All knights worth their merit have seen or experienced firsthand the dangers of blood loss. It started with a seemingly innocent bout of mild nausea and pale skin, then continued to rapid breaths, disorientation, and a heavy tiredness that weighed down your very soul.

The moment Valerlanta tipped sideways, he knew hope for her was fading. Once you reached the symptom of passing out, it meant that immediate and serious treatment was necessary.

Venic caught Valerlanta as she fell and eased her back upright. There was a dazed look in her eyes, but she had not lost conscience entirely. Not yet, at least. However, even after she was back upright, she dug her feet in with the stubbornness of a mule when he tried to continue.

“Stop,” she said in a gasp. “Please, stop. Stop!”

Venic hesitated, looking back to where they had come, then the path in front of them. The sounds of the fight had long since faded, but dare he stop?

His skin still prickled with warnings of danger.

Still, even he had limits on cruelty. He would not drag her to her death.

Venic settled her down in the meadow. They were far enough away from the blight that a pleasant array of grasses and flowers grew in bursts of colour. Nearby, he thought he saw wild raspberries, but he could not be too sure.

The sight reminded him how tired he felt by tempting Venic to sit for a time. Unfortunately, he could not stay that long.

Venic searched for a landmark he could use to walk in the correct direction.

“I need to remove the arrow,” Valerlanta said. “Will you help me?”

The knight flicked his gaze back down to her, feeling ice form in his chest.

Her hand gingerly prodded the site where the arrow had entered, and her fingertips became wet with red.

When he did not answer, a violent shudder visibly quaked up her whole body. She swallowed hard.

“Are you going to leave me?” Valerlanta asked, her voice void of emotion.

Again he said nothing, and her face somehow grew paler than it already was.

“We had a deal.”

"Deal?" He shook his head. "You dare even bring that up? You dare pretend you were honoring your end of the deal?"

"I —"

“Yes. Yes, we had a deal. A deal you did not even try to follow,” Venic hissed. “Tell me, witch, how did those people find us? Where did you lead us?”

“Just—”

“I swear if you lie, I will end your suffering here and now under my blade,” he warned, and she believed it. A flash of fear showed in her emerald eyes.

“I did nothing you would not do yourself in my shoes."

"What?"

"Come on. A stranger shows up, threatens you, then blackmails you, and you would trust still them?” she asked. “You were really just going to let me go after I brought you where you needed to? I doubt that. You were going to kill me for knowing too much.”

“What did you do?”

“I was trying to ensure my safety.”

He brought the sword-point of his sword to her chin. The blade drew a dot of blood. “What. Did. You. Do?”

“I circled back south,” Valerlanta admitted.

He had suspected as much, but had to hear it for himself. All that traveling, all that wasted energy, and he had covered almost no ground at all.

Panic flared within him. “Why?”

“My father’s territory is in that direction. It was the best idea I had.”

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'Father?'

She had to mean the thieves.

That meant her plan all along was to walk him until they happened to bump into people who would help overpower him.

All the blood drained from his face in a cold rush. Fear kindled into rage that flared in his chest.

Venic felt the sudden urge to sink his sword into her throat. It would be easy, and at this angle, she could not stop him.

Valerlanta stayed perfectly still, waiting to see what he would do. Without him, she would surely die. In her condition, there was no chance of her traveling to help in time to save her.

He should kill her.

He should leave her.

Hopeless green eyes stared up at him. Her breath came in rapid gasps, looking all too much like a scared cornered rabbit.

Venic adjusted his grip on the sword. The tip hovered above her skin.

He gritted his teeth.

Then he stepped back with a scream of frustration. Before he knew it, he was pacing back and forth by her feet in rapid and heavy stomps.

“I have washed more brains off my sword than there is in your head!” he snapped.

‘Sard!’ Why everything happening this way? Why was absolutely everything going wrong?

“If you help me, I will give you my word. I will take you where you need to go,” she said faintly.

“Ha! Like your word means anything.”

“I never gave my word before. I simply swore to help you and you never specified the details about for how long. If I gave my word, however, that is entirely different. The word of a thief means everything, or no one would ever hire us.”

'Thief.'

Venic instinctively reached for his money pouch, and it was not there. Whirling back at her, he found her smiling sheepishly with the pouch dangling by its drawstring from her bloody fingers. “Sorry, it’s a habit.”

He did not move to take it. He simply stood there, staring at the pathetic girl. She was so desperate. So small.

‘What is wrong with me?’

He should leave her, and he knew it. He knew it with absolute surety. Yet, he could not bring himself to leave. What was worse than all of that was that he had made up his mind, although Venic acknowledged it had to be the worst idea he had all day.

“Give me your word now,” he said.

“What?”

“Give me your word right now that you will take me where I need to go.”

The hand with the pouch dropped as if she no longer had the energy to hold it. “You have my word that I will guide you through the forest to where you want to go.”

Venic stared into her eyes, but saw no hint of a lie.

‘Kill her,’ the voice told him. ‘She just admitted to being a thief. What else could she be?’

Instead, he knelt beside her and snatched his pouch back.

“Fine,” he said. “But I am no surgeon.”

“Have you ever—” she trailed off with a wince.

He used the water from his water skin to rinse his hands

“Removed an arrow?” He finished for her, his face grim. “Yes.”

Venic had only been on one major campaign, and that was helping to take Palenwood castle. Most of those injured were by arrows, and there were far more wounded than surgeons. Once the war was done, many, including Venic, volunteered to fill the gaps.

“Can’t you use magic?” Venic fished out his needle and gut from his kit on his belt.

Her eyes squeezed shut, but Valerlanta shook her head. “Maybe to heal it, but only partly and only with the arrow gone.”

And she could not remove the arrow herself without risking falling unconscious or causing more damage.

“Here,” He said, pressing a stick to her mouth. She willingly clamped her teeth down on it. Using his knife, he widened the opening in her pant leg then poured water on it so he could get a better look at the injury.

The arrow had hit bone, and that had stopped it from causing further damage to anything too troublesome.

Venic took in a slow breath and let it out again.

‘You can do this.’

He gripped the arrow-shaft.

This was not the recommended practice. He could almost hear the surgeons lecturing him in a panic. They would have been careful to not cause more injury when the arrow was removed, but he had no time.

“Ready?” he asked.

She shuddered from head to toe, but nodded.

With his knee on hers just below the injury, he hoped that would keep her partly in place. “Just try to stay still.”

He pulled.

The stick only partly muffled her scream. Her back arched, and she gripped handfuls of earth.

Blood flowed.

Luckily for her, the arrow missed the artery. If it hadn’t, she would have died very quickly.

“You are almost done,” He lied.

He stuck the needle into her flesh, and her leg flinched. Judging by her fingers digging small holes into the soil, she was doing her best to remain still, but there was only so much someone could do.

Venic did an ugly job of it, but when he finished, the stitches held.

A dazed, almost drunken, look danced in her eyes as he cleaned and bandaged the wound. Her eyes fixated on the forest canopy, watching the swaying leaves.

She would need rest, but he could not offer that.

His hands were bloody. An uncomfortable chill settled over him as the feeling flashed the image of his dear friend, dead.

The knight stood sharply and hid the tremble in his hands by washing them and taking several steady breaths.

'Just keep moving. I just have to keep moving.'

“Get up,” he snarled.

Valerlanta did not move. She might not have even heard him.

“Get up,” he said again. “We need to leave now.”

And, surprisingly, she got to her feet.

It took time, and the help of a tree, but she stood. When she gingerly took her first step, she stumbled. Venic caught her and pulled her arm around his shoulders.

“Do not get used to this,” he shot. “I simply don’t want you to pull your stitches.”

“Do not worry, your need for a bath takes any enjoyment out of this,” Valerlanta said, and despite how pale she was, despite how shaky, she smiled.

“Are you ever serious?”

“Not if I can help it,” she looked around slowly, blinking hard at her surroundings. A trembling hand pointed to the left. “Head for that mountain over there.”

He cast her a doubtful look.

“No tricks, promise.”

“Hmm,” was all he replied, not believing her for a second. Still, that was the direction he went.