Del dropped to the ground, his legs giving out beneath him as the adrenaline of the fight ebbed away, leaving exhaustion in its wake. His breathing was ragged, each inhale sharp against the ache in his chest. His sword rested at his side, its edge smeared with dark, drying blood. The metallic tang of it still lingered in the air, mixing with the loamy scent of disturbed earth.
Misty padded over, her tail swishing idly as though nothing unusual had happened. Her golden fur was streaked with dirt and flecks of blood, and her ears twitched with every faint rustle from the forest around them. She nuzzled Del’s hand, her purring soft and insistent, as if reminding him she was still there.
“Good girl,” he murmured, reaching out to scratch behind her ears. His voice was hoarse, the words coming out more as a croak than anything else.
Misty coughed suddenly, her small body shuddering with the effort. Del frowned, his hand stilling as she hacked a few more times. With a wet splat, a chunk of flesh—unmistakably part of the brigand’s ear—landed at her feet. Misty sniffed it delicately, her nose crinkling, before swatting it aside with a casual flick of her paw. She began grooming herself with the air of a cat entirely unbothered by the day’s events.
Del huffed out a tired laugh, shaking his head. “You really don’t care, do you?” he muttered, watching as she licked her paws clean with meticulous precision.
The underbrush to his right rustled, and his hand instinctively moved toward his sword before he recognised Elara emerging. Her bow was slung over her shoulder, though her hand lingered near it as her eyes darted between the bodies and Del.
“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice tight with concern. She crouched beside him, her gaze raking over his blood-streaked arms and tattered clothes.
Del regarded himself briefly, noting the various cuts and bruises. None were deep, but they throbbed with a persistent, stinging ache. “I’ll live,” he said with a faint shrug. “Nothing too bad. Just stings like hell.”
Elara didn’t look convinced, her brow furrowed. “That was... intense,” she said softly, her eyes flicking toward the nearest body. “Do you think they were after something specific?”
“Doubt it,” Del replied, exhaling heavily. “More likely just a couple of cut-throats looking for easy prey. That seems to be the theme around here.” He pointed toward the rogue’s crumpled form, his body sprouting arrows like a macabre pincushion. “From the argument when I arrived it looks like they couldn’t agree on how to divide up the loot from their last victim.”
Elara grimaced but didn’t look away. “Should we check them? See if there’s anything useful?”
“Yeah,” Del said, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “Might as well. Never know what we’ll find. If nothing else, at least we’ll know what kind of scum we were dealing with.”
Misty brushed against his leg, her tail curling around his calf. Del glanced down at her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You certainly seem pleased with yourself.” The cat responded with a slow blink, her expression, as always, maddeningly unreadable.
With a small groan, Del rummaged through his pack, pulling out the small pot of feldspar paste he’d taken from the goblin. He unscrewed the lid, the strong herbal smell of the ointment making his nose wrinkle, and dabbed it onto the worst of his cuts. The paste burned as it touched his skin, but the cooling relief that followed was worth the discomfort.
Elara watched him in silence for a moment before speaking. “I’m sorry you had to deal with most of that,” she said quietly. “You make it look easy, but it’s... it’s not, is it?”
Del glanced at her, a wry smile crossing his face. “Not easy, no,” he admitted. “But necessary. You quickly learn to do what you have to.” He chuckled. "You know, I brought a bow with me because I wanted to avoid messy hand to hand fighting. But, I can't shoot for shit and I end up having to deal with things face to face anyway."
The weight of his words hung in the air, unspoken thoughts passing between them. After a beat, he pushed himself to his feet, rolling his shoulders to shake off the stiffness. “Alright,” he said, gesturing toward the brigand’s body. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
The man’s armour was a patchwork of mismatched pieces, each one battered and poorly maintained. Del and Elara worked quickly, stripping the brigand of anything useful. A vambrace on his left arm and a pauldron on his right shoulder were salvageable, though neither was in great condition. Beneath his shirt, they found a tattered leather under-armour with some roughly stitched on metal plates. It was this that had likely saved him from an earlier thrust. The condition was so rough that it wasn’t worth keeping.
On his hand, the brigand wore a gaudy ring, its once-bright metal dulled with grime. Del slipped it off and tossed it into their growing pile of loot. The man’s pouch held a handful of coins and a few trinkets—a tarnished brooch, a chipped bracelet. Nothing remarkable, but better than nothing.
Del retrieved the knife he’d lost in the fight, wiping the blade clean on the brigand’s shirt before tucking it back into its sheath. He straightened, stretching his back with a wince. “One down,” he said. “On to the next.” As he moves across, Elara quickly cut strips of cloth from the brigand's shirt and made wraps to protect her feet from the forest floor litter.
The rogue’s body was less weathered, his clothing better cared for despite the bloodstains now ruining it. Del crouched beside him, inspecting the bandolier strapped across his chest. The throwing knives it held were finely crafted, their edges sharp and handles perfectly balanced.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“Looks like this guy took better care of his gear,” Del muttered, unclipping the bandolier and setting it aside.
Elara knelt next to him, her expression softening as she reached for the rogue’s pack. “He even carried cleaning supplies,” she said, pulling out a small bundle of cloths and a whetstone.
“Practical,” Del remarked. “Too bad he couldn’t use them to save his own skin.”
In addition to the knives, they found a sleek stiletto hidden in a wrist holster. Del tested its weight, nodding appreciatively before adding it to their haul. The rogue’s pouch held more coins than the brigand’s, as well as a couple of small gems.
Del stood, brushing dirt from his knees as he surveyed the pile of loot. “Not bad for a day’s work,” he said. “Still doesn’t explain why they were arguing, though.”
Elara looked toward the third body—their victim. “Maybe he has the answer.”
The man on the ground lay sprawled on his side, his lifeless eyes staring at nothing. The stiletto wound in his back told a clear story—a single, deep puncture that had ended his life instantly. Del crouched beside him, inspecting the area around the wound. The precision was chilling; the rogue obviously knew exactly where to strike. The man’s clothes, though dirtied from the forest floor, were of decent quality. The stitching along the seams spoke of a modest life, likely that of a farmer or labourer. His boots, worn but sturdy, had seen many miles.
Del tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he studied the man’s face. “Wonder if he lived nearby,” he muttered to himself. “Or if we’re closer to civilisation than we thought.”
Elara had been silent behind him, retrieving her arrows with mechanical precision. When he turned to her, she was yanking the one free from the rogue’s chest, her knuckles white as she gripped the shaft. He managed a faint smile, attempting to ease the weight in the air. “Now this,” he said lightly, motioning to her bow, “is why you have that thing.”
She looked up, her expression faltering. A single tear traced a glistening path down her cheek, catching the light as it fell. “I’ve never killed anyone before,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The words carried a tremor that tugged at something deep within him. “But I had to, or you would be dead.”
Her voice broke on the last word, and the arrow slipped from her fingers, landing softly on the forest floor. She took a step toward him, her arms trembling, before collapsing into his embrace. Her head buried itself against his shoulder, and her body shook with muffled sobs. Del wrapped his arms around her, his hold firm but gentle. He could feel the weight of her grief, her shock, and her guilt as though it were his own.
He thought back to his own first kill, the way it had hollowed him out, left him feeling raw and exposed. He had been a different person then, someone less accustomed to this seeming constant fight for survival. Now, though, even though it was all so recent... now it felt uncomfortably like it was becoming part of the routine. ‘Am I getting inured to this?’ he wondered, the thought a bitter pill he couldn’t swallow.
“It’s alright, lass,” he murmured, stroking her back in slow, calming circles. His voice was low, steady, as if he could will her tears to subside through sheer force of will. “You’ll be okay.”
At their feet, Misty wove between their legs, her fur brushing against them as if to lend her own brand of comfort. Her purring was loud, insistent, a reminder that not everything in the world was broken and brutal.
Elara’s sobs began to quiet, her breathing evening out into deep, shuddering gulps of air. She pulled back slightly, her tear-streaked face lifting to meet his gaze. Her eyes were red, her lashes clumped together with moisture. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice raw. She wiped at her cheeks with her sleeve, her movements clumsy. “Can we just finish here and get out of this place, please?”
Her tone was almost pleading, and Del nodded. “Of course.” He gestured toward a patch of grass beneath a nearby tree. “Go sit with Misty for a bit. I’ll handle the rest.”
Elara hesitated for a moment, then did as he suggested, settling onto the ground as Misty immediately curled into her lap. The cat’s presence seemed to steady her, her hands moving almost automatically to stroke the soft fur. Del watched for a moment before turning his attention back to the third body.
The dead man wore a small pendant around his neck, its design intricate and unusual. Del carefully removed it, holding it up to the light. The etching on the surface looked almost ceremonial, though its meaning was a mystery. He slipped it into his pouch, filing it away for later. ‘Maybe someone will recognise it,’ he thought. ‘At least I can tell them what happened.’
The man’s pack held only a few meagre items—a piece of stale bread, some dried meat, and a tarnished coin purse containing a handful of coppers. It wasn’t much, but it spoke of a simple life. The real mystery was why he’d been targeted. Del glanced at the rogue’s body, his mind turning over the possibilities. “Wrong place, wrong time,” he muttered. “Or maybe they thought he had more than he did.”
After finishing his search, Del stood and stretched, his back protesting the movement. “Alright,” he called to Elara. “Let’s move before this place gets even worse.” He offered her a hand, pulling her to her feet. Together, they set off downstream, Misty trotting ahead as usual.
The afternoon passed in a haze of quiet conversation and long stretches of silence. Elara eventually broke the stillness, her voice hesitant. “I’m sorry,” she said. “For falling apart back there.”
Del shook his head, his tone gentle. “Don’t apologise. It’s your first time. It’s normal.” He glanced at her, his expression softening. “Trust me, I was worse.”
Her lips curved into a faint smile, though her eyes still carried the weight of the day. “Thanks,” she said simply.
Misty’s presence in his mind flickered, a familiar sensation that brought him back to the moment. ‘Cave,’ the image came, clear and direct. Del nodded to Elara, and they followed Misty’s lead, veering slightly from the river’s path. They reached a crumbling hill with a small hollow carved into its base. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
Del set to work immediately, gathering what they’d need to make camp. Elara helped where she could, her movements slow and deliberate. They worked in near silence, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the occasional snap of a twig beneath their feet. By the time the fire was crackling, the sun had dipped below the treetops, casting the forest in shades of deep blue and grey.
Dinner was simple—what remained of their pork, paired with the bread taken from the dead man’s pack. Del noticed Elara picking at her food, her appetite clearly diminished. He didn’t press her, knowing the day had been more than enough for her to process. Instead, he kept the conversation light, studiously avoiding the subject of the fight.
As the fire burned low, Elara finally excused herself, curling up at the back of the hollow with Misty nestled beside her. Del waited a while before checking on her, his footsteps quiet as he approached. Her breathing was soft and steady, but tears still glistened on her cheeks, slipping from beneath her closed eyelids. He watched her for a moment, a pang of sympathy tugging at his chest.
With a sigh, he turned back to the fire, staring into the dying embers as the weight of the day settled heavily on his shoulders.