Shadowmere had a Little Lamb
The meal continued in silence, but it was due to the fact that Shadowmere and Saeana were intent on eating, and not on account of any tension that still lingered between them. With the lack of interruption from one another, and only fleeting comments from the dancing drunk in the corner, the meal passed quickly. Glancing around the small building, she realized that other than the drunk and the proprietress, who was gathering dishes and steins from the tables, they were alone in the establishment.
"So I suppose we should ask someone how to get to the priory," Saeana sighed at last, sitting back in her chair and tossing the napkin onto the table. Shadowmere nodded, nibbling on her toast. Her stomach was full and she was sure if she ate much more it was going to start coming out through her pores, but the jam was delicious and the bread had been toasted to perfection.
"You're looking for Waylon Pillory?" Before they could decide whom to ask, the blond inebriate spoke up, eavesdropping with surprising discreteness for someone so loaded.
"Is that code for Weynon Priory?" Shadowmere asked, taking another nibble of her toast and soaking in the sweetness of the preserved blackberries. Her question amused the man who gave a chuckle through his nose.
"Yeah, it's my secret code." His face narrowed into a scowl when he realized what he'd said. "How'd you get into my brain?" He shook and slapped the side of his head as though he had water in his ear. "Get out of my head, naked lady!" Shadowmere wondered how often he, or any man, had ever wanted a naked woman out of his thoughts.
"I'm not naked, but yeah, I'll leave your brain alone when you tell me how to get to the priory," she said nonchalantly. Considering her offer, he looked up and stopped slapping his head, his face focused into an overly pensive consideration.
"Alright," he agreed with resolution. "Go out the south gate and go left down the path. First, you'll come to a farm; that's not the one you want, that's where that old fart who was here earlier lives. Keep going and the next building you see is the priory." He nodded assertively. "Use my name, they'll get you right in." Saeana laughed out loud and shook her head in disbelief.
"They know you?" she inquired skeptically. Shadowmere too was doubtful that the monks had anything more to do with him than perhaps handing him temperance pledges.
"They raised me," he responded frankly, his answer surprising both Shadowmere and Saeana. "Everything I have I owe to them." Shadowmere wasn't sure that she'd consider an invisible dance partner and a total lack of social propriety something she'd want to attribute to anyone.
"Alright," she said nonetheless. "Your name's Reynald, right?" He nodded, taking a swig of his tankard before answering.
"Damn right!" he said, not noticing the foam left around his upper lip. "Reynald Jermane, the one and only."
"Thank Akatosh for that," the proprietress murmured, forcing the two Dunmer women to restrain their amusement. Instead, Shadowmere got to her feet, still holding on to her toast and picking up her pack.
"Alright One and Only," she said, shifting the weight on her shoulders, Saeana following her lead. "Thanks for the word about the pancakes."
"It's a pleasure," he slurred, taking another swallow. "Thanks for not wearing any more clothes than you are; it's a nice change from all the buttoned-up chapel maids." Shadowmere could only laugh in response as she left a few septims on the table, more than enough to cover the cost of their food, and tossed some to Reynald, who grinned like the drunk he was.
"Take care Naked Lady and friend!" he called, lifting his tankard to them and motioning to Emfrid. With a sigh, the proprietress took the tankard and began refilling it as the two women walked out the door.
Before they'd gotten very far, Shadowmere took a detour and sat on the edge of the statue in the street in front of the tavern, letting her bag slide off her back.
"What are you doing?" Saeana asked, dancing on the balls of her feet, irritated with having to wait.
"Trying to find shoes," she said, trying to search her pack without unpacking it. "My feet swell when I eat and it hurts to walk on them without shoes." Saeana shrugged and sat beside her, not bothering to take off her own load.
"Whatever makes you happy Naked Lady," she smirked.
"Oh Gods," Shadowmere muttered at the nickname as she pulled her boots out of the bag. In the heat, they weren't her first choice for footwear, but they were the only ones readily available. "You're going to keep calling me that now, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am," Saeana said with a child-like grin. Lacing her worn black boots, which reached just under her knees, Shadowmere shook her head. She had been so long without a name that she didn't like when people called her anything than "Shadowmere" or some variation of it. "Naked Lady" fulfilled neither of the prerequisites. "You know, those boots don't help refute the whole prostitute appearance," Saeana added as she traced patterns in the dirt with the toes of her shoes. With an extended grunt of exasperation, Shadowmere drastically tightened her laces.
"If I were still a horse and wore this much clothing, people would think you were absolutely nuts," she pointed out, cinching the bands of rawhide and knotting them. "You would be tied up into a nice little bundle and handed over to Sheogorath for dressing your horse."
"Well you see, that's the thing," Saeana said, letting her legs stick out straight in front of her, as though comparing the color of her legs to Shadowmere's. "You're not a horse anymore. So I'm not going to Sheogorath, and people think that you look like a devotee of Dibella." As she started the process of putting on her other boot, Shadowmere shuddered at the thought of herself worshipping one of the Divines.
Other than the stained glass simulacrums in the chapel, she had no idea of what the Divines looked like; each image of the gods were subject to the memories and imaginations of their worshipers. They weren't real. There was no truth in them. It frightened her to put her faith into something she couldn't even see and frightened her more to think that other people did. What was it that made people trust their fortunes, their security, their very lives to things beyond their control? She had had enough of living with her life in someone else's hands.
"I doubt anyone anywhere would mistake me for a dutiful chapel-goer," she said, tightening the second set of rawhide laces and getting to her feet. "But no need to tell the monks. We can let them make their own assumptions." Saeana rose, passing Shadowmere her bag and adjusting her own.
"Fair enough," she said, striding toward the gate. "Let's go." Shadowmere rolled her eyes as she hoisted the bag up higher. After eating, Saeana would always have an absurd amount of energy, with enthusiasm to the point of being obnoxious and perhaps two hours later she would be barely have the oomph to move. Shadowmere on the other hand, would get tired after eating and would want nothing more than to curl up in a warm blanket and pretend she was back in her unknown mother's womb. Her energy would come gradually, and she would go for hours, sometimes days. On this particular meal, she thought she could probably go for a week without eating again. Between Shadowmere's lethargy and Saeana's gusto, there was perhaps half an hour of overlap where they were both at their prime. Passing through the gate, Shadowmere continued snacking on her toast, trying to catch up to Saeana, knowing she wouldn't overtake her.
"Since you're so eager to move," she called up to her. "You should carry my bag to even out our speeds." Saeana just laughed.
"Yeah, nice try," she shouted, turning around and walking backwards. "Come on, work off those pancakes!" Shadowmere scoffed, taking a big bite of her toast in defiance.
"No chance," she tried to say, spewing crumbs left and right. She took a moment to finish chewing, swallow and clean the crumbs off of her teeth. "I'm holding on to those for as long as I can," she said, forcing her legs to move faster. "Didn't you hear Reynald? I may never have pancakes like that again." Saeana gave a laugh that sounded like a squirrel chattering and skipped back and forth across the dirt road. Shadowmere allowed it; her friend didn't get too far ahead, she just burned her excess energy by running around in circles like a small dog who hadn't been let outside in two days.
As they made their way down the road, the fight a distant blur in her memory, Shadowmere managed to keep pace with Saeana. Having burnt herself out in short order with skipping and galloping back and forth while Shadowmere plodded along, their speeds were now almost comparable. Shadowmere continued to nibble on her toast from the tavern, the jam making her lips a darker purple than usual. Looking her over, Saeana raised an eyebrow.
"You're seriously going to wear that outfit to the priory?" she asked, eyeing Shadowmere's mostly skin ensemble. "You're going to wear that in front of priests?" Shadowmere raised an eyebrow seductively.
"I can take it off, if you think it'll help," she said, putting her hands on the buttons of her revealing vest. Saeana rolled her eyes and shook her head, blocking her view of Shadowmere's impending striptease.
"That's okay, I don't know that any of them would survive the encounter," she sighed. "Not to mention 'Lefty' is probably all bruised." Shadowmere scoffed with genuine amusement.
"It is," she agreed, looking down her top at her swollen breast. "But no non-Dunmer could tell," she said, trying to suppress the bitter memory of the Cheydinhal guard not believing her tales of Tavrel's abuse because they couldn't see the marks. "Besides," she added, hurrying the mention of the painful experience from her mind. "These are the same monks that reared the 'one and only' Reynald Jermane, so Azura knows what he's exposed them to."
"I can't argue that," Saeana laughed, slowing her step a little, her energy starting to wane. "Do you suppose we should mention his name?" Shadowmere shrugged, shaking her head and genuinely not sure what to say.
"I don't know. It seems like we could get into serious trouble if we do," she trailed off, reconsidering her idea and narrowing her eyes thoughtfully. "Then again they might be glad to know he's still alive."
"They might be," Saeana said pensively. "Then again…" she trailed off, raising her eyebrows and letting Shadowmere fill in the blanks.
"Very true." Shadowmere admitted, knowing the monks might be just as happy to have the young man out of sight and out of mind and his fate a mystery.
As the two approached the small priory, an old Dunmer man tending to the sheep watched them carefully. His hair was the color of trodden snow, and in Shadowmere's opinion, he looked as though he had fallen out of the ugly tree and violently struck every branch on the way down. He wore a well-worn blacksmith's apron and old leather pants that were older than Shadowmere and Saeana's ages combined, both articles of clothing covered with soot and dirt. Getting closer to them, she was surprised when he let out a chuckle.
"Who won?" he asked, clearly eyeing their bruises, cuts and various other injuries. Other than her distorted reflection in the odd puddle or two they had passed, Shadowmere had no idea what the fight had left her looking like. "I must look like crap if this guy's commenting."
"It was a tie," she said, before Saeana could claim she had sustained the worst injuries. Since hers were more visible, and Shadowmere didn't feel like telling this stranger about her more embarrassing injury, he would likely believe Saeana had sustained a worse beating and was therefore tougher.
"Well, I'm the shepherd here," the man said with casual friendliness. "Eronor's the name, and this is Weynon Priory."
"We're here to see Jauffre," Saeana said, her face resolute. Shadowmere knew what she was doing; every time she had to do something like this, her friend would hyper-focus on the task at hand, drowning out distractions like social niceties and the like. Coming down from her breakfast high probably wasn't helping much either.
"If he's not sleeping or eating, then he'll be fussing with his books I reckon over in the priory house," the old shepherd said, pointing toward the nearby buildings. "One of the other brothers could probably give you more specific directions." Saeana looked to Shadowmere, her battered face forced into a calm countenance, but Shadowmere knew she was reeling inside.
"I'll wait here," Shadowmere said, urging her on her way. She knew her friend probably wanted her to go in with her, but taking into account what she wore, her presence probably wouldn't be a great boon to Saeana's credibility. Saeana sneered briefly at her.
"Thanks," she muttered, not appreciative of Shadowmere's consideration. As the annoyed woman stalked toward the priory, the shepherd looked to Shadowmere, nodding toward Saeana.
"Don't get too many folks passing through here these days. She your sister?" he asked chidingly. Chuckling, Shadowmere shook her head, watching Saeana open the door and proceed into the building.
"Not by blood, but for lack of a better word, I suppose we are," she said, not sure how to explain their friendship, but almost certain she would be committed if she claimed to have been Saeana's horse. "I'm Shadowmere." She offered her hand, the old man hesitating before shaking it.
"Pleasure to meet you," he said simply. "I don't too often socialize with people who aren't monks or sheep." Shadowmere nodded, eyeing all the sheep in the immediate area.
"I assumed as much," she said, rubbing the back of a lamb that nuzzled her calf. "How long have you been doing this?" she asked.
"Too long to remember," he said, scooping up the lamb and slinging it around his neck like a boa as he walked over to the stable and grabbed a rake in his hands, his dark fingers heavily armored with calluses. "Long enough to remember serving Uriel Septim when he had first been crowned Emperor." She nodded, trying to imagine the man serving as a guard.
"Were you in the Blades?" Her question garnered a nonchalant shake of the head from the old man, not disrupting his walk over to the sheep pen.
"Imperial Legion," he said, starting to muck out the hay, his living boa still content on his shoulders. "I've been there through all the fun, but after awhile I decided that I would be better off serving as a herder than a soldier. Sheep have infinitely fewer death threats than emperors." Shadowmere chuckled as she followed Eronor toward the sheepfold.
"Playing watchdog isn't always a great deal, but it has its moments," she agreed, thinking of all the times she had been the one line of defense against a master or mistress being killed. There had been a considerable number of those times, some resulting in success, some in failure, but all giving her the pleasure of seeing the shock on her then current owner's face when an animal, normally thought of as skittish and easily frightened, rose to their defense.
"You've been a bodyguard before?" The older shepherd looked at her with some degree of surprise. She wrinkled her nose, waving her hand as though she was wiping the condensed steam off of a metal surface and making her vision clear again.
"In a manner of speaking," she said vaguely, not wanting to get into the whole story of her life with someone she hardly knew. Fortunately, he didn't pry.
"Those were some times," he said, shaking his head at the memories. "During Jagar Tharn's little adventure, we were on duty pretty much all hours, without even an emperor there to defend, as it turned out. We were each allowed two hours of sleep, and that was split into four half hour naps throughout the day." Shadowmere shook her head.
"That must have been rough," she commiserated. Even as a horse she had slept more than that per day. Eronor shrugged.
"It wasn't pleasant, but it was part of the job," he said, continuing his work. "But the problem was that you'd get so tired that things would stop being real. You'd see things that weren't there, everything's a dream or an illusion." For a moment, the memory of a time long past threatened to overtake the cool composure of the ugly old shepherd before he shook his head, as if to shake off the thoughts. "It's hard to defend against the imaginary." Shadowmere chortled, knowing exactly what he meant and nodding in agreement.
"Not impossible, but certainly difficult," she agreed, rubbing the lamb's head as it stretched its neck out to see her again. "Animal magnetism," she thought with amusement. "Can I hold it?" She asked, rubbing its ear.
"Sure," he said in surprise, setting down his rake, lifting the small creature from his shoulders and placing it in her arms. "You like animals?" His question wasn't really one of interest, merely something to keep the conversation from dying.
"Not particularly, but this one seems sweet," she said, rubbing its head as it nuzzled against her neck and under her chin.
"His mother was killed by a bear," he said, his face twitched with anger and loss that his voice didn't reflect. "And ever since then he seems to bond to anything female that's not a sheep," Eronor said, making his way toward the back of the pen. "He likes the ewes too, but it's almost like he doesn't want anything that reminds him too much of his mother, like he's…remembering her, or honoring her." The old man shook his head, while Shadowmere smiled with almost foolish amusement. Not because she thought the shepherd was crazy, but because he seemed to truly equate these animals to himself, as Hannibal Traven had done. Perhaps it wasn't high intellect, or overexposure to arcane elements that made people see beyond what was before them.
Unfortunately, the unattractive man saw her smile and, she assumed, he thought she was mocking him. He blushed fiercely and busied himself with the rake. "Prior Maborel's horse is his favorite," he said quickly, hiding his face in the shadows. "And the dog, but he's been known to follow the other mares around as well." Shadowmere smiled, holding back the entertained giggle hiding in her throat; her guess at animal magnetism hadn't been far from the truth. As she wandered around the open area of the yard, Shadowmere caught sight of the herd of sheep, laying in a big pile in the center of the pen, though one looked slightly out of place. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was actually a large, shaggy white dog, laying sprawled out in the sun. The only way she knew for certain that it was a dog was that it wore a collar with spiked metal around its neck, something the sheep were lacking.
"I didn't even see the dog there," she said, nodding toward the animal. Eronor smiled as he continued raking out the pen, making sure to avoid hitting Shadowmere with the old, dirtied hay.
"I forget she's there sometimes," he admitted, continuing his work. "She's been raised with the sheep, so she thinks she is one and defends the herd as such. When the lamb's mother was killed, I found the dog latched onto the bear's neck, even though she had claw marks bleeding on her side. She managed to chase off the bear on her own, but we almost lost her." Shadowmere shook her head in meager surprise at the dog who now lazed around with her family as though she didn't have a care in the world. It shouldn't have surprised her that a dog would defend sheep; Hannibal's horse had defended her master to the death. She didn't count her own acts of defense as genuine bi-species protection. Whenever she had defended anyone while she was in horse form, whether the person being defended knew it or not, they were being protected by another person.
"She seems to have recovered pretty well," she said rubbing the lamb's back. "Does she have a name, or is she just one of the sheep?"
"We call her Maremma," he said, not breaking the rhythm of his pitching. "But she doesn't really pay us much mind when we call her. She'll come at the smallest bleat, but not when we say her name. She's too much of a sheep to really be a dog anymore." Shadowmere said nothing, watching the dog interacting with her ovine peers, the dog unable to see the subtle differences that existed between them. Shadowmere began to wonder if that was how Penny had seen Hannibal; if he was just another horse she needed to take care of, or if she believed she was actually a person, just as he was. She looked at the lamb in her arms who looked back at her with unmitigated trust; did he believe she was another sheep, or that he was a child? She thought about how many people she had protected over the years, all the masters and mistresses and their companions she had kept from harm. It was true she had done a great deal, but it had all been done on the basis of Hannibal's words.
"And as long as you defend your caretaker…you will not die." She stroked the lamb who bleated his displeasure at having been ignored while she considered the nature of self-awareness.
"Sorry buddy," she murmured, rubbing his head as he put his mouth around the end of her nose, drawing a reluctant smile from her. "I'm all yours now." The lamb bleated in satisfaction and released her nose.
"While you're waiting for your friend, do you have any armor or weapons you need repaired?" Eronor asked, taking a fresh bale of hay and tossing it into the stable, breaking up the clumps with a pitchfork and distributing it evenly.
"I guess my sword could use some shining up," she offered, freeing one of her arms and pulling her partially sheathed weapon off her back, the angle not allowing the weapon to rest in its scabbard. Setting down the pitchfork, he brushed off his hands and took the beaten daedric longsword from her hand. Sliding it out of the scabbard, Eronor whistled at the sight of the finely crafted, but badly damaged, weapon.
"Fire enchantment?" he asked, examining the pommel, which was made with a gem the same brilliant red as Shadowmere's eyes.
"Yeah," she said, shifting the lamb back into both of her arms. She didn't pretend that she understood the magic behind the process of recharging the enchantments in her sword, but she knew that weapons with fire enchantments had a red insertion gem. When the weapon needed recharging, she would insert the filled soul gem into the pommel, which would somehow melt and absorb the inserted soul gem, the process finished when the pommel gem re-hardened. The weapon would then continue to rain down fiery damnation on those who vexed its wielder. It was a good system. "I can smith, but I don't know how to work enchanted stuff." She had watched farriors work on her horseshoes many a time and had learned a thing or two about the craft, but very few horseshoes were enchanted.
"Well, I don't know what you've been doing to bend a sword of this quality this badly," Eronor commented as he continued to inspect the weapon. "But I don't know that I'd feel comfortable talking to you if you told me." He motioned for her to follow him to the forge. "I can't recharge it, but I can straighten it and clean it up a little bit." Burying the blade in the embers, the smith pumped the bellows a few times, the coal turning from orange to yellow to bright white yellow, to white.
"How can you stand the forge in this weather?" she asked, moving the lamb to her other arm and sighing with relief as the sweat that her skin had accumulated under the wool evaporated in the heat. Eronor shrugged, pulling the sword out and giving it a few deliberate smacks with a heavy hammer.
"I barely notice it," he said, motioning toward the forge. "I've been around forges all my life, so I've built up a pretty solid tolerance for temperature. Not to mention that after you grab the wrong part of the metal a few times, your estimation of heat gets realigned." The thought of grabbing a burning hot piece of metal made Shadowmere cringe a little bit, causing the lamb to look at her curiously. Eronor stuck the sword back under the embers and pumped the bellows with a few deliberate strokes and pulled the piece out again, and striking it with a few more strong blows before dunking it in the cooling trough, the hiss of steam loud enough that the lamb jumped and let out a "baa!" of shock.
"That'll be fine if you just want to be done with it," Shadowmere offered, comforting the lamb with a gentle stroke on his face. Eronor shook his head, grabbing a bit of pumice stone from his apron and rubbing it down the length of the blade.
"I can't leave a job half done," he insisted, not taking his eyes off of his work. "Things like that wear on me." For a moment, Shadowmere wished that this old smith had been the one to whom the Emperor had entrusted the Amulet of Kings; he would have had it delivered before long before now. "It's not going to take long to finish this up." With her arms full of an amiable little lamb that looked to her with the adoration with which a devout worshiper looked at a goddess, Shadowmere didn't mind waiting a little longer. Not to mention Saeana was still inside the priory house and she wasn't going to leave without her. Feeling something cold and wet on the back of her knee, she whipped her head around to see the dog, Maremma Eronor had called her, staring up at her with suspicion.
"I'm not hurting him," she reassured the animal, who sat right on Shadowmere's foot, keeping guard over the small one that rested comfortably in her arms.
"She doesn't trust people," Eronor said, still focused on his work. "I'm actually surprised she's left you alone this long. She doesn't like when people hold the baby." Shadowmere stared back at the dog, who was pretending to watch Eronor at work, though her eyes kept darting back to the lamb, who was falling asleep in Shadowmere's arms. "This is all set," the man said after a few moments. "The metal's probably still a little warm, but it won't burn you to touch it," he added, sliding it back into the scabbard. Shadowmere smiled, glad that the blade now fit all the way into the sheath.
"Thanks," she said, taking back the sword and slinging the sword on her back, the cooled surface of the scabbard on her nearly bare back a welcome relief in the heat. Taking a few coins from her pocket, she made an offering of them to Eronor, who shook his head.
"Thank you, but it was enough to do something around here that didn't involve manure," he said with a grin, pushing her hand back.
"Come on, I'll feel guilty if I don't pay you for the work you did," she insisted, still holding out the money. Sighing, Eronor begrudgingly accepted the coins and went back to the stable, rummaging around wordlessly before reemerging.
"Normally I stay out of the affairs of those great folk who come through Weynon Priory to see Master Jauffre," he said with some cynicism, smacking the palm of his hand with the tool. "And I know you paid me, but I'm not comfortable accepting money. Go ahead and take this hammer. You might have use of it and I have others. Not much call for smith work around here in any case." Shadowmere smiled, accepting the gift gratefully. "This way, both our guilts will be alleviated." Shadowmere smiled, accepting the terms.
"Thanks a lot," she said, examining both peens on the instrument. "My friend's a fair smith, she'll appreciate this." Eronor took the hammer and pointed to one side of the flat surface.
"See this little cut here?" he asked, pointing out a small slice in the face of the metal. "If you hit the heated piece with this side, it's going to leave the impression of the slice in it. Use this side for cutting." Shadowmere remembered seeing farriors placing a cutting blade in the anvil before heating the piece they were working, and once the metal reached the right temperature, they would rest the white hot metal against the blade, and rend the piece in two by raining blows with an old hammer. Using an old hammer with imperfections in the surface kept from damaging better tools on the cutting blade. Turning it over, Eronor showed her that the other side was as flat and smooth as a frozen pond. "And make sure you learn from your friend how to take care of your weapons. Just because you don't know how doesn't mean you shouldn't learn," he chastised wandering past her and back out into the small pasture, picking up his pitchfork again.
"I'll try and work that in," Shadowmere said, disturbing the lamb once again to tuck the tool under her arm. "Honestly, how are you not hot?" she asked suddenly. "I'm sweltering." Eronor chuckled.
"Other than growing up around forges? I was born in Leyawiin," he said simply, looking a little displeased to be pitching hay again. "If anything I wish I had a sweater." Shadowmere shook her head, feeling very out of place between Saeana and Eronor. "You're not helping yourself by holding the little man there." Shadowmere looked down at the lamb who had snuggled himself into the crook of her elbow with his eyes drooping shut.
"I can swelter a little longer," she murmured, reassuring the creature by rubbing behind his ears with her fingernails.
A sudden bang behind her made Shadowmere and the lamb jump, and she turned to see the door to the priory closed and Saeana emerged, as stone faced as Shadowmere had ever seen her. "I guess I'm done sweltering," she thought, more reluctant to put the lamb down and start walking than she thought she'd be.
"His name's Martin, he's in Kvatch, let's go," Saeana said, not stopping to wait for her companion. Eronor looked at Shadowmere with raised eyebrows and they shared a perplexed look, before he found his voice.
"Well, we both have better things to do than stand here all day exchanging idle gossip," he said, leaning on his pitchfork for a moment before resuming his work. "Good day to you now." Raising an eyebrow at her hasty exit, Shadowmere rubbed the lamb's nose with her index finger before putting him down, much to Maremma's relief. The lamb stood beside the large white dog and nuzzled into her side. Giving a mock salute to Saeana, Shadowmere followed her, waving to Eronor, who still worked pitching hay.
"So it went well I presume?" she asked, hurrying to catch up with Saeana, whose pace was much quicker than before.
"If by 'well' you mean 'we now have to go and drag this guy out of a chapel miles from here, than yeah, it went about like that," she snapped. "If you hadn't opened your big mouth and talked me into coming here, we could be exploring a cave or getting drunk somewhere." Shadowmere scoffed, rolling her eyes and wondering why she hadn't taken the opportunity to leave Saeana behind; as much as she liked her, her friend's bitchy habits could be too much at times. Clearly, this whole affair had left her with a bitchiness surplus.
"Hey, you had the opportunity to do this on your own," she reminded her with a tense note in her voice. "If you had done this before, we could be doing all that instead of this." Saeana stayed quiet, but her lips pursed and quivered with anger. "What did that Jauffre person have to say?" Shadowmere asked, hoping to distract her friend from her simmering temper. Saeana sighed and her body and face relaxed slightly as she realized that Shadowmere wasn't going to dwell on the issue.
"He was helpful," she said quietly. "He had a box of goodies and he let me take what I wanted. The other monks offered help too. One actually offered me his horse." Shadowmere raised her eyebrow.
"Prior Maborel?" Saeana's surprise was obvious, and almost humorous, as she stood with her eyes as wide as if she had eaten a handful of horseradish.
"Yeah, how'd you know?" Shadowmere shrugged, looking back at the horses and saw the little lamb trotting over to a paint horse.
"Wild guess," she said with a smile to herself. "Why didn't you take it?" Saeana's cheeks flushed and she laughed uncertainly.
"I guess I forgot that you're not one anymore," Saeana admitted sheepishly. Shadowmere gave a high pitched giggle through her nose, a phenomenon that occurred when she was amused enough to react, but not quite amused enough to actually laugh.
"If you're concerned that the good Prior's nag would transform on you, I don't think that one's much of a risk." Saeana shook her head, the sun striking her deep brown hair and giving it a bright copper tone.
"I've been surprised before," she said, looking up at Shadowmere. "But I don't think anything ever surprised me more than when I saw you fall down a horse and stand up…you." Shadowmere remembered that day well; it had caught her off guard also. It wasn't just any ordinary day when a curse, one that had been cast thirty years prior, was broken. She remembered that it hadn't been painful in the slightest when her body returned to its original form, and she had felt no fear, whereas her first transformation had been one of the most painful, and certainly the most terrifying, moments of her life. She shuddered a little at the memory of the sound her bones made as they broke and contorted into new shapes, unable to find a word to describe the experience.
"What was that?" Saeana asked, raising an eyebrow at her short lived quiver. "You've been doing that a lot today." Shadowmere nodded, rubbing her arms to push away the goosebumps.
"Just thinking about things," she murmured, looking over at her friend. "Some of it makes me shiver." "As opposed to throwing up," she added to herself. Saeana nodded.
"I didn't think it was from the cold," she said with a sympathetic smile. "Some of my 'things' make me shiver too," she said softly. "Do you want to talk about it?" This certainly hadn't been what Shadowmere was expecting to hear; she had thought Saeana was mad at her. Her moods changed so quickly that it seemed that even Saeana, at times, was confused by them.
"Do you want to hear about it?" she asked, trying to not sound like a smart ass. Surprised by Saeana's earnest nod, Shadowmere let out a puff of air past her lips, trying to find where to start. "When I was first transformed into a horse," she started, knowing that it was a fairly ridiculous sounding introduction to any story. "I had been hit with a paralyze spell, so I couldn't move. I could breathe, but that's about it. I couldn't open my mouth, couldn't scratch my nose, couldn't blink. Then the spell hit me; I felt like I was being torn to pieces." Saying the words out loud only made the memories more vivid, all her joints suddenly aching. "I really thought I was dying, but I was afraid that I wouldn't. All of my bones were breaking and changing shape and tendons and muscles were ripping, but I couldn't scream. I couldn't clench my teeth or breathe; I couldn't do anything. It was as though he had tied me up, gagged me and thrown me into the Corbolo River." Shadowmere felt a small amount of perverse satisfaction as Saeana shook and let out a noise of disgust, validating the way she felt.
"That's just flat out repulsive," she grimaced, while Shadowmere nodded fervently, her eyes wide as the horrific memory still lingered. "Is it possible to compare anything to that?" Shadowmere laughed, sensing an opportunity.
"Pain-wise, I doubt it. Disgusting-wise, I don't know, but you should try," she encouraged, knowing this had the potential to be a good conversation. "Worst pain ever, go." Saeana sighed, thinking for a moment before holding out her right hand, her ring and pinkie fingers extended.
"When I was fourteen, I had a sprained ankle and was using a crutch," she said, knowing her story wasn't nearly as dramatic as Shadowmere's had been. "I slipped in some mud and my crutch shot out from under me. When I fell, I went diving headlong into a wall with this hand stretched out, with these two fingers taking the force of the fall. I knew they were broken when I managed to get some of my senses back." She tapped her pinkie with her thumb. "This one healed fine but this one," she now tapped her ring finger. "This one now bends backwards." While Shadowmere's story had been vivid, Saeana's had the boon of a visual demonstration. Shadowmere cringed as her friend held up her hand and held all her fingers straight, the ring finger bending back another twenty percent.
"That's disgusting," she admitted, trying to think of something else that would match the level of repulsion. "Have you ever broken your nose?" Her friend nodded, smiling at the thought that she might not find the story as disgusting as Shadowmere might hope.
"Yes, actually," she said, slightly smug. Shadowmere wasn't at all concerned.
"Were you the one who set it?" she asked, her voice soft and her eyebrows dancing. The mere question made Saeana squirm and make another noise expressing her squeamishness, while Shadowmere grinned with unholy satisfaction. She knew it was going to be a good discussion they would have as they continued their journey to Kvatch.