I’ve spent the past nearly two weeks on patrol with my company of Royal Knights. It’s not trying work, except on my feet, but for the occasional skirmish with a passing group of orcs it’s terribly boring. Days spent traveling with a group of lively, active, young elvaan (mostly men, thank you Altana) sounded like a wonderful idea in theory but in practice gets very old. Especially since my commanding officer seemed to greatly resent the presence of a Temple Knight among them, as if I were there to tattle back to the Papsque should they step a toe over the line.
I was very thankful to finally return home. Until late my first night back when I heard a great thump against my front door. I live in Haven, the island home of my linkshell, and save some special guest the only people present on the island are usually Lost Boys. Had I been in my moghouse the idea of someone or something thumping loudly against my door in the early early morning wouldn’t have been so strange but in secluded Haven I knew for certain it meant trouble. Or a drunken green haired taru. Either way.
It was instead, a half conscious and heavily bloodied Garion. I’m not one to panic in an emergency, I can in fact seem rather cold in my interactions when things are serious or dire, but really it’s just my way of dealing. Panicing, crying and being emotional can come after everyone I care for is safe and the offending parties have met my sword in their gut.
Back to the story. Garion sat crumpled on my door step, a large gash near his right eye that seeped blood down his cheek was the first thing I noticed, the crossbow bolts in his shoulder and side the second. I helped him inside, may or may not have made a comment about him bleeding all over my rug, and set in a flurry of locating and healing his wounds with my meager skills.
As I pulled the bolt free of his shoulder and stemed the blood flow in a manner that I’m sure Aydann or Nanner would label as two kinds of sloppy I tried to question him on what happened. He was in no mood to talk. More propped up in the kitchen chair rather than sitting I finally felt a touch of panic as his eyes rolled back and he went limp, blood all over my yukata from catching him as he nearly fell from the chair. He’d simply passed out, with all the blood staining he and I I’m not suprised.
Dragging a fully grown unconscious elvaan man up a flight of stairs and into bed is a feat and I’m unsure how I did it. Adrenaline I guess. It wasn’t until he was cleaned up and safely tucked into our bed that I let myself slump confused on the floor and have a good cry. I think I fell asleep there, with my head on the bed and still wearing my stained yukata.
