Yosef coughed a mixture of spit and blood onto his chin while rolling to one side. The damp air and armour gave Yosef the impression he was covered with wet hay, but the clattering of chainmail and pain reminded him otherwise. He wished to know what had happened but he could not see much because his sallet helm was knocked loose. Let alone Yosef’s stiff and numb body felt nothing else other than the weight of his hauberk. It made nothing easier as he tried to bring his arm up but he could not tell where his gloved hand was until it made a horrid bang against his helm. Groaning Yosef tried uttering curses but his mouth only muttered strained mumbles. Using his numb hand Yosef lift his visor revealing the forest floor.
Among the leaves and grass muddy footprints scattered across the ground. Yosef strained his neck up to see the forest canopy and the cold grey clouds rolling above. Being able to see around him gave relief to his heart, until he saw a broken wooden wheel belonging to the caravan. This brought a sudden fear infused vigor that Yosef’s body absolutely did not have. The sudden bolt of movement made his muscles stiff and sear in pain while his head throbbed, an unwelcome bile threatened to hurl from his dry throat. Yosef did all he could to swallow it back down, he did not want to throw up into his helm while it was still strapped on his head. Thankfully Yosef unstrapped the visor and flipped it out of the way in time for him to safely throw up. The bile burned his throat as it passed by, burned so much he could not feel most of his tongue. Neither did it help with him hacking blood after the fact. Yosef while coughing slightly got up on his knees, his legs ache underneath his own weight.
Though this mattered little in the wake of what lay in front, the dead surrounded a broken wagon left behind from the caravan. A handful of bodies were that of bandits scattered across the mud like thrown seeds, among them were two templars of his chapter, and a woman further off with an arrow in her back. Yosef forced himself to stand even with his legs buckling underneath his own weight; it took the staggering walk to the wagon an embarrassing amount of effort. As Yosef got himself to the wagon and leaned against it, his legs almost collapsed as he held himself up. Looking if there was anything left in the wagon gave little fruit. A man and his wife sat hunched over dead, what was not stolen were near empty burlap sacks, and a poleaxe lay discard to the side. Reaching out Yosef grabbed the light sacks and sorted out what he found, a handful of potatoes, rotten apples which he threw out, and a small pouch of salt.
Yosef stuffed what was good to eat into a single burlap sack then put it off to the side for later, also snatching the poleaxe to use an unusual and over reliant walking stick. With uncomfortable effort he hobbled to the bodies of his fellow brothers, Thomas and John. With an ache in his heart he got on his knees and began to dig. The poleaxe was an awful replacement for a shovel but Yosef would not let the god fearing dead be devoured by wild beasts. It took its time to get into a somewhat steady rhythm then more still to dig a single grave. With his hands raw, he grabbed Thomas and dragged him to the fresh pit, Yosef’s own stiff body together with Thomas’ stiff corpse made it no easier. Yosef folded the arms across the chest with a sword on Thomas’s right and a shield of their order on his left. It was with heavy heart when Yosef awkwardly shoveled the first pile of dirt onto his faithful brother, though the somber quiet was broken with a woman’s voice.
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“Silent as the dead you burie?”
He turned hastily around to a fully cloaked figure, stumbling as he did so. A hood covered the woman’s face, only showing her smiling red lips and sharp pale chin.
“You look barely alive yourself. Digging graves for others like this might leave yourself to be food for the beasts.”
Yosef tried to respond in kind but his throat was in no shape, only giving pitiful murmurs. The woman went on ignoring him.
“Shame to see people go to waste, to ruin then rot. Even that woman over there,” she did not point to who she referred to, “High chance she could still be of good use to someone even now.”
Yosef gave a wavering glare, she wore nothing but oddly clean but bland grey and green clothes. No sigil or style to give away her heritage or allegiance, where did this woman belong?
“Cold eyes you have for a warm body, keep your stubbornness and silence the dead might mistake you for their own, mute.”
Yosef wished to explain he was no mute and tell this insufferable woman to stop with being aloof. But his tongue was still numb as ever while the burning in his throat made it worth no effort. The cloaked woman frowned.
“Not only are you now mute, but it seems you are retarded. Unfortunate that you are the one and only to survive.” Her red lips curved up and further upward as she rummaged under her cloak. “I do apologize, since I’ve never had a corpse stand up before. While I am a cadaver, of sorts by profession, I may have taken what was once yours. Though, if an elk never complains about losing its out-of-season antlers?”
In turn she pulled out a wooden jar, untying the lid she slowly pulled out a human tongue. “Why would a dumb animal even notice?”