Ayuen
The Grasping Isle, near Herhor’s End
[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/876104022833127448/1034751384626659358/Tyheart_Symbol.png]The next morning, Ayuen started the day by grudgingly finishing up tending to Rove’s wounds. A promise was a promise, after all. As soon as the Herhor was sufficiently recuperated, they proceeded to travel towards Herhor’s End. Before they continued into the depths of the Shieldhead Woods, they returned to the wreckage of the cart. As she feared, the site was looted of anything useful she left behind, even the battered wheels of the vehicle itself. With a sick feeling in her abdomen, she also noticed two of the corpses of their enemies lying in a ditch on the side of the road, stripped bare of everything. Rove, however, seemed completely unperturbed, rummaging through the wreckage and searching the corpses. He collected a decent amount of splinters and small, broken planks, stringing them together with a few leather straps taken from the stretcher she had used to carry Rove. Despite their activities, Ayuen did empathize somewhat with their former adversaries. Nobody should have to die in such a violent way, and the thought still made her shiver.
Despite travelling with only one horse, they make good progress. Even though she dreaded it, Ayuen saw the need for her to saddle up behind Rove. After a couple of hours of awkward silence, pains in body parts she didn’t even think she had and the same rolling hills with groups of trees for what felt like an eternity, they arrived at the forest edge. The Shieldhead Woods stretched out before them like an endless sea of green leaves and brown bark, its trees reaching high into the sky to catch the rays of the sun they held so dear. The forest’s undergrowth was thick, only allowing for a glimpse of the area of the beaten path. The road ahead cut into the forest like a knife, being the only open area they could go through. As Rove urged the horse on into the woods at a slow gait, Ayuen decided to finally break the silence.
“Shouldn’t we be more careful?” She said, but before she could elaborate, Rove cut her off.
“No.”
That’s it? Just a no?
“And why is that?”, she demanded.
“I know the area, bandits are not around here, not yet. The undergrowth gets more manageable a day in, that’s when we need to get lucky.”
“L-lucky? You do not have a plan for this?”
“I did, and it involved a certain cart being left behind as bait as the need arose. But we don’t have that option anymore, do we?”
His voice sounded patronizing as if he was handling a child. She felt a pang of irritation shoot through her, but that quickly got buried under the anxiety of going into the unknown without having to spend any thought about how to proceed. Images of the trio of assailants from yesterday started flashing in front of her mind’s eye, making the hairs on her skin stand on end.
The rest of the day, her mind kept playing tricks on her. She thought she saw movement in the undergrowth multiple times, making her observe the trees and undergrowth nonstop. As the sun approached the horizon and the shadows lengthened, it only became worse, the trees themselves seemingly bent on stopping their advance. After what seemed like years, Rove finally steered the horse to the side, to a relatively open spot beside the road. Going by the scarred remains of branches scattered around the place, this was quite the popular resting place for other travellers. Still glancing around like a fawn away from its mother, she dismounted the horse. Rove did not speak, seemingly content with letting her stand there, and went to work on a small fire. Desperate to do something to distract her from the woods, she gathered up an assortment of grasses and herbs, sorted them out to see if they were edible, and fed them to the horse. The rest of the evening, she huddled close to the small fire, while Rove sat silently on the opposite side, shadows dancing on his emotionless face. Even while they ate, no words were uttered. Eventually, with the sun long gone to shine its light on distant lands, she went to hide deep within her bedroll, feeling comforted by its soft embrace, wrapping her wings around her body as a shield against the night.
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That morning, as soon as the sun touched the treetops, Ayuen woke up in cold sweat. Every sound had shaken her awake, and when she finally slept in, nightmares of armed men in the night plagued her throughout. Drowsy and clumsily, she awkwardly climbed out of her bedroll, her wings providing quite troublesome for getting out of a bedroll. Tired and frustrated, she threw down the bedroll, cursing heavily. A moment later, she heard somebody clear his throat behind her, and she quickly turned around, only to see Rove sitting at the fire, looking fit and awake, clearly having had a better night than her. He was busy stirring in a small bronze pot hanging above the fire. A rabbit’s carcass lay near the fire, the good parts having been neatly cut off.
“Yes, what?” She wasn’t in the mood nor had the energy to be subtle.
Raising an eyebrow, the corner of Rove’s mouth curled up ever so slightly. Despite her wariness, she found that the small gesture ticked her off, irritating tingling in her stomach.
“Morning.” He greeted plainly. “Seems you’re spring and ready for the day.” The sarcasm was almost palpable.
Ayuen said nothing, settling for an indignant stare, although she suspected her tangly hair diminished the threatening part of it.
Rove’s face took on a more serious expression, the man signing as he beckoned her over.
“Come, warm yourself by the fire. Breakfast is ready.”
Grunting rather unflatteringly, Ayuen combed her hair in the hopes of getting it in check, which to her chagrin has mixed results. After glancing some more, she did join the Herhor at the fire. Rove offered her a bowl, containing some bread, hard cheese and a warm piece of cooked meat. The smell coming off the meal, although it was simple, made her stomach growl like a wolf. Despite her feelings towards Rove, she eagerly began eating the meal, neatly cleaning the bowl with the bread with she was done. Sitting next to her, Rove did the same, although not nearly as tidy and elegantly as she did. He ate fast and efficiently, not paying any mind to neatness or etiquette. The contrast fascinated her, despite her not liking the man. It was just so different from how things were done back home.
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Rove seemed to notice her inquisitive stare and looked at her.
“Is anything wrong, miss Ayuen?”
“No…It’s nothing. The way you act and carry yourself is quite fascinating if quite a bit uncouth.”
Rove shrugged and continued eating. Suddenly, ideas started popping up in Ayuen’s head, and she headed to her backpack, taking her precious booklet out of its side pocket. She headed back to the fire, scribbling in the booklet with the small graphite pencil she always had with her just for this purpose. She noted down her fascination, described her feelings in words, and moulded her emotions into sentences. The process calmed her, and she felt herself slip into that familiar state of mind, her thoughts jumping from one idea to the next, her hands writing down whatever came to the surface of the well of inspiration. Slowly, she felt the drowsiness disappear and her body adjusts to being awake.
“That’s quite the imagination you got there, too bad you’re wasting it on poems though.” Rove had walked behind her, bowl still in hand, and now looked over her shoulder at her notes with amusement.
Ayuen kept silent, not deeming the Herhor worthy of an answer as she kept her eyes focused on the pages.
“Well, if it helps you get through the day, I suppose it has its uses. We’ll be off in about fifteen minutes. Be ready.”
Ayuen nodded and Rove headed off to who knew where. Scribbling a while longer, she eventually stood up and stowed her book back into her backpack. She felt refreshed, more awake and calm. The forest seemed a lot less dark and fear-inducing now, and she felt ready for the day.
With a newfound spring in her step, she packed up her belongings and mounted up behind Rove.
They rode through the forest at as fast a pace as their remaining horse could muster. Every hour, they’d let the horse rest and feed for a while, using the time to rest, write poems or practice swordsmanship. Once, Ayuen took out her bow and practised a couple of shots at some trees near the road, which attracted foul looks from Rove. Interesting... When she asked him about it, he just mumbled something about angry bees and violently attacked a nearby dead tree with his blade, slicing off big chunks. It didn’t take long until he was forced to vent his frustrations on his sword instead, sharpening the now dulled bronze blade.
She didn’t know what happened to him to make him this hostile against archers, but then again, she didn’t particularly care. If anything, she now had a useful tool to use against him when he was acting insufferable again.
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The next day was mostly uneventful, with the forest seemingly content with letting them through without trouble. The only strange thing they came across was an old desiccated corpse staked to a tree, near which a narrow path wound deeper into the dense woods on their right-hand side. Rove did not seem too distressed by the sight, but Ayuen immediately felt sick upon seeing the decaying body, and a portion of the anxiety she had felt the day before returned for a while. When she tapped him on the shoulder to ask him about it shortly after, he only replied with two words.
“Truth’s Sons.”
Although she didn’t know the details, she heard about the group during the time she dwelled in Handport. From what she heard, they were the biggest group of outlaws in this part of the Grasping Isle. These ruffians were notorious for their savagery and exceptional territorial behaviour. It would seem this was part of their turf, and they wanted everyone to know it. At their next stop, she asked Rove for more information, but the Herhor just replied that he had it covered, that he had paid somebody off back in the city. It was somewhat comforting but raised some more questions about her bodyguard. How did he obtain the means and contacts to convince a large bandit group to let a potential prey go? Not that it wasn’t appreciated, but still she could it puzzling.
They advanced further into the forest, and Ayuen was happy that the grim sight from earlier didn’t repeat itself. Or that they encountered any bandits. Seems their luck was holding up, praise be on the Arals! Nevertheless, she remained on guard even though they seemed to be clear. Rove did as much too, and he was the more experienced one. Unfortunately.
As they travelled further, the forest seemed to change in subtle ways. The path was slowly getting broader, with off-shoots popping up every so often. A decent number of those off-shoots were blocked by a decent amount of branches, logs, and other debris. The purpose of those offshoots was quite evident though. Old, broken arrows were lodged in some of the trees nearby the offshoots, together with gashes in the bark made long past. Probably how the bandits attacked or used to attack, judging by the apparent age of most of the markings. Which was odd, because she thought the bandit activity in the area was increasing instead.
“Sir Rove.” The poet spoke up, tapping Rove on his shoulder to get his attention. “I was able to gather that there was an increase in bandit activity in this area, correct? However, from what I can deduce from the age of those markings in this area, it doesn’t seem that way. Would you be able to explain this conundrum?”
The Herhor grumbled something incoherently.
“I beg your pardon, could you repeat that?” She asked, raising an eyebrow with a fair bit of sass. Slowly, she was getting used to his somewhat rude way of interacting with people. Not that she liked it, but at least she knew what hand she was dealt.
“Ever since the number of attacks went up, more Herhors started patrolling the area. These paths are too familiar to the local Herhors. To easy to predict.” Rove said clearly this time, reluctance to speak audibly in his voice. To be fair, she’d allow him to stay silent if she didn’t require to know the essentials. She was his employer after all. To be kept in the loop was par for the course.
“So….” Ayuen continued. “They will just appear from their hiding places now, like spectres from the mists?”
The Herhor sighed in that annoying, degrading way of his.
“No, they will not ‘appear like spectres from the mists’. I’ve got some contacts who are well-connected with the Truth’s Sons. Informants as it were. They arranged free passage for us. We should be fine.”
“All right then, if you sa-….”
Before she could finish her sentence, a voice called out from ahead. A voice with a strange accent she couldn’t quite place.
“Halt, travellers! Hands and weaponry where we can see them.”
Without a second thought, Rove stopped the horse, and Ayuen leaned slightly to the side to see the road ahead.
Around the bend, a group of eight armed people approached them on horseback. The group consisted of both Humans and Vysari. They were armoured in bronze mail and helmets, their leather pants fortified with plating on the upper and lower legs. A tabard adorned their chests, a green tree with a heart in the trunk embroidered in the fabric. It didn’t ring any bells with Ayuen. Maybe some local lord’s insignia?
Wooden shields hung from the side of their horses, within arms reach of the riders for easy access and short swords hung from their belts. The front rider, a Human, had a plume on his helmet, signifying some kind of higher rank, while the others lacked such a decoration.
The group approached, stopping their mounts a dozen meters away from theirs, forming a semi-circle around them. They didn’t appear to get ready to grab their weapons and looked quite relaxed.
“Good day, my lady, sir.” Their leader spoke up, nodding politely at the pair of them, although he did seem to look at Rove rather strangely with a confused and somewhat suspicious look on his face.
“We were wondering if we could have a minute of your time. It won’t be much of a hold-up, we promise.”
While the captain was busy reassuring them, Ayuen looked towards Rove, and promptly raised both eyebrows in surprise. He stared at the tabard of the leader, eyes wide open in surprise and his face a pale mask. Something had shocked him out of his wits...
Oh no...
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