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Weary Feet Find No Rest; Open
Topic Started: Mar 21 2011, 07:15 PM (1,636 Views)
Eruraina
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Slave
[ * ]
The harsh warm wind blew at the golden grass, making it's strands sway and move like a waves tossing and turning in an ocean. At least that's what it would have looked like had the sun been shinning in the heat of the day. But instead the land was washed white and pale by the full moon above, giving everything a ghostly look. Even the mountains on the distant horizon were dark ominous figures that would have been beautiful during the day. The wind started blowing harder through the grassy planes, causing white ripples through the tall grass.

That's what darkness did. It brought darkness and paleness, revealing the evil in the world, letting it thrive and grow. It was when the sun set that the creatures of the night came out to stalk unsuspecting, sleeping, innocent prey. But not tonight. Tonight all was silent but for the rush of the grass, that sounded much like the rushing of waves on a sandy beach. As well as the shuffling of one lone figure. Cloths dirtied and tattered, orange hair in disarray. She limped through the field, clutching her side, fighting back the growing drowsiness. She couldn't lay down and sleep, and she knew that. Lips were chapped and cracking, cheets chaffed and red from a mixure of the rough winds and the beating sun.

Briella stumbled and fell to one knee. She took a moment to catch her breath, and look up. There, not too far, was a small hut. Maybe a herder's hut or a farmer's home. Maybe a shack long abandoned. Whatever it was, she had to reach it. Briella faught to her feet, and continued on.

The moon was high when she reached it, and knocked on the door of the run down building. And to her surprise, someone answered. A weathered man whose face was covered with the grim lines of age and a life time of hard work. He glared down at her quizically as she leaned against the doorframe with her shoulder, hunched over.
"Please," she gasped. "Just a bit of water and food... and a bed for the night. I don't want trouble, sir. And I'm willing to pay."

There was silence for a long moment. "I have but me own bed in 'ere. But there may be room on the hay in the lean-to in the back. But I got nothin but root stew to eat for it be hard times."

Briella nodded. "..Any food would be welcome," she said, and was let in where she was given a bowl of stew, which tasted rather bland, never once removing her hand. She ate hungrily, but didn't ask for more than she was given. With a thank you, she gave the man some small coins, and went to the before mentioned lean-to. The only creature in there was an old mule that didn't even lift it's head at Briella's enterance. And so Briella ignored it in kind, going to sit on the pile of bound hay in the corner.

She pulled away part of her tunic and shirt to reveal a wound that had been closed by the red hot knife to prevent bleeding. But that hadn't lessened the pain any, and her undershirt was still stained by blood, the stain looking like a dark mass in the dim light. But there was nothing more she could do for it, so she simply laid down and was quickly in a light sleep.

~~~~~~

Briella found herself rising before the sun, as she always did. She rose before most the other inhabitants in the same time zone did. To get a head start on those she knew were following her. Because she had only managed to escape the ambush. Briella knew she would have to fight them again, and this time finish them or die trying. But she wanted to be ready for it, and not weakened by this wound.

So she rose and continued on, leaving not trace of having ever stopped in at that old man's hut aside from the few coins in his pocket. Briella had to push herself forward, her steps sure, though not strong as the pain worstened with every agonizing movement.

It was nearly noon. The old man's hut had been long out of sight, when she heard the sound of horses behind her. Briella turned to see half a dozen riders coming her way at full speed. They were dressed like highway men, but she knew their true purpose. Briella pulled out her curved knives. There was no running now, as they were quickly on her and had her surrounded.

"Surrender!" one of them called, as the six riders drew swords. Briella just spat at the ground of the rider who spoke. "Then so be it..." The riders closed in...
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Nemaisare
Muse
[ *  *  *  * ]
You can see the wind sometimes, when you watch closely. Sit on a hill amidst the high grass and listen. And when the rustling whispers are all you can hear, follow them with your eyes. See the grasses bending and rippling, bowing to the wind as courtiers to their king. That is the wind you can see when you watch for it. An affected motion, the stirring of shadows across the land, and when it curls around you, that is all you will ever need to feel.

The field seemed empty, but never barren, the pale grasses a golden tapestry flashing in the noon light as the woman stepped forward one weary moment after another. There were trees in the distance, green topped and crowned with the white mountains in the background. The glaciers ringing their shoulders blinding from the sun. But that was the only light Sir saw as he looked up beyond the branches to them for just a moment. A breeze ruffling his fur and lifting his heavy head away from its watchful position. And silver was the only colour that his three eyes read as he blinked at the scene around him. One then two, always, one then two. The top eye and then the bottom pair. Shadows and silver, the air was dark and he saw it move, it shaded everything with its motion. Shaking the trees he lay beneath and spinning around the silver figure of a woman that shone, fitfully, as she walked.

The Anan did not know who she was. He knew only that he had caught her scent before. And he had followed in, waiting as she slept and moving on before she woke, slipping quietly at her side and watching, always. He'd predicted her movement today, she always walked the way the wind went. So he had only continued until he came to the trees. It was safer there, than with nothing to hide behind but grasses. And there he had stayed. The great beast's sleep had been fitful, worried by the blood he'd caught whiffs of as he followed the woman. Worried by those he believed had made it come forth from her. He knew they followed and he knew they were close. But he was Anan, and Anan were protectors. There was nothing he could do without something to protect.

With a stuttering whine, Sir finally stood, heaving his bulk up with his forelegs and pushing from behind. And he paced lazily between the trees, stepping over those silver roots that drifted above the grey ground, proof that they would catch his paws if he strayed too close. The trees themselves were brilliant statues carved with rough hands from the self-same metal that shaped their roots. In his eyes, it all glowed silver, and the spaces between were darkness. But even among such life, even with the bleached grasses swaying around her, the woman shone brighter still. He could make out her figure from where he was, many long steps from where she was. Worse though, worse was the darkness that curled around six others, with their running horses and their sharp sticks. They shone brightest those figures. Full of life and strength, more than his blooded lady had. Sir whined again, brushing against a thick trunk as though he searched for the comforting touch of a hand at his side. There was a decision to be made, and he did not know which choice was he. Except that he had already made it, for he was stepping free of the forest and was trotting, as the wolf does, back the way he had taken in the night.

He would protect her, for there was nothing else. An Anan was a protector. He would keep her safe. Sir's lips twitched, pulling away from teeth that contrasted sharply against the black of his jowls. A shuddering growl rolled from him, though he was too far away for any of them to hear. As they closed, so did he, huge paws thudding into the dirt, long strides carrying him forward at a rate that even a horse would find hard to match as he continued to pick up his speed. Too far. Too far and he would be too late. They moved for the kill, even a dog could see they moved in to kill. Sir was sprinting suddenly, thick grey fur with its golden fringes blending with the fields about him so that at times he seemed to flicker, such was his speed. He gasped for breath, and then, before any could bring down their sharp silver sticks against the one he would protect, he let loose a baying cry that sent their horses shying into one another. -NO! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. NO!- They would not kill his charge.

The wolfdog slammed into a horse, its match in size, teeth snapping shut inches from the rider's face as he snarled his sudden anger. Sir had felt this rage before. Stirring in his heart. He had no word for it. No name but the grating growls it gave rise to as they rumbled from his throat. They rolled together, horse, Anan and rider, tumbling in a flurry of limbs, fur, cries and screams and yelps. When they stilled, it was Sir alone who rose to place himself between the others and the woman he knew only by her scent and shape. His tail rose authoritatively, and his head lowered as his ears pressed themselves forward as far as they would go, alert for any sign of threat as he snarled his warning. -The Blooded one is mine.- They could not have her! He had found her and he would keep her! -MINE!-

But even in his anger and with his size, Sir was young. He did not know how to fight. It was luck that had helped him, and surprise. But now he had only the luck. Still, he continued snarling. What else was he to do?

((Hey! :D Hope you don't mind my choice of charrie. Now, as I'm lazy and don't have his bio near to finished, if you have any questions needing answered about him, or what something changed in this post, feel free to send me a pm. ;) ))
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Eruraina
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Slave
[ * ]
She wasn't afraid to die. That final endless sleep didn't daunt her or scare her. It didn't make her desperate to live just because of that fear of death. Briella had faced it too many times, been too close, been to the very brink of death and seen over the edge. And what she had seen so many years ago did not frighten her. It welcomed her, and made her feel small. But never would she be afraid of such a thing.

But never did she seek death, either. Though the other side held arms wide open to receive her, she did not want to go to them yet. There was still much she wanted to do, and life, as she knew all too well, was a fragile and frail thing that was so easy to loose. She did not intent to loose hers so easily. At least, not without a fight.

Briella held her blades ready, and though she was weary, she was prepared to fight. And what a fight she planned to make it. They would not take her so easily. She had been one of the best of her kind for a reason. Briella turned to the closest rider, raising her blades to block the cold steal that saught her blood. But froze as the horses started shying and sidestepping without permission from their riders.

Then she heard it. The cry of a large animal that was very close. But before she reacted a great furry creature slammed into the first of the riders, ripping them apart. In her surprise, Briella let out a sharp cry and stumbled back, soon finding herself in a sitting possition. The riders, she might have had an inkling of a chance against, but something like this?

Briella was frozen in place, as the riders faught to keep their horses from bolting, one dropping his sword so he could use both hands on the reins as the whites of their eyes showed and the horses balked back, one rearing, the rider somehow managing to stay on. But the men got the horses back in order, and regrouped, preparing to fight the Anan infront of them.

Briella sat stunned as she watched it take a place between her and the riders, as if to protect her. Then she heard it's words in her head. It suddenly dawned on her. An Anan. She had never seen one before, but had heard of their kind. They were protectors, from what she could remember. Could it be this one chose to protect her? It seemed that way.

Briella slowly got to her feet, stumbling once, but managed to stand, holding her knives, and coming up beside the Anan to face the riders. The wolf like creature stood several inchest above her, but that didn't daunt her, not anymore. Now, her eyes were on the riders infront of them. At the leaders command, they attempted to charge forward, but the horses wouldn't have it, instead balking, rearing, and bolting. Two fell off, one horse started galloping away with it's master still on him. The remainder dismounted and decided to fight that way...
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Ričle
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Guardian Deity
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(OOC: Hi! ^_^)

Rhys stepped outside the old manor house and into the early morning light, he feet crunching lightly upon the frosted ground. The cold air was sharp against his skin, bringing his senses to life after a night's rest. His muscles tensed beneath his cloak in rebellion against the sudden cold, and he shivered. All other human creatures remained at rest at such an hour, and the voices of the land sung out vivaciously in the undisturbed motion of the world. As the sun's first rays fell upon the golden grasslands in the distance, larks sang in the fields and swallows emerged from their nests to forage in the clearing. The great oak trees along the stream appeared to emit the sunrise on their own, as if they were the gods of light and the land their subjects. A soft breeze rustled the grasses for miles around, and undulating waves swayed with the rhythm of the beating heart of the land. No interpretations or opinions interrupted his reverie; there were only the passing minutes, and the voices of the world. Such moments of solitude were rare and precious in life.

But moments, as with all things in life, are made precious by their impermanence. The sun rose, the frost began to fade, and creatures stirred within the manor. Soon men and women emerged into the courtyard, wrapping themselves in warm coats of wool as they began the morning's work. Rhys watched them move with routine precision, admiring their diligence and strength. People who lived in harsh climates, such as those in Amalterre, gleaned happiness from hard work with the reward of simple survival. He smiled, at once both envious and content to be among them.

Breakfast here was set upon the table when it was ready, and not a moment sooner. Rhys patted Lord Harwood's son, Tilden, on the head as the boy gamboled about the room with the house's dogs. The table was small, with the fare set out for all to share. Servants and family sat side-by-side, sharing their meal as they would later share the day's work. Most of the women performed chores early in the morning, and so typically ate their meals together after the men departed for the fields.

Rhys sat down and waited patiently, allowing the others to fill their plates before taking some bread and fruit for himself. Conversations passed eagerly between friends throughout the meal, though none spoke more than a few words to Rhys. He did not begrudge them for their lack of conversation, for though they liked him well enough they simply could not draw upon any common experience or knowledge that would allow them to relate to the mage. None of them understood his purpose at the manor, save that he was a strange sort of wizard whose magic had nothing to do with the practicalities of farming.

Lord Harwood stepped into the room, and filled a plate with food for himself. He spared an approving glance for Rhys, but chose to sit with some of his men and review the work that needed to be done for the day. Rhys withdrew into a corner and pulled a book from one of his pockets, waiting his turn to speak with the lord graciously.

Rhys's mind was often so focused when he was reading that he wouldn't hear a building collapse around him. But, a few pages into his book, the conversation in the room dimmed and he soon realized that someone was standing before him. The round figure of Lady Harwood, dressed in plain wool and a simple shawl, smiled down at him grandly. Her face bore an expression of overwhelming gratitude, and Rhys could tell she was near to weeping. The woman bent down and took his hand, drawing him up from his chair so that she could embrace him warmly. Lord Harwood looked their way once or twice, smiling as Rhys's face turned bright red. "My lady?" he asked.

"Please," she said. "There must be something more we can do to thank you. I have little to give, but what I have is yours."

Rhys, continuing to blush vividly, took the lady's hand and kissed it elegantly. "It was but a dream, my lady," he said. "A means of showing your mind a different way of looking at the world. Nothing more."

She smiled warmly. "It was well done, sir," she said. "You are a wiser man than you appear."

"I take my lady's compliment as thanks," he said. "Nothing more is needed."

Lord Harwood stepped up beside his wife, placing his arm around her shoulders. "Your work here is done, I'm told," he said warmly, smiling down at his wife. "Are you ready to depart? The hour is near, if you are to arrive at Yellow River by nightfall."

"My trunk is packed and ready," Rhys replied. "But will it take so long? I understood the journey was quite short."

"It is," said the lord. "However, I've had word of a band of highwaymen crossing our lands several miles to the east, near the road you will be taking. If it's not an inconvenience, I'd like to send some extra men with you to track them down before they cause further worry or damage."

Rhys nodded, "Of course; it's no inconvenience. I am simply glad for the use of your carriage, for which I thank you again."

"It is nothing to what you've given us," said his wife.

---

Later that morning, Rhys's carriage pulled to a stop at a crossroads on the road east toward Yellow River. The tracks of the highwaymen were discovered fresh in a nearby field by Lord Harwood's best woodsman. Three of the lord's men, each trained in battle, rode behind Rhys's carriage. They spoke together with the woodsman for a moment before departing, leaving Rhys alone with the driver.

Rhys reclined comfortably in the carriage, pulled out a book, and began to read.

(OOC: I had the thought that Lord Harwood's four men would arrive during the battle. They are NPCs, so please use them as you like to help Briella. They might help Anan drive off Briella's pursuers, or possibly kill some of them if they prove dangerous. Since they have a carriage, they would offer Briella a ride - this way, Briella and Anan can meet Rhys.)
>> Ričle's Characters | Imlandris | Topic History

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Into the Frying Pan (Nemaisare, honu'wahine)
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Nemaisare
Muse
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Many long years ago, lifetimes past, the Anan walked free of a portal. They came at the call of men and women who needed their help. They left behind a world of the dead, where their first masters had fallen to sickness. As each stepped into this new world, magic draped them of a kind they'd never known, and it shaped them even further into the beasts they were to become. Guardians, each and every one of them. And through the generations, that magic trickled down. The people who had called them here were gone. The place they'd saved known only as a ruin, two of their own still watched over it. But the descendants of those Anan had dispersed across the continent, and there were fewer and fewer of them left. False stories told about how they guarded treasure had seen them lose their lives to greed. Now, Sir knew that same need his ancestors had felt, but rather than a memory, it was his own desire. And, had the man been able to control their horses, it might well have seen him dead within minutes of first feeling it.

He snarled, the grating sound rising almost desperately when the riders regrouped, the silver flurry of their movements bright in the dark that surrounded them. But he did not flinch. The big dog would not leave the woman behind, now he had made his choice. He could not, for it would break all that he knew. A protector did not leave his charge to be hurt. Or to die, and he knew what those silver sticks could do, with their lightflashes from a sun he'd never seen. Reflections of a light that bit eagerly into his eyes. The thick scent of horses and their fear overrode even the churned up dirt and the faint blood on the woman, and each sharp cry or worried sound from their attackers made his ears twitch. Now he was facing them squarely, now he was angry, he was not afraid. But there was a part of him that said he should be. Sharp sticks hurt.

Then he saw the Blooded one, standing beside him now, with her own flat sticks out, and that distant part swelled to worry for her before it faded entirely. No time to be afraid when they were coming. It took them a short time, but that first charge had made him step forward, lowering his head further in preparation of closing his jaws about the throat of a horse, and now they were separate. The horses wanted nothing to do with him. And that was well, the other had tasted of food. He did not like being afraid of food. And men were smaller, males with sharp sticks and loud voices, but still small and fewer than they had been. He would fight, and they would fall back. Or they would fall. He would keep the lady safe.

Each of his ancestors had, when they left, found themselves needing to keep something safe. And throughout their history in this world, that is exactly what they had done. Sometimes, as had been the first case, they would find a place, a mountain, a forest or a ruin. Something that reminded them of their old home. Or sometimes they found a castle or a keep whose inhabitants did not mind their presence, and they would watch over it. Other times, they found sacred sites, or magic, and they would keep the wrong creatures from finding them. It was that last that had created the stories, because magic liked to cling to metal too. And sometimes it was precious. And, once or twice in that history of guarding, they would find a human or two that needed their help, and they would help them. And, in the process, they would become their guardian. This woman had walked through his mother's territory two nights passed, and he and his brother had watched her and these followers as they went passed. Then, Sir had followed, he had not yet tied himself to anything. Now, it seemed he had.

As the humans closed, he did not wait for them to make the first move. He could not, because then they would be close enough to harm his lady. Instead, he rushed them, still growling thunderously, snapping his heavy jaws and shouldering the first aside so that he might reach the others. They poked at him, nipping his flanks with their weapons, making him dance in a frenzy of frustration as he spun and snarled and twisted and snapped. Sometimes, his teeth would find purchase, more often, they met only empty air. And then, in the midst of his rage, he heard a cry farther off and lifted his head to see a disheartening sight. More of them. Bright riders with their want to hurt the woman. With a wailing cry more reminiscent of a cat than a wolf, he lunged at the nearest attacker, new desperation lending him a greater precision as his teeth snapped through bone and crushed the man's chest. Sir dragged him into the air and let him go, sending the dying man spinning towards the charging newcomers. A warning, he thought, he hoped, that he would fight them too. If they kept coming closer. But he had no more time to spare for them, there were still other males he had to try to catch. If only they would not leave their sharp stick where he kept trying to bite...
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Eruraina
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[ * ]
The riders that remained came forward to attack, but before they were close, the Anan charged back, attacking first. Before her eyes the site before Briella became one of fighting fur and blades, mixed with the blood that was being spilt. A horse gave a shrill dying cry as it's throat had been ripped open. But Briella didn't flinch at the site. She didn't move. She only watched. The battle between the big beast and the riders was too fast, too furious, for her to stand a chance in the skirmish. Not wounded like she was. But she would kill them if any got close, but they wouldn't, couldn't. Briella quickly realized the Anan was protecting her, almost desperate to protect her. As if some strong force possessed him and would not let him go.

The Anan noticed the other approaching riders before Briella did. She had been so focused on the fight, gritting her teeth every time a sword hurt the Anan, that when the wolf like thing threw the body of a rider towards the new ones, she almost jumped. Briella tightened her grip on her weapons as she watched them, and in the distance saw a speck on the horizon where the riders had come from. But these were not the men who chased her. These were different. Guards by the look of them.

And they didn't realize who she was. Briella was trained to use every asset she could. If anything, she could fein damsel in distress, even though she almost didn't have to pretend at that.
"Help!" she called to them, since they had frozen on the spot at the beast's warning with the body. "The Anan and I... were attacked... by these bandits!"

Her eyes turned back to the fight. For all the Anan's size and capabilities, he was still outnumbered, and out manuvered. He would need help, and Briella knew she wouldn't be able to, not like this.

Confused, the guards came slowly forward, then charged towards the fight, swords drawn, clashing with the remaining bandits as the sound of steel on steel rang through the air.

This is turning out better than I had expected, Briella thought to herself, as she watched, and a sharp pain went through her body, starting with the wound on her side, causing her to double over, clutching her wound, and falling to a knee...
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Nemaisare
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Snarls, snaps, shouts, cries.

Cracking bones, thundering hooves... Sir yelped as a sword swung with more precision than the previous wild flailings struck his shoulder and sliced into the muscle. But a full blow meant a solid footing. When he swung his head about to snap at the pain, his muzzle struck the man full in the chest, dazing him and tossing the fellow a little ways over the ground. Now he hurt more on his nose. Sharp sticks in his mouth and heavy bruise on one side. The great beast shook his head to clear it, finally realising what the continued sound of hooves meant and straightening to face the new threat only to find that there was little more for him to do. They fought, but not his lady or him. They fought the ones he fought. Allies? Not enemies for now.

His snarls softened to growls and then faded into a confused whine as he dipped his head and licked his lips, tongue flicking up to swipe at his aching snout. He watched the fight now, standing outside it as the men on horses engaged those on the ground, and he slipped, crouched low against the possibilty of attracting attention, around the bunched group to where he had last seen the female two-legger. There was blood pooling on his hanging tongue and dripping to the ground. And every swipe about his lips spread more rather than cleaned it away, but Sir ignored the sting of cut lips and gums. He would remember not to bite the sharp sticks next time.

She was on her knees when he found her. Not smart. What if she should need to run? Or fight? Another lick of his nose and then a bloody snort. The only scents Sir could catch now was the iron tang of spilled blood, sour fear and horses. But her face, shining featureless but for the eyes, bright as the sun sparks on her blades, did not flash. He flinched away from them, whining harshly, breath fast and heavy, large ears swiveling back in his uncertain state as he glanced between her and the riders. They were finished fighting now. Easy for them, fighting sharp sticks with sharp sticks. He bared his red stained teeth at them, and a string of blood slipped between them to the ground as he did so. Emphasizing the danger he meant to be to them, if they thought to harm his lady. But he did not want to fight any more.

-Blooded one?- There was a high note to the edges of his worry as he sent his thoughts to the woman, his muzzle drifting closer again and again, though he would pause at some movement and pull back. Either to eye her or to warn the others to stay back. -Hurt. Hurt? Sir can carry.- His suggestion was accompanied by the image of him holding her in his mouth, lifting her up and taking her away. Away from men and horses. Nothing good ever came from men and horses. -Not safe... Blooded one?-

He whined again, fidgetting where he stood beside. Easing his weight clear of his wounded shoulder and wishing she would tell him what to do was not helping. But Sir had nothing more he could do. The guards were staying away, for now. But they were watching. Watching, watching. As scavengers did. And even while he thought this, one approached, just a little closer, horse dancing in fear beneath him, a testament of his skill with the beast that he could get it to approach so steadily. "My lady, have you more need of assistance? Might you call off your beast? We've a conveyance not far from here..."

"And a wizard." Another piped up behind him, a younger fellow, without a beard, though there might have been some family resemblance otherwise. Sir did not care to notice. The first speaker was too close for comfort, though his horse had stopped fully twenty feet away. A growl was shaken loose from his chest again, but it was softer, audible only to the lady at his side and the horse, which pricked its ears and backstepped away without any more urging needed.

The man, a seasoned guard, calmly turned its nervous motion into a circle until he was facing the kneeling woman and that great beast again. "And I've some knowledge of healing, if you've need of it. " Her giant wolf certainly looked like it could use a bit of stitching. Not that he really wanted to get any closer to the thing. He'd seen what it could do when it got a lucky bite. Crush a man's chest and thrown him nigh on seven feet up, not to mention how far across he'd gone. Dead as soon as he hit the ground. No thank you, sir, he'd no wish to end that way. But he wouldn't leave her here when it seemed so obvious she needed some medical attention.
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Eruraina
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Slave
[ * ]
Briella kept an eye on the battle, but with the riders helping, it didn't look like she had to worry. But while the fight ensued, she tenderly pulled her cloths away from the wound to glance at it. The wound had opened a bit and was bleeding again. But only slightly now, and not as bad as when it had first been inflicted. She replaced the cloths, and held her hand on the spot, wincing at the pain. It still hurt bad. But Briella didn't expect anything more from it.

The sound of something large coming towards her made Briella look up to see the Anan above her. His three eyes seemed sad, worries, but what really drew her attention was the blood. The beast's tung and gums were cut from the swords, as was most of it's face by the look of it, or at least the nose. And it's licking in attempt to help the wound only smudged and smeared the red liquid worse. Not to mention the various wounds on it's sides, but none of them looked too deep or to have hit anything vital. But still blood seemed to cake it's sides to Briella.

The red haired woman almost felt sorry for the thing. This had happened because of her, because it had been determined to protect her. But then again, it had made to decision to fight. It could have stayed out of it, stayed safe. In Briella's mind, the thing was almost stupid for it's actions, getting involved in something that it might not even be able to understand. But still, it had helped her, and saved her life, even at the risk of it's own life.

It was blocking her view of the battle, but she knew it was over, so put away her blades. She could hear the riders come closer, and went to step where she could see them. And then she heard the voice in her head again. -Blooded one?- Briella looked up at it in surprise. Did he mean her? Who else could it be referring to? Then it spoke again, and an image of him carrying her in it's mouth went through her mind, obviously sent from him. To a pup of it's own race, that might have seemed like an inviting idea. But to Briella, the thought of being in that thing's mouth, bloodied and cut as it was, held worst appeal than having faced the men who had been after her.

"Stop calling me that," she snapped suddenly. "My name's Briella," she added quickly, so that it would have something to call her. Her attention was then turned to the guards, one of which now came forward, but still stopping at a distance. And the Anan growled. Without a second though, Briella reached out and put a hand on it's shoulder, and moved towards the guards with surety, keeping her hand on her wounded side.

"Assistance would be appreciated, though it is not my beast, but I will ask it to back down for you pose no threat, but help," the last bit was directed to the Anan, as she turned her head slightly towards it, before looking back up at the guards, hearing them out fully. In all honesty, she had never been in such a situation before, so wasn't sure how to go forward with this. Two sides both offering assistance, one not trusting the other and vice versa. So she took a deep breath to take a moment to think, and listen to the guards further, before replying.

"Which way is your convoy headed? Towards Yellow River, maybe?" Briella watched them closely, and a curt nod answered her question. "I'm heading the same way, myself... as for medical attention... it would be greatly appreciated, but I'd rather get away from the carnage and out of open field before that, if you get my meaning."

(OOC: Okay, so I suppose the last bit is a bit rushed, by I'm trying to get it to where Nema and I's characters meet Rie's so she has something to post.)
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Her sudden words startled him, made him step back and whine placatingly. He did not know what he had done wrong. Bad thoughts? Bad call? Wrong? Briella? His ragged ears flicked forward at that, and his head lifted for a moment as he sent her back his understanding. His thoughts were scents and sounds and sights. Briella. Her name as she'd said it. To him, she was human and fierce, with the sharp flash of silver light against the dark. But blood soiled her scent, as it now did his own. In thoughts, blooded was wounded, but also battle weary, experienced. He had meant to honour her. -Blooded one? Briella.- In time, the title would change, they always did. An Anan's impression of the world was not forever. But she did not like his impression of her now. And names had little meaning to him, they were only a sound he did not know. And if he did not know it then it could not be of any use to him. But he had given it a meaning now, so he would try to remember it. Unfortunately, her title was now Briella, and she would not be wounded for long. Her name would change then.

It took only moments for him to convey his thoughts, the time it took for the men to organise themselves and approach, while the woodsman dealt with the man Sir's lashing muzzle had winded too heavily to let him escape while everyone else was distracted. And he spared no time in thinking more on this new problem she had presented him with as he instead focused all his attentions on the near guard. Warning him away. Back he would go, if Sir had his way. Back and gone. Take his sharp sticks. Take the other males. Take the danger away! The horse was smart, it wanted to, but the man would not leave. So he crouched lower, the growl getting louder. A touch, small but heavy. Holding back, easing, quieting... Sir's three eyes blinked. One, then two, then one again. His growl stopped and he turned to the side, confused. Touch was a memory, never real until now. Not from a two-legger. Never from a two-legger.

He shrank back as she moved forward, but continued to eye the others warily. She was brave, she would know better than he who to be afraid of and who to stand with. But Sir did not care. She could make her choice, he would watch. She might make a mistake in her choosing. If she did, the growl returned, but deeper, less a threat than a warning to deal carefully with his lady. But he was not so ready to attack, and his lips had fallen back over his teeth. He would watch...

When she asked about Yellow River, the man nodded, seeing no need to elaborate. It was merely a direction, after all. And the sooner they could be off the better. "As you will, Lady." He knew the sound of a woman who could look after herself well enough. No need to patronise her. They'd be off when they were finished here. "Jer, Rud, get those bodies on your horses. Aled? That one still alive? Good, tie him up and let's take him with us. The Lord'll want to hear his story before sentencing." Even as he spoke, he was goading his horse forward, guiding the beast until it was standing, shaking, as near to Briella as he could get it. The Anan was not helping. He slipped a foot free of its stirrup. "If you'll ride with me, my lady, they will follow soon enough."

((And I figure that your next post can take us to Rhys or we could let Ri know that she is welcome to post next having them coming up on the carriage. Whichever you like. :D ))
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Briella watched the riders intently. She could feel the unease of the beast beside her, but chose to ignore it. She lowered her head slightly, but did not take her eyes off of them as they spoke. Just because she was choosing to take aid, didn't mean she entirely trusted them. Heh, she didn't even trust the giant wolf thing beside her, and kept it in her peripheral vision. She wouldn't get caught off guard if either of these two parties made a move. Briella had made too many mistakes of letting her guard down to allow that to happen.

The lead rider gave orders to the others. Take the bodies? Briella would sooner leave them to rot and let scavengers get to them. In fact there were birds circling high above them, waiting for them to move away so they may get a meal. Well, even if they weren't going to get human, they were going to get horse, thanks to the Anan.

"Aled? That one still alive? Good, tie him up and let's take him with us. The Lord'll want to hear his story before sentencing." The guards words surprised her, making her take half a step forward, parting her lips, about to argue that order. She would have prefered them all dead. If one was allowed to live, he would continue to pursue her or go back for reinforcements. They weren't the bandits they were dressed as, and maybe had a nobler cause than she. From her training, many different senerios and plans went through her mind.

They would probably take the man back with them after their convoy got to the destination. That, or they would send some of their men back with the man. Either way, Briella would be out of their reach before their lord they mentioned heard the truth from the man. But who was to say that the Lord would believe him? For anyone knew, the man dressed as a bandit could very well be lying to save his skin. But then again, what if they turned back? Briella could just go on her way, a different way from them, or maybe kill the man before he woke up to talk, make it look like it was from internal injuries from the fight. No, she didn't think that would have to happen. Their convoy probably wouldn't turn around for one man, a man they thought was a bandit.

A ride was offered. Again, Briella reguarded her options. Of whether it would be wise, and descided if she wanted to get the wound taken care of sooner, it would be better to accept. But before she approached the man, she turned to the Anan, and straightened to her full height, though it still towered over her. She spoke in a low voice that only the Anan would hear, but not the rider.

"I thank you for your help... but I hold no obligation to you, and you should not feel obliged to me. I won't tell you to go home, but I would not suggest you follow me either, unless you want more strife like this. My life is just one of fighting to survive," she told her, her voice even, with no emotion. She turned back to the rider and gave a curt nod. She took an offered hand, and stuck her foot in the stirrup. In one jump she pulled herself up and over and sat behind the saddle, and grabbed hold of the cantle of the saddle.

"Ready?" The rider asked.
"Yes," Briella replied, and with wary glances at the Anan, moved off towards the the way the guards had come from. It wasn't long before the carriage came in site, where other guards waited for their companions' return...
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Rhys passed the time reclined in the shade of the carriage, paging steadily through an old magical text written in the ancient runes of Amalterre. He was so still, save for the turning of the pages of the book, that several small birds foraged along the roadside not feet away from him. As the sun grew higher in the sky his shade grew narrower, and he unconsciously adjusted the angle of his book to compensate for the change in light. When the mounted men finally returned to the carriage Rhys didn't hear them until they came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Rhys. Oi, Rhys!"

Rhys looked up absentmindedly. He started a little as he shifted from book-world to real-world, and realized that the guards were quite proximate and were calling him over. But he tried to hurry, guilty that he hadn't heard them right away, and stood too quickly. His left leg was completely numb, and Rhys stumbled precariously for several steps, nearly falling to the ground before he even reached the place the guards were standing. Before he regained his balance his eyes fell upon the form of the Anan, which was as tall as the horses and as ominous as a great bear. Rhys started again, his instincts screaming danger so near to a predatory creature that could swallow him in about two bites.

"Don't worry about the Anan," one of the men said, laughing aloud at Rhys's stumbling. "They live around here; they attach themselves to people sometimes, and this one's taken a liking to the traveler we found. Just stay back and don't threaten her, and the Anan will leave you alone."

Rhys gulped, consciously telling his instincts to calm down. He'd read about the Anan, though he'd never seen one. Curiously he craned his neck, trying to get a better look at the beast, though he had little success with all the bustle of men in between them.

The men were talking amongst themselves, debating several options regarding how they should proceed. Rhys mostly ignored them, for the situation was clearly complicated and he was, at least in this instance, simply a passenger. He now saw that the men had brought back a wounded woman, several dead bodies covered in blood (his stomach lurched, and he decided not to look at those too closely), and one wounded man whom they'd left tied on one of the saddles. Were these the highwaymen the guards had been sent to intercept? Why were so many of them dead?

A decision was quickly made, and the men began to mount their horses. "All right, sir," said the man Jer, addressing Rhys. "The others are going to ride back to the manor with the prisoner and the dead men," he told Rhys. "The woman - Briella - was hurt bad when this band attacked her. I can patch her up a bit now, but there's a healer in Yellow River who can do better. There isn't a healer back at the manor, so it's better if she go with you for now."

Rhys looked at the woman. She was red-haired, younger than he, and appeared to be some sort of mercenary or warrior. Her expression was obstinate, with an air of nervousness akin to that of the Anan that stood nearby. "All right," Rhys said uncertainly. "For now?"

Jer nodded. "Lord Harwood might want to speak with her, once she's healed. She's a stranger here as well, though the man at the ranch a ways back said she spent the night, paid for her meal, and was polite enough. Lord Harwood will be more concerned about a group of armed men riding across his people's farms than a lone woman, and she needs help anyway. So, if you've no objection, we'll send her on with you."

"Of course not," said Rhys. His words initiated a tumult of activity, as the guards finished mounting and began to ride back the way they'd come. Jer went to the carriage in search of medical bandages, antiseptic, and water. Rhys looked at the woman, who was now dismounted and sitting with her back against the carriage wheel. He glanced from her to the Anan, and noted that the wolf's attention was intently fixated on her.

Rhys did not approach the woman, but addressed the Anan instead. His curiosity was piqued, and he examined the creature as well as he could from the distance that separated them. Its amber eyes were intelligent, like many magical creatures, but Rhys did not believe that Anan had the ability to speak human words. Still, that was no reason to assume it wasn't able to converse or relate its wishes to him. "Can you understand me?" he asked. The wolf was injured; he could see that much of the blood on its coat was its own. It was also clearly suspicious of Rhys, and so he kept his distance from both the Anan and the woman it protected. "My name is Rhys," he began. "The other man, Jer, is going to help your friend Briella. He'll bring bandages and water and wash her wound; he'll place medicine on her - it may smell strange; and then he'll wrap her wound to keep the blood inside. She's safe for now, and we've no intention to hurt her."

Rhys paused for a moment, not knowing if he was speaking too fast, or whether his terms were too complicated for the beast to understand. But the creature continued to stare intelligently, and so he tried to tell it a little more. "There's a town down the road," he continued, "It will take until the sun is midway to the hills for us to travel there. A human in the town has healing magic, and can help Briella. We want to place Briella in there…" he indicated the carriage, "and once she is inside, take her to the town. You can run along with us, if you're not hurt too badly."

He remained still, wanting to show the beast that he would wait for its trust before approaching its charge.
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For a time, Sir allowed the movement of the others to take up his attention, believing, rightly, that they presented only a somewhat significantly smaller threat on their own feet as when they'd been on their horses. But they spread out too much for him to keep track of them all at once. Their silver shapes distancing themselves in his view until the each group required a distinct turn of his head to take note of. Bothersome, that. He licked at his lips and tried a new tactic, though his wariness did not leave him. Instead of growling, he let his tail wave ever so slightly in the hopes of a reciprocated moment of friendly intentions. They had yet to attack more than the men Sir did not like. He could wish and maybe the wish would turn true.

It only made that one come closer though. He went back to baring his teeth and glaring. It did nothing, that he could see, though scent told a different story. Through the blood, Sir caught a whiff of fear that did not belong to the horse, and it pleased him. Fear, if it was small, meant caution would be kept, and that his warnings would be heeded. Good, he did not want to fight again. But he did not want to leave his Briella in their care either. And he whined anxiously as she stepped away. For a moment, he made to follow, but she'd turned back suddenly and was fixing him there with words and a bright gaze. Eyes always shone, never as sharp as sunlit reflections, but sharp enough. The Anan remained as he was, ears flicking forward to listen. Her calm voice easing his ruffled conscience. She did not think to be afraid. Slowly, his head tilted as she spoke, his understanding of her words borrowed from the minds about him uneasily. She did not think he should be there. She did not want him.

No choice now...

He'd come to her, as she had come to him, walking so boldly through his parents' land. He did not know what had happened, but he knew he would not turn away, no matter that his nose ached and his tongue felt bitten and his shoulder stung like too many sharp thorns. He felt as though his mother's nipping reprimands had suddenly turned harsh, and it hurt, but he would heal, and he did not wish to leave. He had no charge to return to. That land was his mother's. So when she sat on the horse and it moved away, Sir followed. He remained distant, cautious, but not too far away. The horse moved slowly enough, burdened with two, that it was not difficult to keep up, even when hurt made him lift his paw from the ground and hop on three legs for a short time. Always, as they moved, he remained alert. If he was watching her, his ears were catching every other sound around them. If he was listening to the movement of that horse, his eyes were sweeping the land about them.

Silver and shadow, the world around them was full, and danger hid in true darkness. Distances he couldn't see beyond.

The strangely built thing, however, was not beyond his vision, and Sir was well aware of it and the few other two-leggers about it. He'd noted the horses, for their pleasant greetings of their own kind, and the male who watched them. He saw too, the one that seemed very short, looking at something in its hands. And when they stopped there, he crouched warily, ears forward and amber eyes bright. He did not know what it was the humans kept. But he listened as they spoke amongst themselves, paying attention only to the sounds without knowing their meanings and letting the rest wash away as unimportant. It was only when the short man suddenly became tall that Sir allowed his careful watch of his Briella to falter.

It was... Surprising. He had not looked closely enough then, but the male did nothing dangerous. Almost falling was not a danger when there was ground nearby and no one to drag with you. In his surprise, the giant wolfdog sat down and stared, ears flicking back and forth between confusion and concern. Another, now, to watch. But his lady was moving away from him and towards the strange thing. He could see wood in it, from the shaded silver, dead wood, and metal. Round, flat things and attached horses. Did it eat the food? He twisted an ear about, until they were almost opposite each other, then snorted and went back to watching Briella. He stood too, when she was eased down to the ground and the others made themselves taller by getting back on their horses. Danger there. Short when others are tall. Sitting like the short-tall man meant running got harder. But the horses did not close about her as they had that first time. Instead, the males swung them away and moved off, leaving Sir less worried, but still confused that his lady did not want him.

Had the other not spoken to him, he might have moved closer, bothered her again for answers. Or to give her answers. But his ears twitched towards the sound of a voice and the intent of questioning him. So his gaze was obliged to follow, if less than completely. Sir's upper eye remained turned a little as he watched the speaking one, so he could keep better watch of Briella. A huff was the only answer he could give to that question of understanding though. So offer it he did. He heard only sounds, it was the thoughts that mattered, and he caught those a little, though the human was not easy to sense clearly. Still, his ears relaxed as the man spoke, and slowly his stiff stance eased itself until he felt comfortable shifting his weight off his injured leg. For a time, he simply absorbed what he was given, learning as he went and associated sounds with meanings, wrong or right. But when the silence came more expectant than before, he snorted and tilted his head a small bit.

-Briella.- Her name went back to Rhys as she'd said it that first time, her voice sharp and accompanied by the scent of blood and the flash of bright blades. And beneath that was his own solid presence, underlining, emphasizing, his new connection to her. She was his, he was hers. He would watch for her. -Isrhys.- The man's title... His name, as he'd heard it, for him there was a disorienting sensation of falling, as he'd seemed so likely to do earlier. -Jer.- That man was iron and horse, the way his armour smelled, and Sir acknowledged knowing him with a swift image of his silhouetted figure, grey against the black air, riding towards them. Then, his head tilted a short ways more, and he licked his lips again. -Jer heal Briella? Not hurt, safe good.- Relief rippled across his thoughts, and he finally looked away from the man to be more polite. After that, his understanding grew somewhat fuzzy.

The Anan's concept of time matched well with the explanation Rhys gave him, but the notion of going in that dead wood thing was too much for him to figure out. And towns were mostly beyond his experience. Still, most important was the one in which his lady went in something he did not know. So, when Rhys finished talking, and he'd finished reacquainting them with their identities, Sir curved around them, circling until he could walk up to the carriage without getting too close to anyone and investigate it more closely. It smelled of human mostly. And dirt and metal and wood. His investigating muzzle left a faint streak of blood across the door, but he found nothing truly concerning. So he looked back at Rhys, assuming that he was in charge, because he knew what was going on and had identified the others. -Sir will come. Dead wood thing not move fast.- It couldn't even catch the horses in front of it.

His thoughts, every time they were heard, came as emotions and abstract concepts, ideas and vague sounds or scents or sights that could, if they'd been laid out all in a neat row, be translated, loosely, eventually, into something comprehensible. But for convenience's sake, the minds he sent this jumble to would sort through it before the humans realised it and would take words and tack them onto what Sir sent. He would always be heard, no matter who he sent his thoughts to, and they would always hear their own language. Being understood himself though, that might be more difficult. His own name came from his overlying identity as the son of his parents, but was accompanied with who he was at the moment, the aches he felt, the blood he could smell and his inevitable, confused curiousity.

Sir stepped back as he made his assertion, limping more. But now he was not afraid of leaving his watch. So he slumped and, while he waited to need to run, lapped at his wounds to clean them.
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Every movement of the horse seemed to make the pain worse. The quick patch up she had done on herself wasn't holding, Briella could tell. So when the carriage did come it site, it was somewhat of a relief. Especially when Jer brought the horse to a half. By the time they had gotten there, she was clutching her side with one hand, and the saddle with the other, using her consentration to stay on the horse, and not lean on the main infront of her. Her pride wouldn't let her show the weakness of relying too heavily on the rider, even if it would bring relief.

Briella managed to look up as they came to a halt, and right away noticed the man sitting against the carriage, engrossed in a book. She guessed right away that this might be their wizard by the look of the book he read and the whole look about him. The woman was not the least surprised to find him so engrossed that he didn't notice their approach until they were right ontop of him. Then his interesting little stumble looked a bit awkward. Briella pursed her lips and reminded herself not to make any first impressions, since this one was exactly graceful.

Infront of her Jer spoke, having seen the wizard's glance at the Anan. Briella glanced over her shoulder, realizing that it had followed. Of course it had, what else had she expected? And again she almost felt sorry for it. It had attached itself to her without knowing what it had gotten itself into. Without knowing who it had decided to follow.

Briella's mind was pulled away from the Anan when Jer dismounted infront of her by swinging his leg over the horses neck and slidding down. He turned and held up his hands to help Briella down as he spoke to Rhys. Keeping her face blank, she leaned forward, slid her leg behind her, and slipped to the ground. The jolt of hitting the ground hurt, causing her to clutch the saddle a moment. The adrenaline had worn off, and that was why it hurt worse now.

As she was helped to the wagon to sit down, the wizard's attention turned to the Anan, which was fine with her for all she cared. She turned her attention to herself, unlacing her leather vest. Her tunic underneath was stained thick with blood, both old and new. There was a small tear from the blade that had made it, which she ripped, making it wide enough to thoroughly examine the wound. The quick fix had opened and now blood slowly seeped out, but nothing that was too worrisome.

Briella felt a shadow over her and looked up to find that the Anan was next to her, like he was examining the carriage, leaving blood on the door from his nose. And for the first time, Briella had a real good look at the Anan, and it's size. It's eyes shone clear with intelligance, but a different kind than that of a human. And she saw caring there, caring for her. Something she hadn't seen since... she didn't remember when. It forced her to look away.

But something else that was said caught her attention. She looked up at Jer, and the men with the fake bandits.
"They're not really bandits... just dressed like them," she said through gritted teeth. "They're far from home, and are dressed as such because their... ah... jurisdiction technically shouldn't reach here." Her voice was rough and almost wary, as she watched the men. "And if you're worried about getting me healed... you might as well do the same for the Anan," she hesitated a moment, before speaking again, her voice a bit uncerain. "It did save my life after all..."
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Briella, replied a voice in Rhys's head. He tensed, at first not understanding that he was "hearing" the voice in his head instead of with his ears, and looked around for the unfamiliar speaker. Gradually he realized that no one else was around, and that the Anan had spoken to him telepathically. He cocked his head, intrigued and curious, for he had never experienced the sensation of speaking to another creature telepathically before.

Isrhys. Jer. Rhys smiled. The Anan understood him! Well enough, it seemed, to comprehend his message. What a wonderful, fearsome sort of beast this was. "Jer heal Briella? Not hurt, safe good.[/i] Rhys nodded, affirming the Anan's conclusion.

The Anan, still wary of Rhys and the other humans, stood and walked towards the carriage, giving the humans a wide berth. He sniffed the vehicle, and Rhys concluded that the creature was attempting to glean something of its nature, and whether it was safe. He hoped the beast did not get too curious, for the horses stood nervously at the approach of the beast, and began prancing in place and whuffing their noses in fright. Fortunately, the Anan finished his investigation quickly.

Sir will come. Dead wood thing not move fast.

Rhys smiled glowingly. He bowed to Sir in thanks, gleaning an even closer look at the creature's wounds as he did so. Though he saw nothing obviously serious he was concerned. But, he considered, how were they to treat the wounds of a creature who was too wary of them to allow them near? Perhaps the wolf could take care of itself well enough, and there was no need for them to help. Rhys hoped this to be true, but watched the wolf's movements closely nonetheless.

Rhys heard Briella speak behind him, and turned. He interpreted the Anan's agreement to come with them as permission to approach Briella, and knelt down beside her to introduce himself. "Miss Briella?" he began shyly. "My name is Rhys. I apologize for ignoring you a moment ago, but I thought it wise to introduce myself to your Anan protector before approaching you."

He looked at Jer, who was approaching with first aid supplies from the carriage. Briella's wound wasn't life-threatening, but it did look extremely painful and Briella was slightly pale from the loss of blood. Rhys judged that Jer's patching-up would cause the woman a great deal of discomfort, and that she could use a distraction. As such, he met her eyes and spoke to her.

"Not bandits?" he mused. "How strange for men to dress as bandits when they are not. But then, I wouldn't know much about such things. I'm sure Lord Harwood will sort the situation out, once they return to the manor."

Rhys looked at the Anan, and considered Briella's suggestion. "I've thought as much myself, about healing your wolf friend. His wounds don't seem serious, though we can't see them well from a distance. Can you discern more about his injuries than we can? I wonder if, since he's selected you to protect, you might have more success communicating with him. He's certainly more trusting of you than of us. Of course, I don't think it would be a good idea for you to examine him now. You should remain still, until the healer can look at your wound." The mage considered the situation silently for several moments. "If he's not in too much discomfort, it might be best to wait until we get to Yellow River. Perhaps by then he might have more trust of us, and - with your help - we might convince him to allow the healer to mend him?"

Jer finished bandaging Briella's wound, and stood. "I think that would be best," he said, clearly concerned about the dangers of approaching a wounded Anan. "Rhys, sir, why don't you step into the carriage, and the driver and I will lift the woman into the other seat. We should get to Yellow River by mid-afternoon if there aren't any further delays."

Rhys looked with regret at the wounded Anan, who would have to run all the way to the town with a limp, and then back at Briella. "What do you say?" he asked, deferring to her. "The Anan is your charge, as you are his. My instincts tell me this isn't a connection with which we should interfere. I'll gladly try to look at him now to see if there's anything we can do, if you ask it of me."
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Into the Frying Pan (Nemaisare, honu'wahine)
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Briella slightly raised a bloodied hand to the man, the wizard as she had guessed, when he finally came up to her. A motion meaning there was no reason to appologize.
"Just Briella, please," she said in almost a grumble, not looking up. But she gave a small snort of amusement at his words. "I suppose an Anan peakes more interest than a wounded woman, as would be expected." Her eyes went up to the Anan. Again, it looked at her intently, caringly, with it's three eyes. Again Briella forced herself to look away. "As for it being my protector..." Briella paused, not sure how to continue. After a long pause, she continued. "I have been aquainted with this Anan for about as long as I have been aquianted with your guard."

Speaking of which, Jer approached with a medical kit, and knelt beside her. Briella moved her hand away so he could examine the wound himself. Jer took a cloth and cleaned it, having to rub hard to get some of the dry crusted blood away. She just clenched her teeth and held her shirt out of the way.
"It'll need stitching," he murmered, and turned to the medical kit to pull out the kit he needed for that; a small roll of cloth that held a set of needles and some thread.

Briella turned her face away when he started stitching, her eyes wincing at every stitch, but otherwise she showed no other sign of real discomfort.
"Heh... any man wearing rags and brandishing a sword can be mistaken for a bandit. But don't get me wrong... though they're under orders from someone, they still held ill purpose to someone who just wants to be left alone," she shook her head, as if to try to rid herself of thoughts unwanted. "But if you don't mind, I'd prefer not to speak anymore of that."

Luckily the subject did change. It turned to something a little more pressing. Briella's gaze turned once more to the wolf creature before them. For all she knew, it had kept up with their conversation as they seemed to ignore it, acting like it was a plain old wolf. Briella didn't know the extent of it's intelligance, but as far as she could tell, it understood most of what she said before. The fact that it gave telepathic responses had to be a hint of it's true mental compacity, since very few beings actually held that ability.
"Many small wounds can be just as lethal as one big wound. Making him run while bleeding freely like that... it would be borderline cruel if you get my meaning," she said finally, watching small drops of blood fall from it's great muzzle that looked as if it could crush her head in one bite.

"But as far as I can tell, the only connection between it and I is that it has descided to protect me. I doubt that would give me an advantage in communication, even if it does gain trust," she said. "It seemed to respond better to your talking to it, than mine..." Briella trailed off, pausing as the last stitch was put in place and Jer began to bandage the wound. "Though if you think going on ahead and having him run beside in discomfort would cause more trust, go right ahead. But I have a feeling in town, it will be just as hard to get the healer to trust the Anan, as it will be to get the Anan to trust the healer, if the reaction from you two are anything to go by."

Jer finished his word and stood up. Briella paused a moment, before standing up as well, leaning heavily on the carriage. She rubbed her forehead with a heavy sigh.
"...and a charge I don't want..." she murmered, almost inaudible, under her breath. "I think you should ask the Anan what he think of the idea. Maybe that will help you decide. Maybe, while you're at it, you can ask it's name," again she looked at the Anan, this time almost expecting the answers posed. Surely it was smart enough to have kept up with the conversation and realize their small dilema...
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