Timestamp: Vhalar 15th, 717 immediately following the events of A Curious Meeting
Qit'ria was slumped against a wall, in the dark alley against some wooden building she didn't know. The sun was still a handful of breaks from rising, and the woman looked out across the road. She could see the open door of the Order, but she didn't want any regular healer. She wanted the one healer she knew. She wanted Faith.
Qit'ria wondered where her 'friend' that helped get her this far wandered off to after she ran him off. The huntress' memory was foggy of the nights events, too clouded by memory, by fear, by infection induced delirium. Head lulling to the side, beneath sweat drenched brow, her eyes could see shadows moving with the candle lit Order. She chuckled, which became a dehydrated cough, a hacking fit loud and uncaring in the far too early morning air. She wondered why she had to have Faith. There were more than enough healers in there that could fix her up. And surely many would be like the woman Qit had met by that ribbon strangled tree.
But Faith had stuck up for her. Defended her. Intervened on her behalf. She might not have done so with weapon drawn, but Faith had bared her teeth for Qit'ria. Faith treated her as family. And so, to Qit, she was family. She could be counted on.
Morning fog was already billowing in slowly, engulfing the roads and the alleyways through the town, and Qit knew it was unlikely for anyone to see her, especially at this hour. Door down the street opened, engulfing the air in firelight and loud, boisterous cheering. A tavern of some sort, Qit'ria assumed. She could hear steps, staggered, dragging steps nearing her. Eyes peering up, she could see a filthy man in even filthier clothes with an extremely busty woman on his arm. They were a couple meters from her, but far too interested in each other than the bloodied woman sitting there.
Qit's vision was growing blurry again, her head lulling about, struggling to keep it supported. She heard carnal sounds, moans and groans and wet, slopping sounds. But her eyes couldn't focus on anything now.
"Ay, shite, I t'ink I pulled a hammy! I told ya's too heavy to be stuffed again't the wall!"
A loud slap rang out, and the woman huffed back off to the tavern. Perhaps she was a barmaid there. Shouting followed her, "Ya broke me tooth ya wench!"
The man, groaning in pain now, began to slump toward the Order, limping heavily. Qit'ria watched him, her vision swimming in and out, as he approached some even blurrier figures. They appeared to be cloaked, watching him limp toward them. Perhaps they'd heard the yelling. Qit could see the cloak that Faith had worn that day they'd met, well, the blurred colors of it. It no longer mattered to her who wore that cloak. For everyone, in that moment, to that woman, who wore that cloak, was Faith.
Qit reached out weakly with a bloodied arm, "Faaaaaith," she moaned softly. She repeated it a few times, softer with each one, as she fell over to the side, laying there against the cold, hard ground. She didn't care that she was laying against her right shoulder, sliced at the collar bone by a near hit of an arrow. She didn't care that her cloak splayed open, exposing her dirty, bloodied form, clothed only by the loin cloth. She didn't care that the shallow slash, accidentally self inflicted, across her left thigh had busted open again and was oozing once more. She didn't care that her body was in cold sweats, that the injured areas severely inflamed as the infection took over. None of that mattered now.
All that matter was that Faith heard her voice. So with the rest of what little strength she had, she moaned out once more, "Faaaaaith..." She didn't pass out. But she just lay there, lungs burning, unable to move on her own, waiting for the cold embrace of death to finally put her down like the animal she was.
Qit'ria was slumped against a wall, in the dark alley against some wooden building she didn't know. The sun was still a handful of breaks from rising, and the woman looked out across the road. She could see the open door of the Order, but she didn't want any regular healer. She wanted the one healer she knew. She wanted Faith.
Qit'ria wondered where her 'friend' that helped get her this far wandered off to after she ran him off. The huntress' memory was foggy of the nights events, too clouded by memory, by fear, by infection induced delirium. Head lulling to the side, beneath sweat drenched brow, her eyes could see shadows moving with the candle lit Order. She chuckled, which became a dehydrated cough, a hacking fit loud and uncaring in the far too early morning air. She wondered why she had to have Faith. There were more than enough healers in there that could fix her up. And surely many would be like the woman Qit had met by that ribbon strangled tree.
But Faith had stuck up for her. Defended her. Intervened on her behalf. She might not have done so with weapon drawn, but Faith had bared her teeth for Qit'ria. Faith treated her as family. And so, to Qit, she was family. She could be counted on.
Morning fog was already billowing in slowly, engulfing the roads and the alleyways through the town, and Qit knew it was unlikely for anyone to see her, especially at this hour. Door down the street opened, engulfing the air in firelight and loud, boisterous cheering. A tavern of some sort, Qit'ria assumed. She could hear steps, staggered, dragging steps nearing her. Eyes peering up, she could see a filthy man in even filthier clothes with an extremely busty woman on his arm. They were a couple meters from her, but far too interested in each other than the bloodied woman sitting there.
Qit's vision was growing blurry again, her head lulling about, struggling to keep it supported. She heard carnal sounds, moans and groans and wet, slopping sounds. But her eyes couldn't focus on anything now.
"Ay, shite, I t'ink I pulled a hammy! I told ya's too heavy to be stuffed again't the wall!"
A loud slap rang out, and the woman huffed back off to the tavern. Perhaps she was a barmaid there. Shouting followed her, "Ya broke me tooth ya wench!"
The man, groaning in pain now, began to slump toward the Order, limping heavily. Qit'ria watched him, her vision swimming in and out, as he approached some even blurrier figures. They appeared to be cloaked, watching him limp toward them. Perhaps they'd heard the yelling. Qit could see the cloak that Faith had worn that day they'd met, well, the blurred colors of it. It no longer mattered to her who wore that cloak. For everyone, in that moment, to that woman, who wore that cloak, was Faith.
Qit reached out weakly with a bloodied arm, "Faaaaaith," she moaned softly. She repeated it a few times, softer with each one, as she fell over to the side, laying there against the cold, hard ground. She didn't care that she was laying against her right shoulder, sliced at the collar bone by a near hit of an arrow. She didn't care that her cloak splayed open, exposing her dirty, bloodied form, clothed only by the loin cloth. She didn't care that the shallow slash, accidentally self inflicted, across her left thigh had busted open again and was oozing once more. She didn't care that her body was in cold sweats, that the injured areas severely inflamed as the infection took over. None of that mattered now.
All that matter was that Faith heard her voice. So with the rest of what little strength she had, she moaned out once more, "Faaaaaith..." She didn't pass out. But she just lay there, lungs burning, unable to move on her own, waiting for the cold embrace of death to finally put her down like the animal she was.
