Aralyn wipes her face dry with the cuff of her sleeve. “I should open a healer hut,” she says with an exhausted, but fulfilled, sigh.
The girl on the ground is silent. Her eyes are closed, and her lips are slightly parted. Aralyn digs out a spare cloak and gently drapes it over the girl, doubly careful not to disturb the patchwork of bandages covering her body. Then, Aralyn places a hand on the girl’s forehead and silently counts the number of times her chest rises and falls beneath the cloak.
“Skin is warm, but not hot," the elf observes. "Breathing is steady and deep. Good. I think we're out of the woods now.”
Gingerly, Aralyn picks up the girl’s wrist, allowing herself a second to admire the softness, and counts the heartbeats.
She looks more like an aristocrat than an adventurer, Aralyn wonders to herself, and begins playing a game of guesses. Maybe a Jinyu princess on the run from assassins? A lady who had lost her way while traveling? Or could she be a... wait a second.
Aralyn changes position, squeezes harder, feeling for the artery beneath the girl’s delicate, smooth skin. “What... in Nranhana's name?” Aralyn stares at her spare cloak, watching it rise, and then fall.
Rise, and fall.
Carefully, she leans down and places her ear against the girl's chest. And with each second that passes, Aralyn feels her own heart speeding up. She sits back.
“How is this possible?”
Aralyn wants so badly to wake the girl, but before she can come to a decision, or think too hard about what she's just discovered, Allastair’s booming shouts penetrates through the forest.
"Damn the goddesses! Fennald!"
----------------------------------------
> .....
>
> .....
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> System repair complete.
>
> .....
>
>
>
> External Chassis repair complete.
>
> .....
>
>
>
> Energy levels: low.
>
> Bio-Fuel storage: Low.
>
> .....
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>
>
> Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
>
> Life-functions green.
>
> B-Blockers sucessfully integrated.
>
> All systems online and ready.
>
> .....
>
>
>
> Booting up...
11 opens her eyes to gaze into Aralyn’s bright, worried ones.
“Oh, thank the goddesses you’re awake,” Aralyn says, “I was beginning to think…” she trails off as the bushes rustle, and Allastair emerges, panting and wheezing. He is followed closely by Fennald, who is holding his right arm against his side, and the pair all but collapses onto the ground by Aralyn.
"Have any of you broken anything?" Aralyn is immediately onto them, checking between armor plates and torn clothing. She is already pulling at Allastair's chestplate when the knight points her to Fennald.
"I'm alright, Lyn. Fennald had the worst of it. Damn creature slipped through my defenses." He then says to Fennald, "That was my mistake. I'm sorry."
"No harm done," Fennald grunts, but his tough demeanor is quickly shed when Aralyn pulls at his arm. "By Sharn!"
"The scratches don't look too deep," Aralyn notes, already back on the ground, going through her bottles and packages once more. "But you could still lose it to infection. We should patch it up, just in case we run into any slimes."
As Aralyn and Fennald are busy, Allastair steps over to 11. With a heavy sigh, the knight drops to a knee, takes off his helmet, and clunks it down on the ground. "How are you feeling, m'lady?"
"Not bad," 11 replies, "just here patiently waiting for your pet dragon to air-lift me out of here."
Allastair laughs, surprise coloring his voice when he says, "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you only have me."
It is only when 11 imagines herself being carried, does she suddenly remember that she is not wearing clothes. She glances down at the cloak covering what little modesty she has left, and begins to summon her nanobots. But at the last second she decides against it, because if there is any surer way to announce to these people that she is not one of them, it is covering herself with a swarm of moving robots. And until 11 knows what sort of reactions she will get from these three, it is more logical to bide her time.
Though interestingly enough, her injuries are all healed, meaning that whatever Aralyn had done has actually worked.
"Thank you, but I'll manage on my own," 11 tells Allastair, and starts to sit up, but Aralyn is on her in a heartbeat.
“Hey hey, what do you think you're doing?” Aralyn grabs onto 11's shoulders and firmly holds her in place. “I only sealed the gashes I could find. There’s no telling what injuries you might have sustained on the inside. You are in no shape to walk.”
“Here, allow me,” Allastair says, and slips his arms under 11’s legs and back. “I do sincerely apologize that I do not have a flying monster to do this for me, m'lady.”
11 winces as Allastair lifts her up into his arms; not from any pain, but from the coldness of his metallic armor.
“Be careful, you oaf,” Aralyn chastises the knight. "Now is not the time to show off your physical prowess."
Allastair grins. “But how else am I going to get her to like me?” He sneaks a wink down at 11, his green eyes twinkling with mischief.
Aralyn sighs, and begins scooping up all the used-up ingredients scattered all over the ground. She crams it all back into her bag without much care, until Fennald steps in.
"I'll help you hold it." He holds out a hand for her bag, the other one held in a makeshift sling. Aralyn ignores him, and finishes packing by herself. Then she slips her pack over her shoulder, picks up 11’s empty scabbard off the ground, and looks around for the sword.
“I lost it,” 11 says, coming to the painful realization for the first time. “I lost the blade. Ahh, dammit. Mother is going to murder me.”
"A family heirloom?" Allastair guesses.
"Something like that."
“Is your Crimson Ore still on you?” Aralyn asks 11. “Or was it embedded in your weapon?”
11 stares at her blankly. “I don’t have a… Crimson Ore.”
Aralyn's brows shoot up. "Are you a non-human?"
"That is a strange way to put it."
“Girls,” Allastair interrupts, “we can talk about this on our way back. It's obvious our lady here doesn't have anything on her, weapon or ore-wise. What's most important is that we get back before sundown. Will we get back by sundown, Fennald?”
The mage nods to the east. “Only if we hurry.”
Allastair shifts 11’s weight onto himself, and then begins striding into the forest without a moment to spare. "Let us go, then, before that wraith decides to come back and catch us in this compromised state."