Luminosity, a warm glow fluttered across her eyelids. Fuzzy, incandescent rays drew her unopened eyes, piercing through a canopy of trees. She blinked, all else seemed numb, beyond heavy. Her limbs were inflexible no matter what she tried. It was difficult to hold a steady rhythmic breath. The air was cold and coarse as she tried to fill her lungs. Her trachea felt as if fine grit sandpaper had been turned loose upon it.

“Where am I.” she tried to say, finally forming a clear thought. Only a puff of air, a short murmur, escaped her barely vibrating lips. She tried to remember, flashes filled the empty chasm: vivid images—entered sharply but each was hazy. She prayed for one fragment of clarity. A face, a voice, anything. She felt her eyes fill with tears, almost preparatory. Touch... I remember touch. Her palm carelessly brushed across her face. The tips of her fingers traced across her temple. Her body felt ablaze. A strange momento, gentle and determined aura, fed the sensual fire beneath the thin layer of skin. She felt her body twist and an inferno well up inside, as a fever brewed. Each mark was like a delicate flower, where pain and pleasure blossomed. She felt it. It? She couldn’t muster the words to action.

“The one.” her voice rose above the silence. Brown hair… face bloodied, for a moment she saw him clearly. Felt his touch resonate with his image. Then it passed, she couldn’t call up his distinct features. It was dim, cloudy. Then, the colour of his hair, his soothing voice, it was all gone. She looked around frantically, her eyes searching the present moment. “Help!” She wanted to cry out. She restrained herself, desperation, even slight hysteria, that would not sit well with others.

“Only… who was he?” She thought aloud. It wasn’t quite what she wanted to say, but the message seemed correct. “It all feels like a dream… like I have only just woken up. Torn away from it. It all feels so fuzzy. Where is he!?” She kept rambling. Her attendants noticed her rising, manic voice.

“He…? We pulled a body off of you. A spent corpse. He looked old by our account. Grey haired lad, though we didn’t stop to make sure.” Estraza blinked, shocked. That could not be him… Must not be him she thought, drowning in icy perplexity. She passed through the camp her body limp on a stretcher. Carried by a team of large masked men. She suddenly felt faint. Her mind went blank and a dread spread through her. Her breath became quick and frivolous. She twisted her head and saw her drake begin to beat its tail near its enclosure. She noticed its snout puffing steam, and the lip pulling back and forward. That crushing look of distress with rapid-fire blinking. Another raw wound Aranara didn’t deserve.

“Sorry,” she whispered eyes affectionately locked with hers. Alexa did her best to put on a reassuring face. Her hand reached out across the camp to comfort the beast. It reached a peak and then slumped, hanging limply over the stretcher. The shouts persisted growing in volume.

“Alexa!” Marcy shouted as she dashed beside the stretcher while the men shuffled past. She tried to shove past them through to her. She came at them with a wild embarrassing flurry but could not move past their hulking unified mass.

“Shorty,” A heavy monotone boomed from an indiscriminate source within the team. “She lost a lot of blood. Her visage lacks colour. She could barely move... even when she regained consciousness and desired to do so. She is drained…. Her wounds are still, possibly grave. Supposedly she fell out the sky, straight from the back of her beast. According to anyone we spoke to, nearby. They told us she ought to have died riddled with arrows, like a pin-up doll. Seems like she found a hidden saviour out of some nook or cranny or called upon her incredible luck… for the second time. But internal bleeding and broken bones are still a possibility, though the potential exists for far worse damage.” Marcy slowed herself to a placid saunter. She saw the worn face of the speaker, a man wearing a thick black mustache. His hairline beginning to thin and his eyes trained on her, absorbed in an eerie calm. On his shoulder sat the magpie insignia, a black design across a white patch. It belonged to the retrieval unit.

“So peel off, whelp. Leave her be. Let us do our jobs. The specialists, they are expecting her.” Marcy slowed her stride and fell behind the company of six. They quickly and ruthlessly shoved through anyone in their way. All towards a large tent off to the side, baring a red cross, where the medical specialists would treat both riders and drakes—specializing in the medical care of both.

Marcy waited and sat on a recently chopped down on a stump. She’d need to report the incident to the general. Eventually, she stood up and pressed her back against the dark side of the tent. She could hear the frantic shuffling. It was hard to tell how slow or fast time was passing. Time trickled and eventually, the initial strong bodied helpers left. The last one amongst them to leave was the mustachioed man. The mask across his eyes lifted. He seemed younger to Marcy’s eyes. The lines of tension somehow merged into a smoother surface. His posture didn’t seem as rigid. He even slouched a little bit. His clothes appeared singed and sparingly stained with blood. He appeared to hold an interesting demeanour and besides is there a better past time out there than bothering strangers.

Marcy smiled seeing him stretch his weary arms outside the entrance and walked up into view. She kept her distance, careful of his thick forearms, exposed by his rolled up sleeves. It gave him a rugged masculine look one at odds with his eyes which seemed distinctly boyish by their blue ambiance. If she were to guess he’d made it a habit to smile through his eyes while leaving his mouth a stern and tightly focused line.

“Thank you.” she opened innocently, feeling a playful mood dress her sombre, rippling anxiety in palatable clothes. “And thanks to the Libra Unit… On a live battlefield too. It must not have been easy.” She did her best to avoid being overly snappy. The man noticeably looked down, surprised, chin dipped.

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“We aren't trained for easy.” He grumbled, trying to shake the taste of contemplative aversion. Marcy tilted her hips placing a hand firmly across one, attempting to incite a reaction with her usual invisible feminine charm.

“What are you boys trained for anyways?” she asked him with an acute bite to her tone. His serious demeanour seemed unwavering.

“Trained for anything these days. It only takes two to carry that stretcher. We have to be ready anytime, anywhere. Enemy territory, burning forests or battlefields for that matter. Even if only one of us remains. We’ll bring back the survivors.” His tone lacked expression, but she found within the worn face a harrowing sobriety. His eyes were dutiful and sombre.

“What if there aren't any…?” She asked quietly.

“There are, until proven otherwise. Doesn’t matter how bad it looks or anything. Duty… it’s just duty.” His hand scratched the back of his head. He grew aloof before her eyes as if tracing an old trail of memories. She couldn’t place the estranged manner of his complexion… was he mournful, tired? He could see her attentive eyes, prying in, he smiled near wincingly. He hoped it would be enough to get her to relent.

“The Libera Royal Unit, you play the part well. Serious as can be and all too sure of himself.” She said, her voice taking on a lighter energy.

“I take my job seriously, little else to it. Our training compared to A rider is far less subdued. We are all drafted from commoner ranks. It is said only one in a hundred enters Libera. I make no qualms about that, or what I have to do while knowing it’s difficulty. If I may, I take some semblance of personal pride within it.” He barked back, annoyed.

“Why are you getting defensive. You are free to enjoy those shoulder wafers.” She snapped at his harsher tone, still playful but far more egregious.

“Epaulettes with the black magpie and why you are suddenly getting personal.” He replied venomously.

“You started it, expositing about yourself and your precious unit.” she paused letting a slick grin escape. “I just wanted to get to know you.” Her words were charming and tactfully delivered.

“Great, I hope you stand contented,” he replied in monotone but the sarcasm bled through.

“Let us take a step back, I am Mary, a girl of common upbringing.”

“Marcus. Same origin story. Sorry for getting heated. It’s improper for an officer.” Marcus stammered surprised at the choppy way his words escaped.

“I never asked for proper. I wanted honest. Anyhow, I want to speak with you again. Express my thanks once you are off duty.” Marcy pressed the officer.

“We double as sentries when we aren’t working. Our tents are sprawled throughout the woods. We are all brothers... you'll find me quickly." Marcus seemed to fidget and itch to leave. She noticed and pulled away.

“Goodbye Marcus. Thank you, for your company. Your unit has done me a noble service. I wish upon you equal prestige as worn by the riders. But one common girl cannot change royal decree.”

“I understand the sentiment. But I truly, do not deserve the thanks. This is my duty. Done for my own purpose…” He paused looking away. “This is but a minor squabble. My true condolences, to your friend. A lost rider, that is a worse fate than most.” His tone carried warmth and sympathy.

“Yes... Goodbye, Marcus.” He nodded, taking a short but deep bow. She felt ambushed, and at a bit of a loss. She nodded and the peculiar officer left her to her thoughts of Alexa.

Just like that, the last of the emergency retrieval dispatch filled out. Soon enough, a few other practitioners escaped the tent. They all bore a neutral reaction. She didn’t know what to expect. Her hands fumbled together, twirling her thumbs—buying time. She’d gaze up gauging the travel of the day. The sun was a static mark. The stump she sat on was uncomfortable. She slouched until her back began to hurt. The discomfort paled in comparison to the disarray of her torn heart.

“Marcia!” A gruff voice from inside called out to her. She slowly peeked in, head first. Then dragged her feet, terrified through the doors. Her hands were sweating. She swallowed, walking forward. Alexa was covered with a blanket. Pale, but sleeping soundly, her hair pulled back into a long blonde tail stretched out across the table. The doctor stood, his hands slightly stained with blood. His head oddly shined beneath the thin curtain of sunshine peeking in.

“Alright Marcia, you don’t need to worry… At Least, in my professional opinion. The only reason it took so long was that we had to catalogue the wounds. Honestly, I am more than a little surprised. There are approximately 25~ new arrow impact wounds around 5 grazes, two flat across her temple. Approximately 3 arrows seemed to have made complete penetration and five were pushed through. It was hard because each wound, some of which were fatal were more or less, were cleanly healed. Someone would have committed a lot of time to heal her wounds properly... “ The doc paused. Eyes passing from examining the patient to Marcy with some concern.

"Truth is Marcia, had any of these wounds been improperly closed she probably would have died. Bled out... even as she lies now. This sleeping beauty here. She has lost a lot of blood. She should have drowned. Even a small sliver of exposed blood vessels near her lungs or on the inside and she wouldn’t have made it. Officially no one has been identified as the medic who saved her life. So the story so far... she got hit with a mountain of arrows and ended up left with clean scars. As a matter of course, No one official could confirm the wounding, or wounds. Only sparse eyes that say she was “hit” by many arrows. She fell from her saddle and disobeyed her orders. Officially I doubt she will receive anything more than a slap on the wrist.” Marcia nodded overjoyed. Alexa wouldn’t be benched she’d continue being here, with everyone.

“What happens to her now?” Marcia inquired with a positive inclination to her high rise tone. The Doctor shrugged.

“Procedure. Her wounds were angular, projectile based and penetrated past muscle and skin. There is also the possibility of fractures we haven't been able to diagnose, on top of that you have the mental deliriums originating from the concussive force and everything in that area. Small bleeds are also a possibility. We don’t have the precise medical examiners or equipment that operates in the royal hospital. They can cover those bases there… So... She stays here today. But tomorrow it’s goodbye, not for treatment but for observation. Meaning she will be back and sooner than you’d expect. Unless they find something we missed, possible, but unlikely, I am one of the best.”

Marcia slammed into the dock. Embracing him in the tightest bearhug the smaller girl was able to muster. He held his bloodied hands away making it an awkward experience.

“Thank you, Doctor, I am happy I can count on you.” Marcia rubbed her face into his coat. He shrugged and patted her on the head with the back of his right hand.

“Just be careful and butter the general up. She disobeyed a direct order… you know what that means with that foul but oddly principled man.” Marcia pulled away nodded with a gleaming smile then rushed out of the tent. She slowed to a halt after a joyous sprint.

“Who was the mystery man. The medic… So skilled. I must find him and thank him!” She thought to herself, excitement abound within. “Would the General know? Nothing escapes him. Someone so gifted in the arts… surely they would be an official opinion. Surely, they would have survived... Someone who could first hand expose what befell the Rider on their superior’s orders.” Mary shuddered. “The general… backed into a corner”