image [https://i.imgur.com/wuabRrR.png]

Tannen awoke from a deep haze when the water from her lungs lurched out. Deep pressure within her chest was relieved, her coughing continued for a moment. The creeping cold of death escaped her as fresh air revived her. Opening her eyes she saw a young Man shaking her awake with a fair deal of vigor. He held her head lightly speaking with concern that she could not yet discern. A moment more of regaining her senses and she could understand the questions with which she was assailed.

"Can you hear me? Do you know your name? Are you alright?"

She responded weakly.

"Yes... I can hear you. I am..."

She trailed off, she could not turn the air to words. The Man spoke.

"I am Gyile. We found you as we arrived. Browyn- my friend, is bringing the cart down. We'll bring you back to Blank River."

She nodded. The Man continued.

"I had to perform the rhythm of life, I'm sorry if I bruised you. Are you hurt anywhere else, besides your ribs, your shoulder and your hand?"

Tannen spit out what remaining seawater hid within her throat. She rose to a sit on the white sands, bringing her hand close enough to see. The young Man supported her. The searing pain of blood and the freezing pain of the exposed skin bore the telltale signs of a cut. The cut ran through her left palm, a second ran down all four fingers across her joints. She could not close her hand. A wound she could not recall.

She nodded her head, pointing to her back. Rocking and swaying wood approached from behind her. A second Man came riding upon the cart that Gylie had mentioned just a moment prior. A white stallion pulled the humble and dilapidated vehicle. He quickly dismounted and the two worked quickly to makeshift a gurney with a tarp and a pair of spears.

"We're glad we found you when we did, we'd hate to have to take you to our Ratman."

He spoke of their death priest, he would carve her name upon a slate among a hundred others then put her body to flame. Her god could claim her, she could be service to him then...

She cast the thought of death away, she had purpose here now.

"I am Tannen. Tannen Braia."

"Well, miss Braia, we'll take care of you for a time. Our expedition can wait. Rest in the cart, and drink this."

He reached to a satchel mounted to the side of the dead and flaking wood of the cart. He handed her a spare pouch of water.

"I can assure you, it isn't seawater."

She took a swig from it, it brought a coolness to her body and a calmness to her mind. After the rancid taste of algae and salt, the fresh well water was like a cool breeze. She finished the water in a few short gulps and laid down upon the gurney. She coughed a few times before falling into another slumber. The rocking of the cart swayed her to sleep for a long while.

She was woken by a sharp jolt. The cart had cleared a loose rock on the road and startled her. The young Man sat above her.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that abandoned village."

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A body invigorated by water and rest could respond properly now, though she wasn't much more talkative than before.

"Yes, I was."

He held his hand out to help her to sit up properly. Taking hold of the helping hand she had the time to examine the young Man's face. His dark complexion and true black hair meant he was likely an Arid, one of the natives of Esmony. Though they still bordered Paraclaed and its dense forests, he had certainly seen his share of the blazing sun. He bore a light stubble and an expression that ached for conflict, his age showed that he did not know what conflict could mean.

"I'd thought as much. I'd dedicated some thought as to how you wound up here. Blank River's a large village, but rumors of a girl with a face of gold would spread quickly. So you must have been coming from the north."

"'A face of gold'? You're rather direct aren't you."

He tapped his cheek and pointed to hers.

"Your piercing. I don't know a type of Man or Elf to do such a thing. But then again, I don't know every kind of Man and Elf."

She held her cheek, just below the eye, brushing across the metal that rested within.

"But that's not to say your face doesn't look nice. Ms. Braia."

The Man reining the horses awkwardly cleared his throat as soon as he'd sealed his lips. He was similarly young, though he wore his hair much lower and took more care to his growing hairs. He was built like cattle stock and held the reins with tight embarrassment. Gylie snapped back quite quickly.

"How silver tongued of you, Browyn. Forgive the oaf, he's not exactly clever."

She spoke.

"At least he can coach the horses."

She looked back to Gyile before probing him with some questions of her own.

"What were you doing here?"

Gyile deftly unfolded the gurney, sorting the spears on the cart's floor being very particular about their arrangement.

"We were going to kill the creatures that you no doubt encountered. Did you get a good look at them?"

"I did."

She responded bluntly.

"I slew them."

"What?"

Gylie eyed her with an air of disbelief that quickly turned to an eagerness to know more.

"How'd you manage it against them. They'd been terrorizing the edges of Blank River for some time. They struck fast and hard. The guards could do little and you... slew them all?"

"Save for one, I think. But yes, I did."

She looked around the cart, then to her hip. Still resting vigilantly by her side she withdrew the Feathered Edge.

"It was divine intervention."

Gyile looked with awe. Tannen placed the blade within his hands.

"The name of your sword?"

"No, Divine Intervention is quite the self-important name for any sword, or any divine gift. That is the Feathered Edge. A gift... from someone I once knew."

"And you don't know them anymore?"

He said it with a glee, as if a joking question. A boy's response, the moment he said it he knew he had overstepped, but the nerve was struck.

"Oh..."

"It's alright, you didn't know."

She reached for the handle from him. Her hand had grazed upon the blade for a moment. A slight ripping pain jumped out from the back of her hand, she looked at it for a moment. Perhaps a wound they had not seen before, aggravated by drawing it against the blade.

"Sorry! Did you ju-"

"It's nothing."

She quieted him quickly, she reached more carefully around the blade and grabbed it. She placed it squarely away within its sheath.

"It was blessed in my darkest moment. The Feathered Edge dazed them while I struck them down, its power waned as it came to the last. We struggled for a time, but in the end I sent it to the bottom of the Drift."

Browyn, the coachman spoke.

"That's quite the tale. Sell it to a bard and you might be able to afford the bandages we gave you."

"He jests, we wouldn't extort you. Would we."

Gyile glared at Browyn, something he seemed to feel without looking back.

"Of course! Of course."

She looked down though, they had taken great care to bandage her injuries. Judging by the soothing feeling below her chest, they had even applied a healing salve or lotion. The bleed turned burn was slowly healing back to skin. Her shoulder and hand too was bandaged. She pushed into the bleed on her left with her thumb, messaging it to a sort of numbness.

"I don't believe I've yet said thank you."

Gyile slinked back in his seat, smiling back with an earnest and youthful smugness.

"It's what anyone would have done, if they could."

She struggled out a smile.