[Warrick] Mountain Men

[Malcolm]

115 Vhalar 716

They had spent two nights in the snow, braving the weather on the slopes of the Burning Mountains, in their tents made of animal hide. Malcolm had led a small scouting party up into the hills, leaving the majority of the army camped in Warrick at the base of the mountains. He saw no point risking the lives of everyone in his care, not until he knew exactly what they were up against. The group consisted of Malcolm, Benjamin, his most trusted captain, two knights under Benjamin’s command, who went by the names Ronald and Kathryn, and a handful of others, making the party no bigger than fifteen at most.
The higher they climbed the thicker the snowfall was, and for this reason, Malcolm tried to cut tracks through the valleys that ran between the sky high peaks, and travel only when the weather was clear enough. No one was permitted to light a fire or even a torch during the night, which meant it had been a couple of nights since they had last enjoyed a hot meal, surviving on their dry rations instead. Up here they ran the risk of not only running into rebels, but bandits belonging Faction VII, a formidable band of mountain men and women who knew these hills better than most.
They had made an early start that morning, and by lunch found themselves just below the rise that led into the valley where they would find Jorick’s Keep, an old fort Qe'dreki had overtaken.
“Wait here,” Malcolm warned before climbing to the top of the ridge alone, expecting to find the valley bustling and full of life. However, he had not been prepared for the sight that awaited his eyes. Malcolm looked down the edge of the rise and waved for the rest of the group to join him, sure they were unlikely to find any real danger here.
The bodies of fallen rebels littered the ground as far as the eye could see, and the smell that permeated the air made it clear that the men had been dead for quite some time. As Malcolm slowly made his way past the swollen, rancid bodies, he pulled the sash from his waist, folded it up, and covered his nose and mouth with the fabric to try and dull the attack on his senses. Judging by the missing limbs, gored flesh, and the way in which the men lay thrown about like children’s toys, Malcolm could only imagine that this attack had been the result of the same beast that had plagued Andaris during the civil war, the same Aeon had had lost an arm and an eye to.
The warden checked the faces of each man he passed, hoping not to find his own son amongst the dead, though perhaps, if he truly thought about it, finding Marcus dead would be easier than facing him alive after all he had done. He looked for others on his lists of arrests, and hissed at one of his men for kicking one of the fallen rebels. “Respect the dead,” he told the lad, “you can take of their worldly possessions, they won't be needing those anymore, but I pray you leave the men be, lest you invite the dead to linger.”
Benjamin, Ronald, and Kathryn followed him to the nearest tower to see what information, if any, they could find.

[Kylar]

Kylar was used to harsh conditions, but this was above and beyond anything he had been through before. The dry food, the crippling cold and being away from home was harsh for him. Hunter, however, was a different matter. With a thick mane, he trooped the journey. Kylar couldn't have made it without him, and he knew that. Besides, he couldn't have left a lion unattended at camp. But, he also knew he had Malcolm to thank. Kylar was under good leadership, and that gave him comfort in even these harsh conditions. After all, leadership was key on an expedition like this.
Kylar waited patiently for Malcolm to return, keeping his hand buried in Hunter's fur to keep himself warm. He had warm clothing on, but that wasn't the point, he needed all the heat he could get to stay safe up here. "Good boy Hunter" he said comfortingly to the lion. It was reassurance to himself, but it also showed his appreciation just by saying Hunter's name. If Nir'wei had taught him anything at the lodge, it was that calling an animal by their name is important for consistency.
When Malcolm waved, Kylar climbed up the ridge slowly. As he went, Hunter pushed him gently with his snout. Eventually, the two made it to the top. Before they saw it, they smelt it. Corpses, a sickening smell that burnt the hairs on his nostril. Just the strength of the putrid odor showed him how many there were. But what he saw wasn't anything he could imagine. Ripped apart by something, clearly. A beast of Karem? No. This so called 'beast; everyone has been speaking of. What else could do this?
Kylar shot a sharp glance to the boy that kicked the body, then looked around. He felt wrong taking from the dead, but as Malcolm said - they won't be needing it any time soon. Kylar looked around for one thing in particular, and found it soon enough. Laid out in the snow was a crossbow, one almost identical to the one Lazuli had given him all that time ago. He picked it up, then look for a body nearby with bolts. After grabbing five or so, he decided that was enough and proceeded to follow Malcolm.

[Rafael Warrick]

115 Vhalar 716

Rafael had become as quiet as their surroundings since Aeon’s dismissal. While he could not claim to truly know the Skyrider, he’d pitied the former sergeant for having his rank stripped away from him. Of course, Aeon had brought the whole ordeal upon himself by choosing to challenge his superiors, but Malcolm’s stern response had taken Rafael aback and made him worry even more for the future. Jorrick’s Keep was drawing closer by the day, and with it his time to make a choice was running out.

Their circumstances were harsh and their food tough and grating, but Rafael soldiered on without complaint. Every day he completed his many small tasks in Malcolm’s service to the best of his ability though any hint of joy or pride had long since vanished from his features. Being closer to home weighed down heavily on his heart, and every time a scout returned to their camp on horseback, he worried his father had arrived to rant and rave about where he’d been the past season.
Stiff and cold from the long travels, Rafael joined Malcolm on the small incline with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. Though he had no quarrel with the fair-haired soldier and his lion, he was glad to be away from the fearsome beast. But his relief soon faded at the sight before him.

Thick, grey clouds hovered like monstrous vultures above the desolate valley and there was too little wind to sweep away the rot and stench that filled the air. Rafael turned his head and shielded his nose against the festering decay with his gauntlet as a lump of bile rose to his throat. Not even the death and destruction he’d seen in Ne’haer could compare with the sheer dread hung over the place.

Duty-bound to follow the Warden of The North, Rafael soon caught up with Malcolm, his face turned gaunt by their horrifying surroundings. “Aeon’s monster?” he piped up before shooting a sideway glance at the dead. The distaste on his face was clear as he witnessed Kylar kneeling to grasp a crossbow from a Qe’dreki’s cold, dead hands. “I don’t suppose we have time to light a pyre?”

[Sintih]

"The burning mountains, my ass." The thought had passed through Sintih's mind several times in the last break now. Nothing about these mountains was in any way shape or form burning, except his desire to leave and never come back here. Even here at the bottom of the mountains, Sin's armor and cloak weren't enough to keep him properly warmed. Their idiot Warden had gone and left them behind near the foot of the mountains. What commander went scouting on his own... Sin shook his head and regretted it immediately as his hood was pushed back from the motion and freezing mountain air cut behind his ears and the back of his neck.

Over the past two days Sin had done nothing but wait. Sometimes as appointed guards of the camp but most of the time because their Warden had left them. The general attitude in the camp seemed to be one of acceptance. Knights and squires were moving about their own business, freezing as they did. There were no rebels spotted within miles of the camp, scouts kept going out every day to make sure this remained the truth. As the appointed flagman for Heran's group, Sin had done absolutely nothing useful in this campaign so far. He'd been helping Jaks with the squirework of the group but he hadn't learned anything new from doing that.

Continuing his patrol along the perimeter of the camp, Sin spotted one of his two points of contact in the distance. At least all the walking was keeping his blood flowing. The sword was hanging from his belt, untouched, as he walked up to the other guard. In a moment, they would both turn back and head in opposite directions, looking to find their second point of contact. An age old sentry system for camps like these. If anyone ever ended up at the spot where they would meet their contact and nobody was there, chances were high they were lying in a ditch somewhere, throat cut. Seeing his fellow guardsman alive told Sin that nothing had happened. There was barely a nod between the two of them as they huddled around the fire burning there. It was with great effort that both men peeled themselves away from the fire and moved back to their patrol.

The past two days hadn't been much more exciting than this. With some hundred men and women in the camp, Sin had been quite unlucky with the schedule, doing his second shift in two days already. Most likely squires' names were put up more often for no other reason than them being squires. Sin's breath created short and quickly fading clouds of white smoke in front of his lips as he walked back to the other fire. When he arrived there, Sin noticed he was alone. The other guard hadn't shown up yet. This was to be expected, as timing couldn't be done perfectly in these cases. After a bit or two, Sin started peering in the direction of the knight station on that part of the perimeter. Nothing. Taking advantage of the extra time, Sin opened his cloak a bit and warmed his hands at the fire.

When a bit later, a twig cracked under the weight of something to his left, in the darkness, Sin's hand moved to his blade and he drew it for the first time since this campaign began, honestly, even for the the first time since he'd bought it. "Who goes there? Show yourself." Sin shouted into the darkness. "No need to be so on edge, kid." The voice reached him before he could so who it was coming from. Then the figure of the knight walked into the light of the fire, messing with his belt buckle. "Just taking a leak." Sin slowly put his blade back as the tension left his body. Another idiot. Did the Warden attract these types of people because he was one himself?

[Malcolm]

Conditions on the mountain were unpredictable and subject to sudden change. Light snowfall looked to move in slow motion all around them, and the sun had long disappeared behind clouds, burning like a white moon through a haze of grey sky. Kathryn tripped over one of the dead who lay buried in the snow, and Malcolm helped her to her feet. It had been a difficult climb and he could see that most of the knights who had decided to follow him up into the valley were exhausted. They had come seeking the rebels and discovered mutiny. He was certain now that the beast was a man cloaked in Burhan blue.
Kathryn fussed, “I'm okay, I just wasn't looking where I was going.”
It was Benjamin’s voice that caught the warden’s ear then, and he turned to see the captain speaking to Rafael. “We don't have time for that, lad. There are more dead up here than all of our fingers and toes together, and you're bound to lose some, playing around in the ice and snow that long.”
Malcolm frowned and felt his brow tightened. Rafael had been quiet since their first night of camp. Malcolm didn't know the young nobleman so well that he could say with full confidence that Rafael was a loud kid, but he had seemed a little livelier the last few times they had worked together. The warden waited for the rest of the party to catch up and reached out to grasp Rafael’s shoulder as they continued towards the tower. The ends of his wolfskin cloak were stiff with ice, but the shared warmth was enough that he noticed a change in temperature.
Malcolm wondered if Rafael had meant to shrug his outstretched arm away or if it was merely the awkward ground beneath their feet that had seen it done. He pulled the sash away from the lower half of his face to speak. “You're a good man, Rafael,” the warden’s voice was deep, but low enough that those outside of earshot would struggle to hear. “I too think we should do something for the dead, but it's a long way down the mountain before we will find any trees for a pyre,” he pointed out. “Perhaps we will find a spade in the tower, or turn one of those buildings into a crypt?”
Malcolm had always felt a strong pull to do what was right where the dead were concerned, and wondered if it had anything to do with his own father being the immortal of death. He would leave Rafael to decide on their course of action, and waved to Ronald to come closer, and follow him into the tower.
“Ser?” the young man pulled back his hood once they were inside the tall, stone building.
Malcolm adjusted the sash around his middle onc more and sat down at the table Qe’dreki had used before them for what looked like a planned raid that had never been carried out on Warrick. “I need you to send a bird to camp. Tell our men they can return home, there is nothing to find here in the mountains.”
“Yes, ser.”
Malcolm watched as Ronald took up a chair and started writing the note. “And a second bird to Judge Burhan in the capital. Tell him Qe’dreki have abandoned Fort Jorick and that none of the warrants have been carried out yet.”
Ronald nodded. “Anything for home, ser?”
Malcolm was thoughtful for a time before answering with a slow shake of his head. “No.”
Benjamin hurried down the stairs and came to a sudden stop. “Malcolm, you're going to want to see this.”
The warden got to his feet with haste and followed Benjamin up to the second story. The smell of death hit him like a heatwave, stopping him in his tracks. Malcolm covered his mouth and nose with the sash and choked on the awful smell. Ronald raced up the stairs behind them and took a few steps back at the sight.
A rebel, one that appeared to be of significant standing within the Qe’dreki ranks, or what was left of him, sat tied to a chair with his belly cut open with his innards pulled out and riddled with maggots. His eyes had been gouged out and stuffed into his mouth, and hung around his neck was a note that read ‘deserter’. His limbs were mottled purple and blue with death, but his tattoos were still visible and would later help the knights identify him.
Ronald heaved as if he were about to throw up, and Malcolm told him to return to his work downstairs. “Send those birds, Ron.”
Benjamin stepped on one of the maggots. “Strange to see them so far up here?” he observed. “Bit cold for flies isn't it?”
Malcolm agreed with a nod. “It is, perhaps they carried him up the mountain?”
“Why?”
The warden studied the man but couldn't place him. “Scare tactics? If this was one of their leaders, maybe Blackwood was showing them what he does with deserters?”
Benjamin frowned. “Starve on a mountain or die like a dog?”
Malcolm looked around the room and found a desk with a few abandoned maps, in fact it appeared most of the rebel’s belongings had been left in a hurry. “How about option three?”
“There's a third option?” Benjamin turned.
Malcolm held up a map. “A scenic trek through the Vanwilds, followed by a cruise to the distant shores of Welles.”
“I think I’d prefer to die like a dog,” the captain said.
Malcolm couldn't help but grin. “Over braving the Vanwilds?” he inquired, it wasn't for everyone.
Benjamin nodded. “At least we know where they are headed. I'll be surprised if any of them make it out of there alive.”
“You underestimate them, captain. Both Edmund and Marcus grew up in Burhan, the Vanwilds won't stop them.” Malcolm stared at the fireplace, lost in thought.
“Maybe we should send a bird to the Wall of the Seven Kings, to try and cut them off?”
“Coal,” Malcolm murmured.
Benjamin looked confused. “Coal?”
“For a fire,” the warden pointed out. “We can burn the bodies on a bed of coal, they are bound to have large stores of it here.
“Oh,” the captain agreed, “yes, right away. Did you want…?”
“Yes, we’ll have Ronald send two more birds, one to the wall in Burhan, and the other to the outpost in southern Krome, if we don't get them at the wall, then perhaps we can stop their ships before they cross the eastern trench.”

Outside Malcolm found Rafael and pointed out his idea before sending a handful of men to shovel the coal and prepare the burn site. It was then he set to work, collecting the bodies with those who had the stomach for it, and lined them up, ready for the fire. “Use the oil from the lamps,” Malcolm ordered, “and anything else that burns well.” He waited for Rafael to take the legs of a man he was standing over, and helped by lifting the dead man at the shoulders. “Qe'dreki have fled down the northeast side of the mountains towards the Vanwilds. It seems we may have to go as far as Welles in the Eastern Settlement before we catch up with them again.”

[Rafael Warrick]

115 Vhalar 716

Benajmin’s answer was to be expected and Rafael nodded in quiet resignation. With a sigh and a final glance at the fallen, he tore his gaze away from the ground and picked up his pace. A faint smile born of pride flashed across his face as Malcolm stated his approval, but a misstep in the snow caused the gloved hand to slip from his shoulder, and soon enough someone else required the commander’s attention.

While Malcolm slipped inside the lone tower, Rafael stayed outside as pale white snow glued itself to his pitch-black hair. He shivered involuntarily and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, attempting to wish the cold away. His thoughts returned to Ne’haer and his stay at the Willow Woods outpost. Nabarra had been the one to find him and convince Captain Ziri of his use. Later, she had revealed herself to be a member of Labrae’s faction and servant of the Immortal Sintra, and she’d told him all about the great things he could do for them. At the time, he’d been keen to help and had accepted his mission without question. He was to find the Qe’dreki and assess their strength. If the rebellion was still alive, it was to be kept that way, to remain a constant thorn in Cassander’s side and undermine his reign.

Though the bond he shared with his family was fickle, it had surprised him to find Vivian’s name among the pile of arrest warrants just two nights ago, when he’d found himself alone in the commander’s tent. Aside from her and Zvezdana, he did not care much for the rest.

A cold gust of wind biting at his freezing ears brought him back to reality. Warrick-born or not, he was just a sensitive to the frost in the ancestral land as any other. Casting his thoughts aside, he set himself upon the gruesome task of digging a corpse free from the snow, intending to give at least one or two of the fallen a proper passing. The stench made him gag, but he carried on regardless, his fingers slowly turning a faint blue as he dug through snow and ice.

A man with a light beard and hollow cheeks revealed himself, Rafael guessed him to be one of the older soldiers though it was hard to tell from the mangled countenance that stared back at him. The next one he uncovered was a woman in her late twenties, and the third could’ve been her daughter.

A frown etched itself onto Rafael’s face, and it deepened after every other corpse he uncovered. From the looks of it, Kylar had been lucky to find a crossbow and arrows among the dead, for Rafael did not see any possessions upon any of the dead he freed from the snow.

“Kylar!” he called out as he waved the fair-haired soldier over. “See this?” he asked when and if the lion-friend would heed the call. “Not a weapon upon him, or a purse, not even a dagger. And she-“ he moved over to the dead woman, “she’s wearing just a single gauntlet, and no necklace or anything else of value…” His voice trailed off for a moment as he gauged Kylar’s reaction. “The same is true for those two over there,” he gestured towards the corpses of two others he had freed, “they don’t have any valuables upon them, or only parts of it. I suspect..." he lowered his voices, "I suspect someone came here before we did. Looters perhaps. You found that crossbow amid the corpses, right?” Within the privacy of his mind, Rafael was trying to make sense of the situation. What kind of looter or bandit would leave behind a fine crossbow? Unless of course, they had been in a hurry to get away...

By the time the hardened Warden stepped back out of the tower, Rafael leapt up and nearly bumped into him. A mixture of concern and light panic battled for dominance on his face.

“Don’t burn them just yet,” he slurred in reply before he went on to explain to Malcolm the same thing he’d just mentioned to Kylar.

“Maybe-“ he swallowed hard, “maybe the looters are still around…”

[Kylar]

Kylar helped people dig through the bodies, leaving Malcolm's side. "Hunter, sit" he ordered the lion. As he dragged out bodies near Rafael, he noticed a trend. A crossbow he found with ease, as it was sticking out of the snow and was rather shoddy, but none of the people he dragged had jewelry or daggers or just anything of value. It seemed strange, to say the least, that nobody had them. He looked up to the bodies near Rafael and noticed the same trend. Nothing on them but their clothes, and those were a state as well. This wasn't the work of an animal, they weren't the first people to have been here.

Kylar, startled by the call, went quickly over to Rafael. Rafael described what he had just noticed, and Kylar tensed up. He hoped it was all in his head, but this was no trick of the mind. He was seeing this as well. These people had been looted, taken of everything they owned after death. People had come through and done this. The discomfort became evident on his face. "By the immortals..." Kylar said quietly, so only him and Rafael would hear it. "I took the crossbow, yes. Why would they leave a crossbow?" he asked. The bolts, too. Why leave weapons behind? Unless they were armed themselves and didn't want the excess weight. The idea of being near a group of armed looters terrified Kylar. He had never been on a trip like this before. He was cold, with people he barely knew, and the potential risk of fully armed bandits. But he had no time for that, this was the situation and he needed to stay calm. But his shaking became visible, much worse than it was from the cold. He started to go pale with dread.

Almost as if on cue, Hunter let out a disgruntled roar. It was something small at first, making Kylar tell him to shush quietly. He was uncomfortable enough, this was the last thing he needed. But Hunter continued with growling, and eventually stood and let out a loud roar. Kylar walked to him with an arm outstretched. "Hunter, down" he said firmly, hand still shaking. Hunter growled at him and moved uncomfortably, looking around the area constantly - paranoid. "Hunter, down - now" Kylar said with a sharp tone. The lion looked unsure, backing away from Kylar but still looking ready to pounce. Cautiously, Kylar approached the lion and placed his hand on it's snout. "Good boy Hunter" he said reassuringly, making sure to always say the lion's name so it was recognizable. Eventually, after some rubbing on the snout, Hunter sat down again slightly calmer.

Kylar, not moving from Hunter's side, stood up when Malcolm came back. He listened as Rafael explained. "Sir, all of the bodies I found were the same" he said uncomfortably. "What would you have us do, sir?"

[Malcolm]

Malcolm looked between the men and took a few steps towards the shallow, frozen river that cut through the valley. He uncovered one of the dead there with gloved hands, followed by a second and third to find that's Rafael and Kylar were correct in their observations. But there had been snow since the looting, enough to cover some of the bodies and the old drift, bloodied and thick with mud. A day, perhaps even two since the looters had been, but that didn't mean they wouldn't come back, especially if they hadn't managed to clean the place out. After all nothing had been touched in the tower, but then Malcolm couldn't recall seeing even a silver goblet or candle stick on any of the tables inside.
Facing the concerned group, Malcolm whistled and pointed, and a young knight who looked barely seventeen hurried forward with the warden's shield. Malcolm strapped the heavy item to his back and returned to the group. “The first thing you need to do is remain calm, even your lion can sense how tense you are,” Malcolm pushed Kylar’s right shoulder, and like a tree, the man didn't budge.
The warden walked by Ronald, who was sending the last of the messenger birds, and opened the hawk’s cage, holding his hand up in front of the door to wait for the bird to jump forwards. He drew the hand closed to his chest, shielding the bird’s face from the wind with the other before he found a clear spot. Malcolm raised his arm and the hawk took to the sky, circling the immediate area for any sign of movement outside of the warden’s group. The hawk’s circles got wider and wider as he climbed higher, and soon enough he had moved out of sight.
Benjamin pointed to the distant buildings some hundred off metres away from the tower. “You think it's worth taking a look over there?”
Malcolm nodded. “Once we deal with the dead, there is a lot of light left.”
Kathryn frowned at the sight of the young girl Rafael had uncovered. “Something tell me we’ll be on this mountain all night.”
“I'd rather sleep in the tower than down on the edge again,” Benjamin protested.
Malcolm waved and they both got to work without another word. “Come on.”
Ronald’s hawk retuned within a quarter break, and the knight tucked the animal away in his cage. His long brown hair was wet with fallen snow, so he donned a helmet to try and keep his head dry, not willing to catch a chill. Ronald reported that his bird hadn't seen anything on the surrounding peaks, and once again Malcolm pointed his gaze to the distant buildings, wondering if the looters had gone, or taken shelter there. Every now and then he would glance at the tall, thin windows, and check for movement, but did not let the thought make him paranoid, knowing how one’s mind could play tricks on the eyes.
They got the coal burning, topping it up with anything else that would catch. Tablecloths, oil, straw, it all went on the pile and soon the rock beneath the snow was revealed. Malcolm set any weapons he found aside for the Iron Hand, but left the dead with all of their other worldly belonging, including armour, jewellery, and clothing. Letters, ledgers, and notebooks were put in a bag, in case the dead had family back home in the city, thinking also that the notes might shed some light on conditions before the attack, and what Qe’dreki’s plans had been.
By dusk the field of dead had been turned into a pile that would burn all through the night. The black smoke and dreadful smell seemed not of this world, but this was not the first time the warden had stood and watched so many burn. When all was silent, he spoke.

“Goddess of blood and soul
I stand here but a servant
Knowing that all life must end
For new beginnings to form

May the lost find peace
And the willing go to your arms
I offer a sacrifice of pain
To end their suffering
And see that the dead do not linger
But pass from one plain to the next.”

Malcolm removed his black leather glove and closed his left hand over his dagger tight enough that blood ran to the point and fell away to paint the snow at his feet.

“Here with blood I pay
Open a gateway to the beyond
And allow them passage
With our blessing and yours.”

Those who knew the prayer joined in, Benjamin, Kathryn, and even Ronald spoke up, recalling a time he had once uttered these words, and as if in a trance, stood humbled, and stared into the flames.

“May sunlight always shine on you
A beacon in the dark
Be the warmth in every hearth
Born anew each dawn

May rain always fall on you
A song upon your shield
Let it wash the spirit clean
And for your loved ones yield

May earth always lie on you
A blanket for those passed
Soft underfoot the road ahead
Eternal be thy path.”

Malcolm left the burn site to clean up inside the tower, and only came back down once Kathryn had called everyone to the table on the ground floor. It was the first cooked meal they had seen in a couple of days, and even though it was only rabbit stew, the knights seemed content to line their bellies with the chewy meat. Kathryn had even managed to make a couple of loaves of bread to share. Malcolm waited until everyone had served themselves a dish before he sat down with his own and looked across at Rafael.
“Would you like to scout the rest of the buildings with us after we sup?”

[Kylar]

Kylar steadied his breathing, trying to fight off the nerves. Malcolm was right, which surprised him not at all. He needed to calm his nerves, he was too on edge. He was surrounded by competent soldiers, and he wasn't too bad himself. He could hold his own if he needed to, and he wasn't alone anyway. But the fear of this was a lot for him. He hadn't done anything like this before, his friend had been sent home, he was away from his recently-married wife. All of it added up to haunt him, a part of him wishing he hadn't gone. Right now, Crimson was probably at their house alone, cold and missing Kylar. He could have been there instead. But what was more important? To him, his wife by a long shot. But for the world, and for the town he had sworn his life to, this was more important. He brushed the thought aside. The last thing he needed now was to dwell on the past.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'll get a hold of myself" he said guiltily, showing little emotion on his face. He had to be ready, and panic wasn't going to do that. He turned to his lion and clicked his fingers, a short way of commanding Hunter to come over for something unimportant. He was starting to recognize it, but he mostly assumed it was play. The lion elevated it's front legs on to Kylar's shoulders as he scratched it behind the ear. Hunter nuzzled into Kylar's neck as he continued for a few moments to stroke at Hunter's mane, calming himself down. Eventually, the lion lowered down again. "Good boy. Stay there for me, Hunter. It won't be too much longer."

As the fire burned, Kylar stayed slightly further back than the rest so as to not startle Hunter. He watched the flames, ignoring the smell as best he could. Then he listened to Malcolm's prayer, taking in every word. The way he led them was incredible, like nothing Kylar had ever seen. It was inspiring. One day, Kylar was determined he would rise to be at least half the leader and soldier Malcolm was. Even that would be an achievement. He had never heard this prayer before, so he silently listened with his head lowered respectfully.
Kylar sat down for his meal, glad to finally have some hot food in him. He ate a fair portion, but he made sure he left enough for Hunter. He should be prioritizing himself, but he had to make sure that both made it back safe. After all, he had grown rather attached, and having a companion like this helped him.
"Sir, I would like to come with you. I have just one question, though. This answer won't dictate if I go or not of course, but do you have any guesses on what we will find there?"

[Rafael Warrick]

DATE

Rafael shot a sideways glance at Kylar and wondered how many more lions the mercenary needed before he would relax. A light chuckle escaped him. The man was near twice his age, a good deal taller, and yet he was visibly tense. Perhaps he was wise to be paranoid, as there were dozens of reasons to be so, scattered all around them, buried face-down in the snow.

Upon Malcolm's orders, Rafael turned around and marched over to the nearest corpse, the snow crunching loudly under his boots. This one's arms were so cold that when Rafael tried to pull the corpse free, the whole limb snapped off with a sickening crack. Disgusted, but no less determined to complete his task, Rafael continued to labor in silence, aside from the occasional sniff or cough.

By the time dusk came, Rafael considered adding himself to the pile. He might just as well, for he dared to wager that he was just as cold as the dead. While Malcolm spoke a heartfelt prayer, most of the words were lost on Rafael as he stared hungrily into the flames. The only thing keeping him on his pins was a sudden waft rabbit stew piercing the stench.

--

Rafael clutched his bowl of stew as though his life depended on it. Life flowed back into his numb digits and he had little attention for anything else than the damping bowl in front of him. While his mother certainly would've thought his table manners to be nothing short of barbaric, he ate with a modicum of dignity at least, in stark contrast to the majority of the other men and women in the company.

Rafael used the time Kylar spent answering Malcolm's question to recover from the mild heart attack that the commander's authoritative voice had induced. He hadn't been paying attention, but managed to deduce the gist of the question from Kylar's eager reply regardless.

"I wouldn't say 'like', Ser." He bit down on his lower lip and lowered his spoon into his bowl before continuing to speak. "But I wouldn't like staying here either. That fire," he lifted his head in the general direction of the stinking pyre, "can be seen from miles from here. I wouldn't be surprised if we have visitors soon."

He paused for a moment to check if anyone was listening in before he leaned in conspiratorially and lowered his voice. "Malcolm, take everyone with you. Whoever wrought this carnage here might return, and we are far fewer than the dead out there."

After he'd had his say, he slumped back into his seat and smiled faintly at Kylar who, by the looks of it, had managed to muster his courage in the meantime.