The town sped by, unreal from the back of a moving animal. Raviathan felt sick, knocked about by the horse's odd gait. He had never so much as ridden in a wagon let alone atop any living creature. The horse's rocking made the height worse, less stable. Buildings, though higher, were at least stable, a perch where he had more control, a better sense of balance and distance. This was chaos and thudding about. The rider grunted when Raviathan slid and fell back hard. They didn't slow as the rider manhandled him into a firm position on his lap, his arm so tight around Raviathan's middle he could only manage shallow gasps. Between his lack of air and the frenzied ride, Raviathan felt like the world was starting to spin. "Let me go!"
The rider ignored him.
Raviathan started squirming as best he could, pushing against the rider's arm and kicking back ineffectually.
"Stop that! Fall, break your neck, and you won't be a help to anyone."
"Let me go!"
"Shut it." The rider tightened his arm until Raviathan was sure he was going to be cut in two parts.
"You shems think you own everything, can do what you want. You'd take the sun and wind for your own if you could."
"That's right. Now shut up."
Oh, what was the point, Raviathan thought. Instead of arguing, he tried to focus on the horizon as that seemed to settle his nausea. Not that he would mind throwing up on the rider, but he wasn't at a good enough angle to manage that without further dirtying up his already mud drenched clothes.
Panic seized him when they headed straight toward a fence. Maker, no. Visions of the horse's legs hitting the stone wall and the two of them catapulting over flashed into his mind. Broken bones and blood. The horse spinning from the impact, speed rushing the hundreds upon hundreds of pounds of horse on him, crushing. He felt the horse's muscles bunch beneath him, the rider press forward squeezing him between horse and human. The horse leapt, a motion that left Raviathan's stomach behind, and landed with an impact that jarred his teeth together. After that, Raviathan closed his eyes and willed his mind into oblivion.
The rider leaned back but did not lessen his grip around Raviathan's waist in the slightest. They slowed enough for the horse to make his way down a ditch, the rider moving back to keep his balance, his grip forcing Raviathan to do the same. Though secondary to his panic from the horse and sickening ride, the indignity of having his ass pressed tight into the shem's crotch mingled with his frustration.
All thought was left behind at the horse's next jump out of the ditch, a hop that turned Raviathan's stomach inside out. How much longer? The horse ran at a full gallop across the field, his labored breathing echoing off the near hills.
Anxiety could only freeze his thoughts for so long. Maker, how did he always seem to end up in these situations? What would Duncan think about what happened? Would Duncan be able to find him? The villagers and this shem were apparently on friendly terms. The villagers would most likely know where Raviathan was being taken, but that also meant they would be unlikely to help, too. What was the problem with shems? Every time he had been accosted, threatened, and now kidnapped, shems were always the source. True, he'd had run-ins with his fellows in the alienage, but never to the intensity he experienced when he was among shems.
His stomach clenched when the horse bunched beneath him yet again. The horse lurched up, and Raviathan was sure the horse's neck would have slammed into his face if the shem's grip hadn't been so tight.
Curse these shems. He was going to be sick.
A low sprawling farmstead squatted on the rise over a swollen creek. The shem, William, slowed his horse to traverse the creek, the cold water chilling Raviathan's feet. The cold felt good on his twisted ankle. As if Raviathan hadn't hated the ride enough, the horse stumbled up the steep bank, hooves clanking against stone as the beast skittered and hauled the three of them up. Raviathan's breath caught as he quickly chanted a prayer to the Maker when the horse slipped.
Head spinning, Raviathan breathed a limited sigh of relief when the ride finally ended at the farmstead door. The arm that had kept him so firmly ensconced during the ride now pulled him down. Raviathan twisted to try to land on his feet, but a stab of pain went through his ankle. He stumbled and fell backwards into a mud puddle.
All dignity gone, Raviathan tried to manage furious as he glared up at the shem. The horse had steam rising off his flanks. William was as moved by the glare as a rock would be.
"Inside you'll find a man. If he's still alive, you will treat him."
The rider wheeled his horse around, and no amount of glaring changed anything about Raviathan's situation. His butt wasn't going to get less cold sitting in a puddle. Slapping his hand against the water in frustration, Raviathan struggled to his feet and limped to the house with as much resentment as he could muster. What kind of Grey Warden gets knocked out at his own wedding or gets kidnapped by a mob of shems in a strange town? Raviathan pushed his hair out of his face, mainly succeeding in getting his hair muddy. Why in the Maker's name did Duncan have such faith in him?
A hearth fire burned on the other side of the door, adding warmth and light to the house. A middle aged woman who had been tending the fire stared at him when he entered. She wore a simple homespun, brown dress over her white shift. Little tendrils of fine brown hair had escaped from her bun. Though of middle years, she had beautiful, unwrinkled skin for a shem.
"I'm a healer," Raviathan said, unwilling to keep the irritation out of his voice. "I was told there is a man in need of attention."
The woman put a hand to her chest. "You… you're a healer?"
"Yes," Raviathan said, sharper than he intended. "Your name?"
"Molly."
"I'm given to understand this is an emergency."
Without another word, the woman led him to a room, casting a backwards glance his way. Raviathan could smell old blood and the onset of infection before he entered. The unconscious man laying in the bed had large arms, a thick neck, and a barrel chest, typical of a man who did heavy labor for his keep. The wiry red bristles of his beard stood out against his pale, sweaty skin.
"Bandits," the woman said behind him, low so as not to disturb the sleeping patient. "Think they used poison on their blades."
"Why do you think they used poison?"
"He's feverish, sweaty. Can't stay awake and is confused when I try to wake him. Doesn't know where he is."
Raviathan turned around then made shooing motions at the woman when she didn't get out of the way.
"Wait," she said with rising desperation, "you're not going to leave?"
"I'm covered in mud. I need to clean up or I'm only going to make him worse. I need soap, strips of clean fabric, and boiling water."
She froze for a moment as she contemplated his list then left with an abrupt turn. "Water is on the fire. Was going to make soup, but I haven't added anything yet."
"Then I'll clean in that. Get me soap and another pot to boil. Cloth after that."
She nodded absently and hurried away. Settling in front of the fire, Raviathan pulled out his instruments first to clean, the finely edged steel glinting bright in the fire, then he pulled off his ruined cloak and armor. His cloak was still salvageable, but it would need to be cleaned and re-oiled to be of use. Not going to happen in this rain. The week's marching ahead promised to leave him soaking and cold.
The woman slapped a lump of soap in his hand before running off to complete the other tasks he'd set for her. Raviathan stripped down to his pants. He would have changed if he could, or gone down to his small clothes if he was at home. The thought of home sent a brief stab of pain, and he wondered how his family and friends were doing. They had no one to heal their wounds or care for them anymore. What would Valendrian or the orphan keeper Venri do now? What would any of them do?
Raviathan peeled off his boots last. If he didn't take off his boot now, odds were good he wouldn't be able to get it off later after his ankle swelled. Damn shems.
Instruments and thread cleaned, Raviathan washed himself as best he could in the hot water. When the woman returned with a freshly ripped bed sheet, Raviathan said, "I need as many candles as you can spare to light the room." She nodded and hurried away. Raviathan took three strips to wrap his ankle. Sighing, he gathered his instruments and left to work on the shem.
~o~O~o~
Raviathan limped out of the room to sit by the fire. He rotated his neck, then his shoulders in an effort to release the tension that had built up over the hours of working on his patient.
Molly shot to her feet when he entered. "How is he?"
"You're his wife?"
She nodded.
"He's lost a lot of blood." Raviathan slumped in a chair next to the fire and rested his ankle on the stool to warm by the fire. "You're right about the poison. I've done what I could for that, but he'll need time before it works out of his system. Longer because of blood loss. And his wounds were infected. I'll make a potion for you to give him. His bandages need to be changed daily. Fresh, clean bandages. I've left a shunt to drain out his infection. You can take it out when fluid stops draining. About three or four days or so."
"So… will he heal?"
"I expect so. He's strong and very healthy. It'll take time, but he should be able to walk a bit in a few weeks. You might need to hire help in the spring for your farm, but he'll be right by harvest."
The woman sat back down, her tears silent save for a few demure sniffles.
"He'll be fine," Raviathan said, quiet in deference to the woman's relief. "A few new scars."
Molly put her head down, her shoulders shaking in halting jerks as if she was embarrassed by her emotion. "Aye, ser."
Raviathan blinked. That was the first time anyone had addressed him as 'ser'. "He really will be fine."
She nodded but said nothing, her head bowed. The fire let out a pop, but save for her tears and the rain, the room remained quiet and still.
Had they both been elves back in the alienage, Raviathan would have held her while she cried. Here, he just didn't know what to do. Human rules and conduct baffled him. Had he been asked, he would have helped that man, would have argued with Duncan had his mentor tried to deny him, not that Raviathan thought Duncan would have tried to stop him. But grabbing him off the street? After trying to kill him. The whole situation was beyond strange.
Templars had always been the reason for hiding before. Raviathan hadn't considered that humans would hunt him as a general rule. Perhaps Valendrian and his father's experience with humans had been at play in keeping his skills a secret in the past. But then, how do shem healers cope? Were they constantly under attack too? That crone, Old Beth, had not been a target, though only a fool would attempt to make use of that one.
Did the villagers understand Old Beth was a charlatan? Old Beth thought she had them fooled. She had been poisoning them with superstition for years now, but maybe these people did know the difference. If so, they would be desperate for a healer. Enough to kidnap an elf off the street based on the scant evidence of a child's word. The treatment of an ear infection to this man's near fatal wounds were leagues apart, but if there were no other options available, Raviathan could understand these people's desperation even if he didn't care for their methods.
Not for the first time, Raviathan worried about the people he had left behind. With the filth, poor nutrition, sewage issues that resulted in dirty water and dysentery, and that was ignoring illnesses caused from exposure or neglect, his kinsmen were in for rough times. Even though he had practiced covertly, Raviathan had still been able to head off wide spread disease with a few careful words of caution.
Children like Zacky were such fragile little souls. Would he survive the winter? Now that Raviathan was gone, the rest of the children's future became that much more precarious. In the past two years of practicing on his own, Raviathan had begun to understand Solyn's distance from her fellows. She loved her kin in the alienage. That fact had always remained clear. Raviathan knew few who could match her compassion. However, there always remained an invisible barrier between herself and all others save for that of her immediate family. One wall of separation had disappeared between them when he was five. Without noticing, she had pulled him across that line between healer and patient, so the two of them stood together with their fellows on the other side. Shems were a world unto themselves.
Though lonely, the barriers were a necessity. He knew that. The first time he had to diagnose a patient on his own, not having his aunt's experience to guide him from misstep, Raviathan knew what it was to be alone. There was no one to keep him from failing, no guiding hand who could take the brunt of consequence from him. When a patient got better or died, people looked at him. Whether they thanked the Maker for blessed health, blamed him for a death, or quietly accepted the fate of their loved one, whatever outside force they attributed to their health, he was the catalyst. Raviathan understood well enough the burden of another life.
Life.
For a moment, Raviathan's mind went blank of conscious thought. Images of blood flowing like a river on stone, black smoke hovering above like a vulture to snatch the weak, Nola's sightless grey eyes staring at her rapist—devoid of all the hate and pain that should be there. They had denied her even that. A splatter of blood on white legs. Not even allowed to feel our own pain. Not allowed to scream.
The door opened with a bang of wood against plaster. Raviathan tore his eyes away from the fire to find the shem who kidnapped him standing in the doorway. His eyes bore down on Raviathan. His gaze flicked down, taking in Raviathan's half clothed state, then turned to the crying woman.
"Well?" he addressed the room in general. The shem had a way of filling the doorway, making the room feel like half the size it had been a moment ago. Raviathan glared at him, his muscles tense, to run, fight, or both, he wasn't sure.
The woman broke the growing tension. "Says he'll live. Be hale by harvest."
Relief relaxed his features for an instant. He shouted the news to whoever was outside then came into the home to flop into the closest chair. He stretched his legs out, his boots adding fresh mud to the otherwise clean floor. Eyes closed, he ignored the glaring elf with ease.
"Well?" Raviathan demanded in a tone he hoped sounded as authoritative as this shem, the obvious leader of this community, and not at all petulant.
"Get the men a drink," William ordered. Raviathan's brows knit as Molly hurried off. Raviathan sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. He wished he could feel more annoyed than he did. He wished he could manage angry, especially at this shem's disregard, but the hours of surgery for a person in grave need had robbed him of much of his temper. Especially after the flight that morning, Raviathan felt tired more than anything else. Still, a certain fight if for no other purpose than his pride was in order. "So, am I to be held for ransom or will you at least parley with me?"
The shem snorted. "Parley?" One dark eye silted open to gaze at him, the hint of a grin playing at his mouth. Raviathan got the impression he was being laughed at. The man grunted, the humor fading away. "Your 'commander' was rather irritated by your disappearance."
"You mean kidnapping?"
"Don't get so dramatic."
The anger Raviathan had wanted started to boil. For the first time since he entered the room, he wondered what happened to his equipment. "Taken off the street against my protests… Damn shems." William raised his brows at the slur. "If you had asked, but no."
Dark eyes regarded him, the human's expression growing sharper. "You think elves are a mystery to me? I've known your kind. A tribe decides to move in, and what was acceptable hunting ground for families who can't afford to keep livestock is suddenly off limits. Our warning? Men strung up and left for the bears or to die with blood leaking out their faces. Don't start with me on fair."
"I said before. I'm not Dalish. The only time I've ever hurt one of your kind was in defense of myself or my people. It's like claiming you are personally responsible for the slavery of my people"
The man snorted. "But you do. I said before. Your kind aren't a mystery. You carry around your history, logging up all insults and wear it like armor."
"And that gives you the right to kidnap me?"
"Of course not. I just don't care."
Stunned by the admission, Raviathan sat back. The man let out a bark of laughter. "Lower your hackles. I'll take you back in a bit. Between bandits, Dalish, drought then flood, and the King's army taking too much of our winter reserves, the forcible use of a healer for one morning's work ranks low on my list."
Raviathan glared at the fire. Sap saturated wood popped, the embers a warm glow of hypnotic shifting colors. The smell of fire brought back memories of rooms overflowing with smoke. Cracking beams, blood heavy with metal, fear. Raviathan blinked, pushing down images that kept crawling back in still moments. He said quietly, "If you had asked…"
"Perhaps." William scratched his cheek, the rasp loud against his wild beard. "I didn't think you'd come willingly after being hunted as a Dalish through the streets. If you had a master, or commander as it were, I didn't want an added fight either. Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Less blood too."
Raviathan tightened his arms across his chest. "Arrogant shem," he said, a whisper just above the sounds of rain and fire.
"That's right. I'm an arrogant bastard shem who abuses unsuspecting travelers who dare to enter my lands."
Raviathan huffed, slumping back further in his chair to stare at the fire. For so many years he had feared templars. He had seen Solyn's body, knew exactly how they had broken her. The memory of that day had been burned into his mind, seared again after seeing the shems abuse a dead virginal girl only days ago. Templars were still a very real threat. Raviathan made up his mind to talk with Duncan about the problem templars might cause, now that Duncan would know how much of a threat shems were to him. How much to say though? Solyn's death was a memory he did not relish retelling; however, Duncan had been nothing but patience and calm council. Would knowing how she died be enough, or would he dismiss Raviathan's very real fears even after the evidence of this day?
Raviathan rubbed his forehead as he ran through possible ways to explain, objections Duncan would have and how to counter them. When he looked up, he found the shem smirking at him. Raviathan glowered back.
"Why are you half naked?"
Of all the ways to phrase that! "I was covered in mud. I didn't want to risk infection. Especially since I'm not staying to care for him."
"Brave words, that. What if I hadn't been willing to let you go?"
"Doesn't matter what you want. You'd only be able to detain me for so long."
"Ho-ho." The shem's face brightened with increased interest. He leaned forward, his grin becoming more predatory. "Is that so?"
"Yes," Raviathan said, glaring back, though he felt worry rising up in him as he took note of the wolfish aspect to the shem's expression. What was wrong with this man?
"I might change my mind about keeping you."
The shem looked like he was ready to lunge, intention written in every line of his body. Raviathan tensed to bolt if the man so much as twitched. "I'm not a cock rider."
The shem's smile widened, a slash of white in his dark bristles. With exaggerated slowness, he leaned back. Raviathan did not take his focus away for a second.
"No? Your master seemed rather put out."
"He's not my master. And we're not lovers."
The shem laughed, a hard derisive bark of sound, sharp to Raviathan's ears. "What's he waiting for?" Leering, the shem leaned forward. In response, Raviathan pushed as far back into the chair as he could. William's voice was a growl, his presence overbearing. "If he hasn't grabbed you yet, it's only because he's never been with an elf before. And you, elf, are a cock rider. You just don't know it yet. The way that ass of yours thumped in my lap, over and over…"
"You're disgusting."
He laughed. "Take your first cock, and you'll present like a bitch in heat, just like every other elf who said they weren't a cock rider."
Raviathan brought his knees to his chest. He felt sick, wanting nothing more than to get out of this place and away from this horror of a man.
"Does it hurt?"
Raviathan frowned. "What hurt?" He was sure he was setting himself up for some disgusting line. Perhaps if he had stayed at the docks for another few months, he'd have developed an automatic witty retort to stop the expected crudeness, but they day had been too strange, this shem was too strange, for him to produce anything resembling brilliant.
"Your ankle."
"What?" Raviathan looked back at his bandaged foot. "I twisted it. I'm fine now."
"Indeed." The shem loaded enough innuendo in the single word to make Raviathan's face burn.
"Stop these games!" William threw back his head in a full belly laugh. Raviathan stood, paced across the room. Where in the Maker's name were his weapons? He could take one of the fire irons to the shem's head, would serve the bastard right too, but what then? His fellows were outside ready to skewer a single elf for the entertainment value alone. Raviathan had no idea where he was or how to get back to Duncan. Didn't even know the name of the village he was taken from. Helpless. Not completely, but near enough that he wouldn't risk his odds unless he had to. So far, the shem had done nothing more than try to provoke him . Why, Raviathan had no idea. Frustrated, Raviathan balled his hands into fists. His eyes burned. Oh dear Maker, don't you dare cry now. Not now in front of this man. "I've done nothing to you. I even saved your friend. Why can't you just leave me alone?"
Is this what Grey Wardens are? Weak, little elves who can't even defend themselves? That last sounded pathetic, even to himself. Leave him alone? When did shems ever leave them alone? Duncan would have to admit his mistake now. Did that mean he would be sent to the gallows after all? Duncan wouldn't do that to him. Tell him to run off to the Dalish? Maybe.
The shem wasn't laughing anymore. William stood, watching. When he took a step forward, Raviathan stepped back, keeping their distance. If the shem did close the gap, what could Raviathan do? Fight him? The shem was bigger, stronger, armed and armored. Raviathan didn't even have a shirt let alone boots. They knew the territory. He didn't. Running would be next to impossible. But this wasn't the first time Raviathan had dealt with these kinds of odds. He had survived before. If the shem pushed, Raviathan would show the man what happened when shems went too far.
Raviathan scanned the room without taking his eyes off the shem. Furniture to dodge behind or throw. This man was invested in his people. If Raviathan dove for the fire, scattered the embers, the shem would take care of that first, long before the fire could get out of control to harm his sleeping patient. The iron poker was a crude weapon, but something he could use. Run? Or find his equipment first? Would need another distraction for the men outside. Rain, mud, animals. How could he use those? How many men were out there? How prepared were they for a chase? Dogs? Would he have dogs sent on him? Every human seemed to have at least one. Harming a dog would be sure to make the villagers see red.
The shem raised his arms away from his body, placating. When he took a step forward, Raviathan took another step back, his hand jerking. He wanted to grip the wooden chair back, to be ready to throw it, but he didn't want to show his intention to his enemy either. From the expression in the shem's face, Raviathan knew he had let his tactic be shown. Surprise wasn't on his side anymore.
Why? Why can't they just leave me alone? His heart called out for Nesiara. Gone. She was gone because of men like this. Because they just wouldn't leave them alone. Raviathan felt like his heart was being crushed. She was gone. Everyone he loved was getting further and further away with each day, each step towards the violence in the south. Ness was gone and his ache for her was as real as his heart beating too fast in his chest.
The door opened, and Raviathan took advantage of the shem's split second of distraction. He hurled the heavy chair, twisting his body to put as much force as he could into the throw. He kicked a table at the door, heard muffled curses from the other side.
What chance did he have? Burn the house so he could run? Raviathan dove around the shem, grabbed the poker and shovel by the fire. He turned, brandishing the poker like a sword, the shovel thrust into the fire ready to scatter embers.
"Come near me and I'll throw the fire. The thatch will catch. All this wood. Your man will burn to death."
The quiet shem from that morning crept into the room, wide-eyed. His features were large and long. "William?" he asked, his calm voice contrasting with the alarm on his face. "What exactly has been going on here?"
Raviathan jerked, the poker wavering, when the two men moved further into the room. "My equipment. I want my equipment. Then let me go." Part of Raviathan's mind knew that he was panicking. If this came to a fight, he wouldn't be able to control himself. Control won in a fight, his only hope to battle those who were stronger.
The men continued to stare at him. What could he do? What were his options? He'd have to burn the house. Otherwise, they'd just overwhelm him with numbers as they had done before. Molly hadn't done him harm. She would be the one damaged with her home ruined in winter. And his patient. Maybe his patient was another murderous shem, but that man was still his patient. If Duncan was here, at least he'd have a second set of arms, a person to help guard his blind side. What to do?
"Stay away!" Raviathan twitched, his grip on the shovel tightening. "I swear to the Maker, I will burn this house down if you don't let me go."
"Easy," William said. At least he wasn't laughing anymore.
"William," Molly called from the entrance. "What did you do?"
"Me?"
Molly gave him a look. "Don't even try with me. He was calm when I left. What did you do?"
"I was only trying to take the piss out of him."
"No one gets like that from a bit of heckling," the quiet one said.
"I swear," William said, his arms raised.
The quiet one sighed, his shoulders slumped. "Go. See to the horses. You've done enough here."
William drew himself up, his face hardened as if he had been insulted. He glanced back at Raviathan, a long look, then left.
"My equipment. Then let me go." Raviathan wanted to crawl up in some dark corner and sleep, pretend this day had just been a bad dream. He wanted to pretend the last week hadn't happened. Let me wake up, find Ness snuggled in my arms like she should be. Like we were meant to be.
"I cleaned your clothes and armor," Molly said, shoulders slumped, her face tight in a long suffering countenance, like a mother with a misbegotten child. "Dried them by the fire then put them away. Thought you might stay a bit. I'll get them." She left down the hall.
The quiet one kept his hands in view. He moved with care, putting the table and chair to right. Molly returned with an armful. She glanced at Raviathan for permission. He pointed to a spot on the floor with the poker. He watched the two, unmoving, until Molly took the other man by the arm and led him off.
His armor and boots were clean, his clothes smelling of soap. The ruined cloak was clean with a fresh sheen from a new coat of oil. Raviathan slumped. Defeat wore at him. How in the Maker's name was he supposed to fight in a war? This world of humans wasn't any place for him.
Dressed, Raviathan left the house. He didn't care anymore that he didn't know where he was. Rain pelted the ground, and he knew he would regret not asking for directions when he was lost in the night, but right now, he just wanted to get away.
At the sound of hoof beats behind him, Raviathan shied away.
"Come on," William said. "Said I'd take you back."
Raviathan ignored him. They had crossed the creek, so that direction was a start. There had to be a bridge. Through the grey haze of rain, Raviathan spied a simple plank bridge behind the house past the creek bend. While there was no sun to help give him a sense of direction, Raviathan guessed the last fence the horse had jumped would be the right general direction.
"Don't be stubborn. You're going to get lost."
The bridge vibrated with the heavy sound of hooves.
So, double back. How far away were they? Maybe if he could find the main road he and Duncan had travelled? Ask directions from a farmstead? He still didn't know the name of the town. They hadn't passed many villages the day before, so perhaps asking for the closest inn would be helpful.
Leather creaked followed by the shem's boots hitting mud. Tension pulled Raviathan's shoulders tight.
"Farmers see you walking through their fields, and you'll be dodging bolts. A Dalish tribe moved through recently on their way north. Caused a bit of ruckus, what with the raids and all."
"I'm not Dalish."
"So, he speaks!"
The fence was much taller than Raviathan thought from his view on horseback. The stones were old and weathered. They jutted out which made for easy grips, but the loose stone would also fall away with minor pressure.
"Do you think they'll ask you if you're Dalish first? Did we?"
Raviathan put a hand on the stone, testing it. Odds were good he could scramble over. Would the farmers shoot him? If a mob of men were willing to kill him for walking through a village, likely the farm holders would also shoot first. But he could be anyone. A neighbor's still growing child. Was the shem playing on his fears to embarrass him into another ride? And all the fun that ride might imply? "Where's the main road?"
The horse let out a loud whinny, his lips pulled back to expose large, blocky teeth. Raviathan took a few steps back, stumbling on a fallen stone.
William thumped the horse on the nose. The horse huffed from great lungs, his head going high.
"You're a skittish one," William said, addressing the elf.
"I don't like horses."
William studied him, contemplative as he hadn't been before. "Look. It's too long to walk on a twisted ankle. I'll hitch him to a cart. Take you back. Proper like."
"I don't want anything from you!" Raviathan yelled, surprising himself with the unexpected flare of anger. "Tell me where the road is and how to get back or leave me be!"
Rain poured down in waves. William stared at him, water dripping from his hawkish nose. Judging from the hardened expression on the shem's face, Raviathan tensed to dodge a punch. William pulled hard on the reins, the horse's head jerking up in surprise. He wheeled about and led the horse back to the farm.
Testing each hand hold, Raviathan picked his way over the fence, his healer's bag banging his side. Raviathan scanned the field. No farm house. Grey rain obscured his view beyond a few hundred feet. I'm going to get lost. I'll probably get shot. Raviathan put his head down and decided now was the perfect time to indulge in a little self pity. He trudged across the field, the mud sucking at his boots. Maybe he'd get shot. Maybe he'd get lost—more lost than he already was—freeze during the night and turn into an elf-cicle. Bloody shems.