Day 7, 3:15 PM

“As I see it, part of the art of being a hero is knowing when you don't need to be one anymore.”

— Nite Owl, (Alan Moore)

I have no idea where I found the strength to stagger forth through the forest. Princess, as I’ve taken to thinking of Little Missy because she still hasn’t graced me with her name, has been doing the lion’s share of the work in the first couple hours after the fight.

She took the bloody sacks with food from the bloody human remains while I examined my handiwork. It was gruesome. When I black out, I turn incredibly efficient. I seem to prefer fighting with my fists, and I aim at the vitals, neck, face, and chest around the heart.

As I recall the broken bodies, I realize just how much damage a Godly body does when combined with Blunt and Heavy Handed.

“Can you walk?” Princess asks for the seventeenth time, looking back to check on my hobbling self.

I smile.

“I can keep going all day.”

Luckily, there’s no need. About five minutes later, we stumble upon a pond. We are bloody, our clothes are a mess, and we’re out of drinking water. For some reason, I guzzled it down like a camel, probably because I’m dehydrated.

“We should take a break.” I thought I would have to talk Princess into it, but she nods without hesitation.

“We fill the canteens first,” she said, as if I’m about to jump into the pond and take a swim for fun.

We drink our fill, then wash our arms and faces. I turn my back to Princess and take off my shoes and three pairs of socks to soak my feet.

“Wash yourself as much as you can, Little Missy. I promise not to peek,” I say as I start washing the socks, and my tongue keeps flapping. “I wanted to thank you, for not leaving me I mean. I half-expected you’d leave me behind now that I’m wounded. So, thank you.”

There’s a long moment of silence. She stopped splashing water, and the only sound I hear is the rubbing of wool against wool as I try to get the blood out of my socks.

I’m tempted to break my word and turn around, to see her face, but I resist the urge. Finally, she speaks.

“You are welcome,” she says, her voice strange.

She sounds like she’s hesitating about something.

“Thank you for keeping me safe from bandits. And the wolves.”

I smile. There! Was that so hard to say these past few days?

“You are welcome. I’ll try not to slow you down.” We keep washing our clothes in silence for several minutes before I speak again.

“Little Missy, I beg your pardon, but I’ll have to wash my pants now.” Not like you haven’t seen everything already, but it feels proper to warn you before I moon you.

“I’ve turned around,” she says, and I take off my bloody pants.

“I should start a fire so our clothes can dry. We’ll fall ill if we walk around wearing cold, damp clothes.”

She mumbles in agreement, and soon enough I get a fire going near a tree with conveniently low-hanging branches we can hang our clothes on.

I leave my pants, socks, and shoes to dry and walk back to the water. She’s done washing. She obviously waited for me to return before she could leave to warm up a bit.

“Lighting a fire is probably very stupid right now,” I say, wincing as I wash my wounds with the pond water, hoping it’s cleaner than the steel the bandits cut me with. “But I don’t think they are that close to us. They will start searching for their friends tomorrow morning, or maybe even later, so we should be safe.”

I pause, and for the sake of Bluntness, I feel the need to make myself more honest. “Well, as safe as we can be. If wolves attack us tonight, I don’t think I’ll be able to save you. So, maybe spending the night in a tree might be a good idea.”

She says nothing, and I return to the fire wearing nothing but my Adam’s suit. She’s sitting there, her back against the crackling branches and the pond. It’s a fine back.

Pale, not skin and bone popular in the era when I died, but a slightly plump renaissance style. She’s sitting on a thick root, her hands beneath her buttocks, to spare herself some pain.

“We could eat now, since we’re taking a break,” I suggest, then silently curse.

Shit! We should’ve eaten first. We just soiled the pond water, and can’t refill our canteens.

Princess doesn’t say anything.

“Little Missy, are you all right? Can you talk?”

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“I… I’m fine,” she stutters.

I take way too long to realize she has to get up from her hands, and then either stand or squat naked while she eats several steps away from me.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Our clothes will take a couple hours to dry, and we should use the time the best we can. Eating and taking a nap seem the natural choice, but I’m all ears, if you have better ideas.”

She shook her head, her ears almost as red as when she was soaked in blood.

“Then, pardon me. I’m going to eat, then sleep.”

I walk over to her, and fetch two stone breads and a handful of jerky. Water helps them down, but soaking the bread enough to become edible costs me a third of my canteen. I’m not too worried, the streams are plentiful, and the water is either potable, or our bodies are used to it enough not to suffer outright poisoning.

I dismiss the blue screen telling me I’ve eaten. With food in my belly and nothing better to do, I lie down. I pass out as soon as my cheek touches my palm.

I find myself on a snow-covered slope, skiing. I watch the mountains and evergreen forests flit past as I fly down the piste at what feels like a hundred miles per hour. The air is freezing, and I take hours before I realize I’m naked, racing down the endless mountain.

My skin is purple, turning blue. I’m shivering all over and ice is encasing me. For some reason, I flap my arms to warm up without bothering to slow down. Naturally, I lose balance and I trip. I roll down the hard-packed snow and suddenly my butt hits an icicle.

I jump awake screaming, and my butt hurts. It takes several moments for me to realize what’s happening.

The sticks in the campfire crackle and pop, sending off sparks. I’m watching the fire, naked, and Princess, fully dressed, just turned her head to see what was happening.

A spark must’ve hit my butt. I’m cold. I’m having a fever. She’s staring at me.

I’m at a loss for words, luckily, Blunt’s there.

“It bit me.” I point at the fire, and her lips quiver.

She’s not gonna let me off just like that. If she wanted to let it slide, she would have laughed and turned around.

I turn around, since she’s not turning.

“Sorry. Are my pants dry?”

“They are,” she says after staying silent longer than necessary. “You should stop moving so vigorously. You’re bleeding again.”

Oh, so she’s been staring at my stomach, not… OK.

I glance down, and the angry red wound is oozing some blood, but it’s not that bad. I inhale through the nose, and the air is colder than ice. The cut on my back and the ones on my chest tighten with every breath I take. I’m a wreck, but I can stand just fine for now. I even have the spare energy to feel embarrassed.

“Could you pass them to me? Please? The pants, I mean.”

Instead of an answer, I hear a rustle, and she hangs my pants on the crook of my arm.

“How long was I out?” I ask. The forest is still light, and my pants are slightly damp, meaning I shouldn’t have been out cold for hours.

“I don’t know. Not that long.” She pauses. “Can you walk? We should get going.”

I nod. “Have you eaten?”

I look at the pants in my hands like they are some weird artifact, realizing I can’t don them while standing and hopping on one foot without risking a Darwin award. So I set them on the ground and take the slow approach.

“I have,” she answers. “Are you thirsty? Hungry? You’re slick with sweat.”

My mouth is dry, but my stomach seems full enough for now.

“I’ll drink a bit more water, and then we should continue.” I gently tie the belt cord, so absorbed in not hurting myself while doing it I can’t speak. Finally done with the endeavor, I continue. “We should hurry as much as we can. I hope these guys were the final line of defense and that we’re out of the woods tomorrow, but that could be overly optimistic.”

Our luck was good. We spent a quiet night in the forest.

I wake up in the morning, and the worst of the fever has passed. My muscles still wobble, everything aches, and my head is spinning, but I can walk better.

Three hours pass before we leave the dense trees and enter a flowery meadow.

“I think we’re officially out of the woods.” I chuckle, but she doesn’t get the idiom.

“You’re right.” She nods way too seriously.

“What now?” I ask, and she keeps looking left and right, biting her lip as she stares towards the distant mountains topped with glacial white.

“This way,” she says after considering the terrain for about a minute.

I follow, but she slows down and lets me take the lead.

I’m wounded and feverish. I want to protest, but after thinking it over I conclude I’m probably still the stronger combatant.

Wait. We left my swords behind. I turn my head back, and sure enough, Princess isn’t carrying a convenient spare weapon. What am I going to fight with if we run into the bandits?

We keep walking for hours, and the sense of dread presses against me, mounting until I start thinking it’s the fever talking and I’m being irrational.

I’m anxious when we take a lunch break, and I keep glancing behind my shoulder, but there is nobody on the empty plain.

“Are you all right?” Princess asks, and I nod. Then I shake my head.

“I have this foreboding feeling. Like something bad is about to happen.”

Really, Blunt? You’re scaring her!

As expected, the young lady starts glancing left and right.

“I see nothing out of the ordinary,” she finally says, but she doesn’t calm down. I was usually the one who noticed attackers first.

Way to go, Blunt. We force our lunch down in an uneasy atmosphere, but nothing happens.

We continue following the forest edge in the direction Princess has chosen, and I keep looking at the bushes and trees as if each hides a horde of brigands ready to charge and slaughter us.

Sun is low in the west when we see a group of four imposing men wearing shiny metal armor topped with yellow tabards. While I squint, trying to make out their features, Princess dashes past me and runs towards them.

I grasp to grab her, but in my shock, I move too slowly and she’s beyond my reach. They could be disguised bandits!

“Guards! Guards!” she shouts before I manage to hiss my warning, so I keep my mouth shut.

Against all odds, the men turn around and cross their arms in front of their chests in some weird salute.

“Noble Lady!” they shout in unison and rush to meet us.

Princess sprints for all she’s worth, and opens some twenty-thirty yards between us by the time she reaches the guards.

For a moment, I can see them drawing swords and chopping her into pieces, but my fear remains an irrational delusion. The guards really belong to her family and show no hints of hostility.

She turns around, her lips drawn in the happiest smile I’ve seen in days. Our eyes meet, and she points her finger towards me, still grinning like a fool.

“That man is a Teemur spy. Kill him.”