She was strong, Oliver could clearly see that. Even in the dainty package that she came in, there was a set determination on her face that told him she was not going to easily give up and give in to the pain that was hounding her entire body now, and maybe even threatening her life. Maybe that's exactly what these nomads are made of. They are neither easily troubled by the prospect of death nor are they afraid to fight it. One small arrow may be nothing compared to whatever it was that they have been through in the past. He wondered if this woman had been bitten by any of these dangerous creatures and yet still live to tell the tale. Maybe he can ask her later. The rebel that he is, Oliver couldn't deny that he was fascinated by the life of a wanderer. Following no rules except your own, living only for yourself, accountable to nobody. It sounds like a fun challenge.
He managed a small chuckle at the young woman's lighthearted reply. "I wasn't exactly hunting deer. I had to come prepared for the worst," he replied with a small smile. He was glad that she hadn't dismissed him outright, that she was somehow still able to joke around. To him that was a sign that she hadn't given up altogether on what they were about to do next. He knew he had to immediately draw strength from her for he was not exactly a trained healer, and it wasn't everyday that he gets to pull out arrows from folks he accidentally shot.
Another deep and louded sigh escaped him as he listened to her tell him about cutting the arrow out with the hot knife. She talked about cutting through flesh, cauterizing the wound, and scraping flesh from the barb as if it was as normal as eating breakfast or drinking water. Oliver was not exactly squeamish, he had gutted many animals before with his bare hands after hunting them down. But doing something akin to that to a human was another story. And it had to be a woman at that.
He didn't say a word as she told him to get ready. Inspecting her wound, he moved closer, trying to make himself as comfortable as he could to no avail. Cut to the right and then to the left. He repeated her instructions in his head, looking at the wound and picturing the knife slicing through. Sir Sigfried watched him, still holding the young woman down, also at the ready.
"NOW!"
Despite his initial nervousness, Oliver's steady hand moved deftly and quickly, poring over her wound and slicing through the flesh as expertly as he possibly could. Right, left. Just the right cut, not too wide, not to narrow. He knew his arrows too well, he knew exactly how they measure. He knew this arrow, and this arrow knew him. It was like pulling a longtime friend out from a deep hole. They were working together. As soon as the arrowhead was visible and free from the flesh, Oliver neatly pulled it out.
It might be morbid to joke around in the face of death. But it might also be the only way of dealing with it. Yassia wasn’t exactly reflecting on what she did, she had been reduced to mere willpower and instinct right now. One step after the other, a clear set path, to not even allow the panic to take its firm, choking grip on her. Bless her dear mother for having brought with her the practical skill of a healer, not thinking it beneath a noblewoman or even a queen to practice herb lore. She had saved many a wounded knight’s life, even though Ailantha had never been much in a warlike state. These injuries had been accidents mostly, born out of folly. Or hunting accidents like this one. Yassia had shown an interest in these kinds of things from an early age, and as much as Ailantha was set on courtly and seemly behavior in general, here no one had stopped her. Though of course she never would have thought that one day her own life would depend on what she had been taught.
“Well, at least you did not only hunt down the wrong creature”, she commented, jerking her head the slightest towards the dead cockatrice. “and it won’t give you half as much trouble as I do right now.” That almost sounded like she should be apologizing for still being alive. Well, in the current circumstances Yassia thought it might be alright to add a little bite to her comments. She was ladylike enough to not curse with the pain, so she needed another outlet. She realized his discomfort, and even though she could not very well blame him, Yassia had to make sure she could trust him to go through with it. She could not cut the arrow out herself, she depended on his firm and and determination. “Not getting too squeamish are we?” she asked, her voice showing concern. “I need you to stay strong… because in a few seconds I won’t be anymore.”
The time had come, and Yassia had thought herself as well prepared as she could possibly be, but in the end it could have never been enough. It was one thing to try and imagine pain beyond imagination, it was a completely different thing to feel it. As soon as the red-hot blade touched the skin of her shoulder, Yassia’s heart seemed to miss a beat. Every muscle of her body contracted and she reared up, fighting against the restraining hands. Even though she had been gritting her teeth hard, she let go a gurgling scream. It was not a high-pitched scream but guttural, almost feral, it seemed to come from the very core of her being. Before she had the chance to recover from the first cut, the second was afflicted. He was working steady and sure, and somewhen later she would feel grateful for his swiftness, but not now. Now she was ready to curse him to the lowest parts of hell.
Which she practically did. “Maleeixo les estrelles i jo et maleeixo, cacador! Podreixin a l'infern!”1That was it for her resolution to not curse like a tinker.
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1: "Curse the stars, and curse you, huntsman! Rot in hell!"
