Clyde awoke the next morning to shouts and the shuffling of boots as a bell tolled urgently in the distance. Through the window behind him, just to the right of his bed, he was able to barely make out the forms of soldiers grimly gathering for the next battle. A sun earlier than the commanders had planned their "surprise" offensive.
While the commanders cursed their luck and hastily rewrote documents to imply their own ingenious foresight, those that would actually participate in the battle moved with the eerie calmness of those who never expected good orders. The broken expectations held these small advantages, but they came at far too high of a cost. The lack of numbers was obvious as the figures walked down covered walkways in the distance, pathways wide enough for 6 only needing room for 3 at the busiest.
Out of the corner of his eye, Clyde notices a door quickly swing open. The spindly form of the night monitor quietly enters, immediately shutting the door behind him while being careful not to slam wood against stone. He hurriedly began making his way over to Clyde, producing two wooden crutches from the many folds of his white robe. The monitor maintained his gaze on the soldiers moving in the distance, careful not to catch any wandering eyes. He leaned the crutch on Clyde's bed, firmly clasped Clyde's shoulder in a knowing gesture, and silently bolted back towards the door. He clearly was expected elsewhere. As he left, the door was kept slightly ajar.
Realizing this would likely to be his best and last opportunity, Clyde only took the time to hastily throw on a spare robe and grab his sword.
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Compared to the chaos and overwhelming emotions that accosted Clyde when he first came to Fort Dunn, his departure was eerily quiet. The fort maintained only the necessities at all times, leaving a handful of hidden exits at the rear of the fort completely unprotected during a battle. Clyde simply followed the path he had so often imagined himself running down in recent Partitions. He was only met with two real obstacles:
First was the condition of his leg. While the bleeding had more or less halted, the wound could reopen at any time, as it was far from completely healed. As if that wasn't enough, it was little more than dead weight at this point. Any attempt at using the limb resulted in waves of agony devoid of any movement. While not encouraging, he was sure that the head medics diagnosis the previous day was accurate.
The second, while not nearly as obviously detrimental as the first, managed to consume his thoughts all the same as he hobbled down the uneven stone halls. 'Why didn't I ask her name?' Clyde thought to himself, as once again he found himself burdened with thanks that may never have the chance to be properly given. His sword, fixed to his waist and wrapped in the blanket from the infirmary bed, felt heavier with each limp forward.
After making some distance down the dirt road leading north, Clyde turned to look back at the imposing figure of Fort Dunn, his home and prison. His heart twisted as scattered thoughts cluttered his mind. Long dead friends, forgotten dreams, and the shattered remains of his faith in tomorrow surge forward as a lump in his throat, demanding reflection. While painful, he swallows them down as he turns away, eyes cast downward as he looks for the next patch of stable ground for his crutches to fall.
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For the second time this sun, Clyde felt thankful for the lacking numbers stationed at the warfront. Few traveled the rugged path from Dunn to Tenebray- aside from those running supplies, the rare batch of reinforcements, and low-ranking officers that patrol the route from time to time, taking the reliably quiet job as a moment of peace afforded to them by their position. The first figure Clyde saw in the distance after leaving the fort planted a cold pit in his stomach that grew with each approaching step. A uniformed soldier on horseback. Just his luck to happen upon the only one with grounds to stop and question the rank and file.
Thoughts of escape screamed within Clyde's head as he struggled to keep his crutches under him with shaking hands, unsure if he was more afraid of the consequences of falling or those of getting caught. However, before he could make a decision, the officer quickly passed by, with a look of pity clear on his face.
As Clyde's racing heart began to settle, he eventually managed to determine the reason he was seemingly spared scrutiny. Few would question a soldier so visibly injured, and fewer still seeing the cover around the hilt of his sword, the mark of a soldier without merit that was defeated in battle. A convenient disguise for a valuable sword, even if painfully accurate.
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The first sun of travel was thankfully uneventful, and while Clyde traveled farther than he'd expected, it was far from the distance he'd hoped. As the sunlight began to fade, Clyde looked for a spot to camp for the night in the woods beside the path. He wasn't able to make it as far away from the road as he'd like, but he found a hollow in the forest floor that was hidden by foliage and tree roots. It wasn't much, but it'd be out of sight, and would provide some form of resting place for the night.
Clyde laid out the blanket that covered his sword and lowered himself into the ditch, though it took him far more effort than he'd hoped. Exhaustion quickly overwhelmed him as the exertion and excitement of the day caught up to him. The sweat beading at his brow was worrying, but not more so than the chill that began to seep in. Unfortunately a fire was simply too ambitious in his state.
While Fort Tenebray was only a two-sun journey, that was only for the uninjured at a steady march. As it stood, it would be at least five suns before he arrived. Clyde would worry about that later, as nothing more could be done for now. Before he realized it, sleep had already taken him.
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Clyde awoke to the feeling of heat and nausea, and an intense stabbing sensation in his injured leg. He shouted in pain out of reflex, too exhausted and delirious to attempt to suppress it. While this experience was not that uncommon an occurrence in recent days, a firm hand quickly clasping over his mouth certainly was.
In that instant the memories of the previous day rushed back to Clyde, and his eyes shot open in fear and confusion. A large figure huddled atop him, their body hovering just above his as they peered over the roots and foliage obscuring them from the road. As Clyde struggled to stifle his cries of pain, he tried to piece together any information he could.
The figure wore a white robe, though covered in dirt and blotches of fresh blood, identifying them as a medic. Clyde's breathing wasn't restricted, and his wound was absent of pressure save for the stabbing feeling, which means the figure was taking care not to aggravate the wound. As the ice began to seep into his veins, his suspicions were all but confirmed. The needle was quickly removed, which Clyde appreciated, though the awkward angle and force of the motion caused an involuntary groan.
The individual was taking care not to draw attention, scanning the direction of the road. Though struggling to keep his thoughts focused, Clyde was still able to tell this was clearly not the behavior of an average deployed medic. While not in any position to judge himself, a field medic avoiding extra hands doesn't invoke trust.
While the situation wasn't ideal, the danger of an unknown, suspicious field medic was still less than that of drawing too much scrutiny. Clyde began to desperately wrack his brain for any way to quietly turn this to an advantageous situation. If he could restrain the medic, he could confirm what was injected into him and be on his way without being asked about his situation.
There were few options available to Clyde, and none that seemed reasonable. He figured his best chance was to hope the medic had a habit of using fire powder and was light enough to shove into the open. As he began readjusting and trying to find purchase on the figure, Clyde quickly understood that moving the individual wouldn't be possible, as even in a healthy state the sturdy figure before him would be difficult to budge. Seemingly noticing this, the figure pressed down slightly against Clyde to restrain him, though still taking care not to irritate his wound. It was at this point Clyde recognized the figure to be a woman.
The field medic slightly lowered her head towards Clyde, and began to quietly whisper:
"You're alright soldier, just needed a bit of a pick-me-up. Get a good bit a' rest and you'll be right as rain, yeah?"
Though confusing, the words of comfort were enough for his tattered mind, and with no strength to do otherwise, Clyde slipped back to sleep as his fever began to subside.
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For the first time in far too long, Clyde awoke feeling somewhat rested, though expectedly sore from exertion. As he struggled to sit up straight, he began to check his condition. He had been moved from his ditch, into a small clearing further into the forest. He could see a medic's trunk opened to his left, and a small fire crackled at his side. That, and a number of fresh blankets, had been keeping him warm through the chill of early Autumn. Checking his wound, it seems to have been freshly wrapped, with new bandages free of dirt and sweat.
"So, uh... Morning soldier!"
The hesitant but cheerful voice matched the whispers from before. The medic sat on the other end of the fire, resting her chin on her knees as she held them against her chest.
The woman before Clyde looked young, relatively speaking. Probably around 25 cycles, though that wasn't what brought the idea of youth to mind. Her hazel eyes were too bright and clear. They held too many expectations for someone so close to hell. She still wore the regulation haircut for female medics, closely cut on the sides and no longer than a hand on top, her brown curls bouncing with every movement. Most on the front either tie it up when unable to find a time for self grooming, or end up shaving their head completely. There was a scar above her right eye, though it was small and showed clear signs of fading. She couldn't have gotten that from steel.
The only ones that can be this soft and warm are those that haven't seen the front. Clyde felt a cold sliver of jealousy at the back of his mind.
"Where are we?"
Clyde forced the words out, his voice horse from rest and seemingly overuse. The medic furrows her brow, seemingly confused at the question.
"About a sun out from Fort Dunn on the road to New-Peak Port. I assume that's where ya' were headed?"
She looked at Clyde as if expecting something, raising her head from her knees and slightly tilting it.
"... How long have I been out?"
"Around a full sun since I found you, you were making me pretty worried there."
Clyde clicked his tongue in disappointment.
"So only that far..."
The medic's pointed expectation grew to outright annoyance at the words, and whatever hesitation and sheepishness had been previously present quickly melted away.
"Oh-ho-ho this is not how we're doing this. I'll give you another shot: Morning soldier! I'm the one who patched you up so you wouldn't kick the bucket in your sleep. Is there something you'd like to say?"
Clyde sat in stunned silence, his train of thought brought to a grinding halt by the outburst. It took him a moment to interpret the woman's raised eyebrows and pointed words.
"... Thank you?"
"Gods, was that so difficult? You're welcome, even if your manners are as much of a mess as you."
The comments from the medic completely threw off Clyde. He couldn't remember the last time someone chastised him for manners, or much less commented on his appearance. Clyde stood almost a head taller than most other men, his wild black hair and unkempt beard unable to completely cover the marks of war. His imposing appearance, coupled with dead eyes and a gravely voice that was seldom heard, dissuaded most from exchanging words with him that weren't strictly necessary. While unexpected and confusing, he couldn't find fault with her words.
"Sorry."
The unfamiliar word took longer than it should have to recall. After a moment, the medic let out a deep sigh and stretched out, stretching out her legs and resting her arms behind her.
"Nah, no need for sorry, I'm sure manners can't be top of the mind right now. Just got a bit frustrated after the hard work is all. You're not exactly light ya' know."
Her lopsided smile let Clyde in on the playful jab, and he let out a soft laugh. Ultimately, he should simply be thankful she was able to move him at all. After stretching out, Clyde was able to confirm what he had suspected previously. The medic was tall and built, most likely just shorter than Clyde with legs the size of tree trunks. Field medic training required a strict physical regiment in order to evacuate the wounded in emergency situations, but many end up turning to the alchemists' fire powder as it becomes obvious that there would be no time or energy available to keep up with training. It seems it was well thought out in concept, though practical implementation remains a different issue.
"So... Seeing how I scratched your back, think you could help me out and scratch mine? I swear I'm not trying to force you, and it'll help you too, so just please... Hear me out?"
Clyde felt his chest tighten and grimaced at the words, but he couldn't bring himself to deny the hint of desperation in her eyes.
"... What kind of help?"
The medic's eyes lit up at the response.
"You're a real life saver, mate! All I'm asking is that we travel together to New-Peak, and if anyone asks around, just tell 'em the truth: that you're my patient. Shouldn't be any trouble at all, right?"
It wasn't difficult to tell that there would be more to it than that, but Clyde wasn't one to pry. Given his current state, it would even benefit him most. Still, he had his own heading.
"I have to meet someone at Fort Tenebray, I can't go with you if I won't be able to."
A brief twinge of worry crossed the medic's face before quickly disappearing.
"That still works! A bit slower than I'd like, but nothing too out of the way."
The woman slides herself across the ground to sit closer to Clyde.
"So first stop: Fort Tenebray. You meet with who you need, then a quick hop over to New-Peak before goin' our separate ways. Sound like a deal?"
The medic offered her hand to shake on it. As Clyde begins to raise his hand to meet hers, he hesitates before asking a quiet question.
"Sorry you'll have to speak up, what'd ya' say?"
"... Your name. Could I ask for your name?"
The woman let out a soft snort as she laughed.
"Name's Marigold, though most times I go by Mary."
"I'm Clyde. You have yourself a deal, Mary."