The heat of the day was overwhelming. Balthier's hair was plastered to his head, dripping sweat down the back of his neck. The rest of the party fared little better. Even Fran's ears drooped under the unrelenting heat, which rose off the plains before them in rolling waves and beat down upon them in scorching rays. Basch forged ahead, wading through the tall grass, making a path for Ashe, who trailed along in his wake. Vaan slunk along after them, head down, concentrating only on navigating the cleared path before him. Penelo followed, silent, trudging along as if each step were an ordeal - which probably they were, given her injury. Balthier and Fran brought up the rear, both studying the girl in front of them.
"She's limping," Balthier remarked.
"Not enough to attract the notice of the others," Fran replied.
"I sewed up those wounds only last night, and she's still determined to make the Phon Coast today," he said, irritation coloring his words. "Stubborn little fool. She'll be lucky if they heal properly; she's likely to tear the stitches right out."
"No," Fran said, "She'll be lucky if she makes the Phon Coast alive."
Balthier tripped over his own feet, but collected himself before his lapse was noticed by anyone but Fran. "What do you mean?"
"This heat, this climate, the dirt and dust? She risks infection poisoning her blood." Fran's voice was calm, but the serene recitation of such risk irrationally angered him.
"Someone ought to tell her-"
"She is quite aware," Fran interrupted. "I explained it to her myself yesterday at the river."
Muttering a blistering string of invectives, he surged ahead to catch up to Penelo, deliberately ignoring Fran, who tried to call him back.
Penelo started, then winced at the sharp movement when Balthier appeared beside her. "You don't have to babysit me. I'm fine," she muttered, keeping her voice low.
"You...are...not." he ground out. "Were you indeed aware you risk death just to continue on to the Phon Coast?"
"Keep your voice down!" she snapped at Balthier.
Vaan glanced over his shoulder quizzically.
Penelo was silent until Vaan's attention turned back to the trail ahead of him. "Yes, I'm aware. At what point on this journey have we not risked death?" Her faced was flushed, but whether anger or the heat was the cause, Balthier could not determine.
"You cannot equate falling victim to infection with assassins," he retorted hotly. "One is an unavoidable hazard of the cause, while the other-"
"Is also unavoidable," she shot back. "Besides water, which might also be contaminated for all I know, I don't have any antiseptics or cleansing agents. Reaching the Phon Coast is my best chance of avoiding infection."
The toe of her boot snagged in a clump of grass, and she went down hard, barely stifling a cry as she fell, catching herself on her hands. Balthier was beside her in an instant, gently lifting her back to her feet. But her fall had gained her the attention of the others as well, and she forced a neutral expression as they gathered around.
"Penelo, are you hurt?" Ashe asked, laying a hand on her shoulder.
Penelo hesitated. "I tripped," she said lamely. "I should have been paying attention. I'm sorry." She squirmed under Balthier's pointed glare, waiting for him to expose her. But he merely thrust his canteen at her. She stared at him blankly.
"Your canteen is empty," he said. "I haven't seen you touch it in more than an hour. Dehydration is a danger in these parts."
"Oh." Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but took the canteen he offered. "Thank you."
"I've got water, too, Pen, if you need some." Vaan tapped his own canteen. "Just let me know."
"We've much ground to cover yet," Basch said. "We must keep moving."
Ashe waved off Basch's announcement. "We can stop if you need to rest, Penelo."
"Oh, she's fine." Balthier remarked scathingly, stalking off ahead of Basch. "She just tripped."
Vaan squinted at Balthier's retreating back, scratching the back of his head. "Man, what's got him all bent out of shape?"
Penelo shrugged noncomittally, twisting the cap off Balthier's canteen to take a drink. "Maybe the heat makes him cranky."
"There's a settlement not far from here," Balthier said. Dusk had fallen, and they'd crossed into the Phon Coast hours ago. "It's a hunter's camp, but they'll have merchants from whom we may purchase supplies."
"We'd do better to avoid the settlements if possible," Basch replied. "Especially in an area such as this - travelers are noticed. We need to remain invisible for the time being."
"We must replenish our supplies, and this settlement has no particular political afiliations. It is our safest option," Balthier argued.
"Basch, please, let's stop there for the night. I'm sure we could all use the respite," Ashe said. But she was looking at Penelo as she spoke. "Just one night when no one has to take watch. I fear the days are wearing on us."
"I could use a break," Vaan volunteered.
"I'll require more arrows soon enough," Fran said. She, too, regarded Penelo with concern, which worried Balthier, as Fran's face seldom betrayed emotion. If Fran was wearing her thoughts so openly, then they truly did need to reach the camp with all due haste.
"The Hunter's camp it is, then," Balthier said. He directed them to the left, down a slope and through a narrow passage.
The grass of the Phon Coast grew lush and green here, and the heat of the day had faded to a humid warmth. The rolling hills slid down into the coastal region, where they would find the camp near the shore.
Beside Balthier, Penelo rubbed her arms briskly to ease the gooseflesh that rose there.
"You can't be cold," he said. "It's still rather warm."
But she turned at the sound of his voice, and in the muted light remaining, her eyes were bright and glassy, her cheeks flushed, and this time he was sure it was neither heat nor anger.
Vaan let out a whoop of glee. "I see it! There's a fire!" he shouted back to them. And there was - in the distance, a faint flickering light lent its glow to the horizon.
"Just a little further," he urged Penelo in a low voice. "It's not far now."
"Thank the gods," she murmured. She took two steps, then wilted like a flower. This time, Balthier caught her, lifting her in his arms. Her head dropped back against his shoulder, the heat of her skin scorching him through his linen shirt.
"Penelo!" Vaan came rushing toward him, skidding to a stop as Balthier stalked past him, continuing towards the camp. He fell into step beside Balthier, asking angrily, "What did you do to her?" He patted her cheek gently, trying to rouse her, then jerked his hand back in surprise.
"I did nothing," Balthier's withering tone brought Vaan up short.
"She's burning up," Vaan accused.
"She's got an infected wound that requires attention; we need to get her to the camp as quickly as possible," Balthier responded.
"I'll take her." Basch reached for Penelo, but Balthier drew back.
"I've got her." Something in his tone made Basch withdraw and earned him a curious look from Ashe. The rest of the party flanked Balthier, guarding him and Penelo against any beasts that might draw near.
"When did this happen?" Ashe asked.
"Early yesterday. She's been keeping it hidden."
"But why?"
"Stubornness. Pride. Being a bloody idiot." He blew out a furious breath, trying not to jostle Penelo as they traversed the sandy slope and neared the camp. "Some nonsense about not wanting anyone to worry."
"Ahh," Basch mused. "She didn't wish to hold us back."
Ashe reached out to brush Penelo's bangs back from her flushed face. "You dear, foolish child," she murmured, but her voice was fond and indulgent. "When you recover, I'm going to have to give you a lecture the likes of which you've never before received."
"If she recovers," Basch said gravely. "Such illnessess have felled many before. It may already be too late."
Balthier bristled. "She'll recover," he said. "She's too damned stubborn not to."
"Why, Balthier," Ashe pressed one palm over her heart in a mockery of shock. "I might almost think you cared."
Balthier managed a semblance of a shrug, keeping his tone light and bereft of any betraying emotion. "She's a good thief, a decent fighter, and proficient with magicks. We need her."
The words I need her rose in his mind, but he dismissed them. What use could he have for such a foolhardy, willful girl? And yet he still felt protective of her - he had not been willing to surrender her to Basch's care, for reasons he himself did not fully understand. Perhaps it was merely guilt over her injury, guilt that she had suffered alone and in silence because no one had noticed her pain.
"We do need her," Ashe said, "I'll not argue there. Though I've no reason to expect such loyalty from her, I shall be forever grateful for it, and I'll not repay it with indifference. Vaan, you go ahead and inquire about possible accommodations and medical attention. Balthier, step lightly if you please, she ought not be moved overmuch."
Vaan ran off to do Ashe's bidding, and was waiting just outside the camp when they arrived a few minutes later, a healer at his side.
The hunter's camp had nothing that could even vaguely qualify as an inn, so Vaan got to work setting up a campsite of sorts as the healer, a woman called Aryne, took a cursory glance at Penelo's injury. Her mouth set in a thin line, Aryne prodded gently at the seeping wound, grimacing as it produced yellow pus.
"Put her down," she said. "Those stitches will have to come out; they're holding the infection inside." She drew a pouch from the pocket of her skirt, and from it produced a small mortar and pestle, and an assortment of herbs. These she crushed in the mortar with a bit of water to make a thick paste.
Balthier laid Penelo gently upon her bedroll, carefully rolling up the leg of her pants to expose the wound. Aryne knelt beside her, setting the bowl of paste within reach, and unsheathed a small blade. As she gently tugged the sharp blade through the stitches, the wound freely wept blood and pus. Once the thread had been removed, she doused the swollen, rent flesh with clean water, and carefully slathered the thick paste over them.
"The poultice should draw the infection to the surface," Aryne explained. "It has already progressed to a dangerous degree. I can't give you a guarantee that she will live. I can only do so much; she must do the rest."
"Whatever assistance you can render will be much appreciated," Fran said, gently smoothing Penelo's hair away from her face. Her mouth drew into a frown as she gauged the heat eminating from the unconscious girl. "Her fever is far too high, it must be brought down. Ashe, you must disrobe her. I'll need some cloth as well."
Ashe made a motion intended to shoo the men away, but Aryne stayed her.
"No; they will have to hold her down while I cauterize the wounds," she said.
"Cauterize?" Balthier seethed. "Are you mad?"
Aryne thrust out her chin. "For a wound of this nature, out in these parts, cauterization is her best chance. This is, of course, provided that the poultice has cleansed the wound, for if it hasn't, then nothing will save her."
Fran had doused a cloth in some water from her canteen and was concentrating on bathing Penelo's overheated skin. Ashe had already managed to work Penelo's shirt off, and was considering how best to remove her pants without having to drag them down over the wound.
"For gods' sake," Balthier swore as he reached for a dagger, kneeling down beside Ashe, who gasped as he brandished the weapon. He hooked a finger beneath the waist of Penelo's pants, and dragged the blade down, cleanly rending the fabric.
"You ought to let me do that," Ashe chastised. "A young lady in her underthings..."
"Please, I'm hardly ogling her," Balthier snapped. "She's ill, and besides, she hasn't got anything I haven't seen before, and in more impressive proportions." But he stepped back, and allowed Ashe, in her offended dignity, to drag the ruined garment away from Penelo on her own.
As the women worked to cool Penelo, who shook under an onslaught of chills, Aryne plunged her dagger into the burning coals of the hunter camp's center fire to heat, then returned to carefully wash away the poultice. At her sigh of relief, Balthier let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"The blood runs clean," she said. "She may make it through this after all. Ladies, you may wish to stay back for this. It is not for the faint of heart." She directed Vaan to retrieve her heated dagger, and instructed Balthier into position near Penelo's head to hold down her arms and shoulders, and Basch to her feet to hold her legs.
"Be prepared," she warned Basch and Balthier. "You will have to hold her down with all your strength. It's instinctual to fight under cauterization."
"C-cauterization?" Penelo's weak, thready voice held a note of panic. She'd come to, and Balthier wished with everything in him that she hadn't. Ruthlessly, he tamped down the sympathy that rose in him, pity over what she was to endure. He shoved her shoulders down, clamping her arms to her sides like a vise.
"Please don't let her burn me," she whimpered. "Please, Balthier." The fever flush had faded from her face, leaving an unnatural pallor in its wake. Tears trickled freely, running down the sides of her face to disappear into the hair at her temples.
Vaan came running back, a cloth wrapped around the hilt of the glowing dagger to protect his hand from the heat. Penelo trembled. Her terrified eyes darted up to Balthier's, her blue-grey irises nearly eclipsed by her pupils.
"You must be strong," Balthier whispered to her, as Vaan passed the dagger over to Aryne. "In time, this will be nothing but a memory."
And Aryne pressed the heated flat of the blade to her skin.
Penelo's shriek of agony wrenched Balthier's heart, but he and Basch forced her limbs still though she strained under them. The smell of scorched flesh stung Balthier's nose. After an eternity, Aryne lifted the blade and turned it to the last wound. Another piercing cry ended on a pitiful wail, and Penelo went limp.
Balthier let out an unsteady breath. Although Basch rose to confer with the others, Balthier remained seated, unsure if his legs would support him. Instead, he resumed the task of cooling Penelo's fever. Aryne brought him a bowl filled with clean water, several clean cloths, and began her own work applying a salve to the wounds and wrapping them with fresh bandages.
Ashe and Fran rejoined him shortly thereafter to take up the mantle of nursemaids once again.
"Aryne said the bandages must be changed three times a day," Ashe said, "And she has kindly provided us with a bottle of salve as well. Balthier, do you need a moment? You look a touch shell-shocked."
He shook his head as if to clear it. "She trusted me," he muttered. "She asked me not to let Aryne cauterize her. She trusted me to help her." He stood, shoving a hand through his hair. "She trusted me. Why the bloody hell would she go and do a fool thing like that?"
Ashe's brow knit in confusion. "Balthier, you did help her. She could have died. Thanks to you, she'll live."
But Balthier was already striding away, caught up in his own personal web of bewilderment.