
"Bagamul," she repeated softly, trying it out on her tongue.
"No," he snarled, "Bagamul," he repeated, emphasizing the oo sound of the last syllable. "Stupid milk drinker," he grumbled.
"Bagamul," Ana said, making sure to say it right that time. When he said nothing she assumed she had gotten it right. "I'm Ana," she said. A nod was all she got in recognition. She looked back down, focusing on the bruising for a moment. Ever so gently, she rubbed her balm on them. She had tried to warm and soften it in her hands as much as she could, yet his flesh still rippled as she applied it.
Ana thought of something. A smirk spreading across her lips, Ana said, "No, An-na," she greatly emphasized the last syllable of her name, like he had.
This made him angry. "I can say your bloody name, An-na!" he snarled, letting out a rumbling growl. The snarl, however, quickly turned into a grimace of pain because the growl vibrated his broken ribs. Ana bit her lip, trying as hard as she could to hold back the snicker dancing in her throat. It wasn't his pain or his anger alone, it was the combination. He was like an angry child, all bark and no bite. She doubted he could get up if he wanted to… although taking another look at his face she changed her mind. It was red, as red as green skin could be, and scrunched up with rage. "What," he roared, "is so fucking funny!?"
She raised her eyebrows at him and said nothing. She neither moved to continue her careful application of the healing balm nor retreated from his explosive anger. For the first time Meeko reacted to the dialogue, moving to sit next to his mistress. He didn't growl, but his expression was communicative enough: it said, 'you will have to go through me'.
"Get that fucking dog out of my face," Bagamul the orc winced- he'd once again spoken too forcefully. Almost as an afterthought, he snapped, "and fucking fix my ribs."
"Please," Ana muttered, to which he only glowered. With a grumble, she returned her attention to his wounds. Her balm required a quick incantation to act as a catalyst and set the healing process in motion. She muttered the words, barely registering the golden glow around her hands. Bagamul, however, snapped his attention to them and gaped, an expression of utter astonishment spreading across his face. "What," she said, catching on, "I told you I'm a healer."
He didn't answer her immediately, continuing to examine her outstretched hands long after the healing glow had faded. She had the distinct impression she was being evaluated. His mossy eyes, all remnants of anger gone, rose and met her confused ones. His voice much softer now, he asked, "how good are you?"
The question caught her off guard. Ana knew she had some natural talent, however over the course of her lifetime had had little chance to hone it with practice between occasional scraps. "I'm… decent," She said carefully- she was wary of what his next request would be and, even more concerning, what he would do to her if she turned out to be inept.
Bagamul inspected her face, for the first time seeming to really consider her. Finally, he made a simple statement. "I have a companion who is injured. I would like your assistance." He looked her squarely in the eyes.
"Uh," was all she could choke out at first. "Wh-where?" Ana did not know what to make of that request.
He didn't give her much time to deliberate, launching into his explanation immediately. "In an old cave to the east of here. I was leaving, in fact, to visit Morthal to find a healer. She's safe but her bloody leg is broken. I require your assistance." With the last sentence, his voice lowered considerably, almost menacingly. It worked, she felt less and less like she actually had a choice in the matter. An image of him dragging her off to the east by her hair floated to the forefront of her thoughts.
She took a deep breath, banishing the thought from her mind with a little shake. Ana was torn. She didn't want to go- she wanted to remain in her home, safe, away from danger, alone with her flowers and leaves and roots. She had built a life for herself here and she was wary of risking it. On the other hand, what he was saying sounded very, very exciting; not to mention, something about this man screamed excitement to her anyway. In the end, she didn't really have a choice- something about the way he said he "required" her told her that she would be helping him. Finally, she said, "can you pay?" Meeko, from his position behind her, growled softly at the orc. Absently, Ana reached back to stroke his ears.
His lips curled upward into something between a smile and a sneer and a guttural chuckle escaped. It was ugly. "Oh yes, girl, I can pay." He considered her a moment, "and I can guarantee your safety, milk-drinker."
There came those endearing insults. Ana was regretting ever leaving her bed that morning.