One Moo'r Plow

Naught needed be said. I could feel the proverbial hackles rise as my claymore descended through the air into a readied stance. There were painfully few reasons for this woman to visit her presence upon my door under night’s cloak, and none of which I particularly liked.

Fate proved me wrong. The blackguard swung her horse alongside me, sneering down at my raised guard. It was then that I glimpsed the figure slouched behind her, arms wrapped around the dreadknight’s dark armor. Silver hair, green skin and the smell of dried blood all struck me at the same time. My weapon was tossed aside and Ishila’s grumbling body caught as Valencia roughly hauled her up with one hand and tossed her to me.

Questions tumbled through my mind, one quashing the next before they could be voiced.

“Your pagan gods have granted you blessings upon blessings this day, bull.” Came the derisive laugh from on high as the stallion reared towards the sky. “Count them all.”

“And who should I send to notify you once they have been thoroughly counted?” I snarked back, unable to keep myself from rising to her jab. In my defence, the past few days had been an unpleasant experience, and now this topped it all off.

“Send unto me anyone you like.” Valencia smiled, teeth bared in the moonlight. “But make sure you do not want them returned.”

“Why me? Why not take her back to her parents?” I demanded.

“Soon there will be death enough for all. The reaper does not yet need me to exacerbate this harvest by ushering in an early dawn.”

Her laugh echoed through the chill air, fading into the distance as she wheeled and trotted back into the gloom. Gone just as quickly as her arrival. And here I was left to hold the groaning body of the girl I considered my closest friend.

Artyom answered my bellow, eyes fighting the onslaught of sleep. Door bursted inward under my hoof, I saw the felinid scramble from his bed as I hurried past to dump Ishila into mine. The scent of melted flesh reared fear inside me, followed by an almost instinctive bellow from the healing milk. Irritation flared as he didn’t budge. Dissapointment and a hin of fear followed his words.

“We have none, no-no.” He sleepily grumbled and rubbed at his head. “Used it all, yes-yes.”

My mind stood blank for a moment before realization struck that yes, I had indeed used it all. Between sales to the camp, healing Le’rish and my own wounds, my supply was thoroughly exhausted. A few petals had been left to soak today, but they would need days for their effect to spread into the milk. Days I might not have.

“Run to the shed.” I commanded. “Fish what petals you can out of the milk and bring them here. All of them.”

Worried gaze cast back at Ishila’s quiet form, I too left the house. Hurried strides carried me to my garden where the lone cleric-shine reveled in its pool of liquids. Its petals were premature, small and just beginning to settle into their growth. Without so much as a thought, I plucked them off, cupped them in my hand and hurried back to the house.

Ishila had not magically disappeared during my brief absence, nor showed any signs of wanting to. She lay on the bed, obviously in no small amount of pain. But not pained enough to prevent her from cracking a pained smile as I hovered nervously above her.

“Look at you,” She croaked. “A big, burly healer, worried like an old housewife. I should keep ya around more.”

For a heartbeat, I was tempted to roll my eyes so hard heaven itself would break. Just back, obviously been fed through the grinder and already eager to spout off sass. It relieved a part within myself that she had not been changed in this short time. That small piece of me found comfort in that idea. The rest worked on keeping her that way.

“Mouth open, tongue out.” I rumbled and deposited a few scant petals as she obeyed. My eyes traced massive scars of fused flesh up and down her body. I found myself wincing at the thought of what had caused those.

“How?” I demanded. Her tired eyes followed by own and the lass groaned.

“Valencia.”

My temper flared at that moment as my mind ran with possibilities. What had that monstress done to Ishila? Thoughts screamed through my mind, driven by anger and the stirrings of vengeance.

“Healed me.” She continued.

“Oh.” I replied, and thoughts of violence dissapated. “Seems like a very crude way of healing to me.”

“Was right painful.” She grunted. “But necessary.”

“There were none of your fleshknitter potions on hand?” I questioned, skeptical. Ishila blanched at the mention, something that only further piqued my morbid interest.

“Those both saved mah life, and nearly ended it.” The lass groaned, one arms flopped across her face as I hung the lantern and lit the candles. Where was Artyom?

Through rough, pained breaths, she slowly recounted the events that had transpired, all the while swallowing what few petals I had left. Her breathing became smoother, less erratic as the cleric-shined worked its magic upon her form, though I could not see the results.

“I would call it a series of unfortunate mishaps, but to be blunt about it, the Tiefling led you all to your deaths.”

There was a grimace, a pause, and a non-commital shrug. Too good for, well, her own good. But who was I to advocate for cynicism? My entire outlook was to try and see the good in people, even if there were those in which that was naught but a hungry void. One name sprung to mind when I thought of that.

Valencia. Despite what I thought of her, her actions forced me to acknowledge that, buried somewhere deep within, some inestimably small spark of good still survived. I could not write her off as a complete monstress. Ishila lived because of her, and that alone meant much to me, and to others.

“And the tower she kept you in?” I asked and fed her the last of what few petals remained. “Do you know it’s location?”

A shaken head was my response as the lass chewed and swallowed.

“Nah. Don’t know. Lotsa trees ‘round it. Somewhere in teh forests. Don’t know which direction though.”

I nodded along to that, pondering the revelations that came with this.

“She has her own entrance to this dungeon.” I speculated, crouched near the bed’s edge. “So she knew of its existence, and found her own way inside.”

“More’n that.” Ishila winced and gulped down air, one hand clamped down on a shivering leg muscle. “Been actively delvin’ through it. Butcherin’ the monsters inside without wakin’ the dungeon.”

“Butchering is a very..ah deliberate description.”

“Only one that fits. Slaughterin’ works too.”

I listened, attention rapt as she described the methodically pierced walls, guardians asleep inside obliterated, then casual decimation of those that had awakened and sheer disdain with which Valencia killed those in her path. Every word only further solidified her as a danger. The more there was revealed of this woman, the more I doubted my own ability to defeat her in combat, should it ever come to that. I was strong, a monster in the eyes of men, yet through sheer brutality, she seemed to exceed even that.

“For now, you need rest, not me interrogating you for information that can be shared another day.” I rumbled and rose up. “I need to go see what is keeping Artyom. Once you are better healed, further topics can be discussed, if you so will it.”

One could almost feel the smile fade from her face as I turned, followed by her slumping backwards. She did not display it, but I would be shocked if the ambush and following pursuit had not scarred her on some level. The smile on her features had not matched her scent at all.

“I cleaned these same wounds off Le’rish several days ago.” I paused and spoke that into the silence. “She ran for the dungeon to save you. Came back just in a similar state as you. Even now, your parents are preparing to tear apart the dungeon in search of you.”

Silence was my answer, but the faint scent of some small happiness reach my nostrils before I strode through the doorway.

I found Artyom leaned against the shed’s doorway, slumped and dejected as he stared up at the pale moon.

Questions swirled through my mind, some irate, others worried. I choose the civil response, merely asked if he was alright.

“I can’t.” The felinid replied quietly, his usual excited stammer gone.

“Cannot do what?” My tone stayed gentle as I squatted before him.

“Go inside. Dip my paws in the milk. Feel it on my fur. Smell its sweet, rich scent. Taste its presence on my tongue.”

“You don’t understand, Garek.” he continued before I spoke. “It is an addiction to my kind. We are born with it, and will die with it. Does this seem like an awkward, inopportune time for it to flare up? That is what I deal with every day, yes-yes. I fled my previous home because I was becoming too reliant on it, spending all my coin on it, about to resign myself to near slavery for another taste.”

And all this time I had been making him work right next to it, with it, getting him to carry it.

There was little I could say, just quietly nod, promise to help him with it, and send him back to the house.

Fishing the petals out by myself was a quick task, although I wondered what would have happened if Artyom had tried to. I couldn’t imagine, but he obviously knew his demons and what they would have done.

A small batch of petals gathered, I trotted back to my humble abode. Ishila grinned weakly as I entered, followed by a grimace as she swallowed the petals in silence. Much larger than the ones I had plucked from the bloom, these seemed to have a far more noticeable effect. Her hands traced the gash down her front, watched as it began to fade, until all that remained was a thick scar.

“Huh.”

Indeed. No matter how often I’d seen these petals work their magic, there was always a joy in seeing something so pure happen. The act of healing, of mending itself was magical in all the best ways. No other power, skill or act fascinated me as much as seeing what was broken made whole once more.

“There is somethin’ of importance I am tryin’ to remember.” Ishila frowned, halfway through running a finger over another wholly closed wound. She sat upright now, strength returned to her form by the bloom’s blessed nature. “It keeps slippin’ off my mind.”

“Perhaps it is not of great import, then.” I suggested, tone mild.

“But I feel like it is. Somethin’ crucial. There’s a hole in my memories, and I know it’s vital to somethin’.”

“It might return in the morning, when you have slept at truly rested.” I paused and glanced out the window. “Although, that is not far off.”

The night had already been late when Valencia had arrived, and now, hours later, the moon was sinking towards the horizon, chased further down as dawn approached.

“I have a feeling we should perhaps skip breakfast and get you back to your parents before anything monumental transpires. Wouldn’t want them to go and invade the dungeon is search of you because we delayed to have a meal or something foolish like that.”

“A good plan.” Ishila agreed.

And that was that. Dawn’s pale light had just laced itself across the sky above as we took to the road, Ishila supported at my side and hobbling along. The past few days had been tense, filled with dread and uncertainty. Yet now it was time to take her home.

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