It was a short trip back to Isaac’s home, and thankfully enough, an uneventful one. “Alright, you start packing Uncle’s things from the chests, I need to see if I can find his map,” Isaac ordered, opening the door. Without a map, they were as good as dead; settlements on the Serad were sparse, after all. As Isaac entered his Uncle’s room, he once again felt the allure of the strange green gem. This time, however, he had a mission; shaking thoughts of the gemstone out of his head, he reached for the drawer of the nightstand; sure enough, his Uncle’s map was there, along with his strongbox for valuables. “Found you…” he muttered. Quickly he ran out, grabbing a sack, and unceremoniously dumped the contents of the drawer into it, along with the gem and envelope. He didn’t know what they were, but they were small, and possibly valuable- Isaac wasn’t about to leave anything behind. Once he finished up, he started helping Sara clear out the rest of the home; they were taking practically the complete stock of his Uncle’s store- clothing, furs, foodstuffs, various small tools, cookware, and the like, including a long dagger he belted to his waist next to his arming sword.
“Not a moment too soon,” Isaac said once they finished up. “Let’s get going, quick. I still feel like someone’s watching us.” They had spent nearly an hour ransacking the small hut; perhaps not the wisest of actions, but supplies were crucial, and nowhere was there a better supply than at the merchant’s house. Sara waited for him on the wagon; Isaac turned to shut the door, from mere habit. As he yanked it shut, an arrow flew past, embedding itself in the wood of the door, mere inches above his hand.
Isaac’s mind kicked into overdrive. “Sara, archer! Care!” he shouted. Mind straining, he quickly dashed to the cart- there was only one arrow, so there must be only one archer, surely? Hopefully, at least. “Get us moving!” he yelled at Sara, while he clambered over the sidewall of the wagon. As she snapped the reins, another arrow flew over his head. Why are they only aiming at me? He wondered briefly, but discarded the thought as he peered around for the shooter.
As an arrow lodged itself into the sidewall of the cart mere inches under his nose, he chose the better part of valor, ducking below the cart wall- though not before he locked eyes with the archer trying to kill him; a glimpse which terrified him to the very depths of his soul. The piercing gaze of the archer’s soulless black eyes felt like claws raking through his body, through his mind. In truth, he’d not crouched down of his own volition; it was an animalistic response, an instinct to hide from what was surely a terrible predator- and he, most definitely its hapless, helpless prey.
What… what could possibly have made that thing, he despaired. Monstrous, monstrous, a nightmare walking. He had seen nothing other than those wretched orbs of night embedded within the thing’s skull, the rest of it completely covered in a black cloak, yet even that was enough to send him quaking. A few seconds later the cart hit something, perhaps a divot in the path, perhaps a rock, perhaps something else. Whatever it was sent Isaac careening off the open back of the cart, landing with a dull thud upon the half-frozen soil. Scrabbling to his feet, he cast his gaze around- the cart, and Sara, were thundering off into the distance, though he could still hear faint cries of “Heel, Pixie, heel!” The horse must have been as terrified as he; maddened with fear, seeking nothing other than to escape the horrors behind.
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Still partially dazed, both from the fall, and from his experience of looking into the face of a living nightmare, it took Isaac a moment to realize that an arrow had taken residence in his left calf, yet the pain was quick to set in. With a grimace and a groan, he made for the nearest cover he could, barely managing to drag himself along, until he managed to unceremoniously collapse behid a pile of coal next to a house; still, it was better than nothing. In truth, he was amazed that he wasn’t shot again while he staggered towards his temporary cover; he hadn’t even heard an arrow flying by. Catching his breath, he wondered for a moment. Is this it? Is this where I die? Seventeen summers seems cruelly young to die.
With a sigh, he carefully peeked over the top of the coal pile, expecting another arrow to come flying down and end it all- yet the air was silent, save for the slight murmur of a gentle wind. He saw no sign of the archer, and what it meant, he knew not, nor did he care. The sheer pain he was in was enough to occupy his mind, as he collapsed back down to the frozen ground.
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A few minutes later he heard a gentle voice calling out to him. “Isaac? Isaac? Where are you?”
Hoarsely he called back, voice cracking. “Here, Sara, here. Urgh, over here.” He had managed to staunch the flow of blood from his leg with his shirt sleeve, but it was far from a perfect fix. Far from it, considering the arrow was still through his calf, almost like a spit through a roast.
Sure enough, Sara’s cheery face popped up above the coal pile mere moments afterwards, though her countenance soon darkened. “You’re hurt… is it just the leg?” she demanded. Isaac confirmed, grimacing. “I’ll get the cart, I know we packed some bandages out of your uncle’s stock.” As she ran off, Isaac grimaced again. The pain was near overwhelming; he could feel himself starting to slip away from reality, yet sheer tenacity kept him going for a little bit longer. It took a few minutes, but he eventually heard the telltale plodding of horse hooves on the soil, of a wagon creaking, of Sara’s sweet, sweet voice.
“I’m coming, don’t worry, I’ll be there in a second. Just have to find the right bag…” He heard her curse under her breath, “Where are those stupid bandages… c’mon, c’mon… There!” As she rounded the corner, cloths in hand, he groaned again. “Don’t worry, Isaac, I can help you. I was helping Momma, after all…” Sara quieted for a moment, then continued. “I’ll get you set right in just a second, just stay calm.” Her mother was the village’s de facto apothecary, and Sara had helped her mother with many an injury, Isaac knew… though he wondered how often arrows came up.
“Bite down on this, Isaac, don’t worry,” Sara calmly ordered him, placing a rolled-up piece of leather in his mouth. Sounding a bit more nervous, she continued. “It’ll just hurt a little bit, okay?”
A few seconds later, Isaac was blissfully unconscious as she administered to his wound, uncaring about whatever enemies might yet be lurking in the shadows...