Choking Vines (Closed for BewareTheDream)

[BewareTheDream]

Bastion didn’t relax after Sylvie called out, confirming she was alive. He did, however, breathe out in relief. Bow still in hand, he watched her approach. Because she had no blood on her and showed no sign of pain, he figured she was uninjured, unlike him.

The wagoneer was no stranger to injury. Although he was in pain - pain that increased as the adrenaline in his system wore off - he didn’t really show it. Not yet. Underneath his layers of clothes, the multiple claw marks on both of his shoulders burned with each movement. He could feel his blood seeping from the many, little wounds and pouring down his chest. Sylvie’s offer to heal him sure sounded like a good idea, so he didn’t resist.

Feeling his strength slowly leaving him, he made his way to the back of the wagon. Along the way, he kept his eyes and ears open for any signs of anymore mist hounds or any other nasties in the area. He heard nothing except his own breathing, as well as heartbeat, which sounded like it was right in his ears.

“We must move as quickly as he can,” he warned. “We killed their whole pack, I think. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t anything else in the mist. We must get to the outpost before nightfall.”

After lowering the wagon’s tailgate, Bastion placed his bow inside, close enough to quickly snatch up in case something else attacked them. Then, with some difficulty, he began to remove his coat. His breath hissed out between his teeth as he carefully shrugged the garment off each shoulder. Once it was off and placed inside of the cart, the extent of his injuries became more clear: both shoulders had been clawed, and a worrisome amount of blood had soaked through the front of his jerkin. The big man hissed again, this time because he hoisted himself up onto the tailgate to have a seat.

“They’re called mist hounds,” Bastion replied when Sylvie asked about the creatures. “Just one example of the dangers we have to watch out for.

“They normally aren’t found this far east. Normally, they live in the forests closer to the capital.” Bastion considered what it meant for mist hounds to be beyond the border. Maybe it meant that the mist and the monsters within it were somehow getting worse? That was yet another worry to add to what was already a long list. Not only that, but the sudden appearance of a full-grown tree indicated he had another huge cause for concern riding with him toward the imperial capital.

Bastion set those concerns aside for now, because he needed healing above all else. He could worry about the rest after his bleeding was staunched.

It took a little bit of time due to the pain, but Bastion finally removed his jerkin and undershirt in order to bare his big, wide torso. There was so much blood caked on his barrel chest and stomach, it made his injuries look a lot worse than they really were. When Sylvie had a closer look, she would see that it was only his shoulders that were injured, and that each wound was narrow and shallow. They bled a lot, and the blood loss was concerning, but the wounds should not have been life-threatening as long as they were cleaned and bandaged.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Sylvie nods in response to his warning, a hint of anxiety flickering over her delicate features-but when she speaks, it’s that same soft, melodious voice despite the tightness in her throat.

“Then that is what we shall do, Bastion-arrive safe, and soon.” Simple and oddly soothing-even the most cynical of men would be tempted to believe her. Sylvie released his forearm as he moved to lower the tailgate, catching at the skirt of her dress and drawing it up so she could climb into the back unassisted, retrieve her pack.

She glanced at him as he removed his coat, pulling a light green bundle from the pack, the same color and silk woven material as her poncho from earlier in the day-and worried over the amount of blood now visible. Disaster had occurred so soon in their journey-they had yet to cross the border and they were encountering Essenian dangers! What did it mean, for these creatures to be so far from what Bastion claimed were their normal hunting grounds?

The land might be even more sick than any of her tribe had come to realize.

It was good she had come. Sylvie unwrapped the bundle as she returned to the mouth of the wagon, intentionally overlooking the slight tremor to her hands as she did so. It was good-who knew what another decade might do to this place.

Sylvie set the revealed contents down and alighted, removing her dark green, quilted cloak as she did so-and handing it to him. She doesn’t shy away from his shirtless torso-though he was perhaps the largest man she’d ever seen so disrobed-but she does worry he might get cold.

A gasp through her parted lips and an unbidden touch to his stomach, the caked blood holding the whole of those honey hazel eyes attention for a moment-and then relief as she realized he was not torn open in the middle after all, careful fingers moving over his chest before not quite touching the actual gashes at his shoulders.

“I am sorry you were hurt.” She murmurs with a slow shake of her head, picking up one the unwrapped bundle and cradling it in one arm. A tightly woven, small bowl had been inside, various washed and pressed bits of greenery she sorts through and carefully sets aside-leaving several large cuts of a six inch wide, still green leaves and an intricate, finely woven satchel of grass.

Sylvie poured a bit of water from her canteen on the soft grass satchel and squeezed it partially dry-and then went to work dabbing at one of his shoulders, careful but practiced. There was no sting-just an oddly welcoming warmth seemingly emanating from her fingertips-and then a refreshing coolness as the sponge itself touched his skin. It didn’t erase the pain-just numbed and soothed it, a dull ebb of tingling soothe.

Sylvie glanced at his face, then back to what she was doing as she moved to his other shoulder, let the treated wounds of the one breathe a moment. Some sort of thin, sticky sap had been left behind-the viscous substance would allow the wide strips of leaf to adhere, and while the medicine wasn’t traditional within Essenia or indeed, any land outside her own-it was effective. He would recover without scars in a matter of days, and suffer no further discomfort in the meantime, given the narrow, shallow nature of the injuries. Still, that it had happened at all...and now, having 'encouraged' the apple tree's sudden growth-

He must have questions. Sylvie's not sure what she's to do about them-mostly, she's busy making sure he would recover well, and quickly.

"You were hurt no where else?"

 

[BewareTheDream]

“No where else,” Bastion confirmed. When he saw Sylvie was about to clean to his naked wounds, the big merchant braced himself for pain. Much to his surprise, there was none; there was only a strange warmth.

His passenger was, indeed, more than simply odd. That tree that burst from the ground was no coincidence or anomaly. It was no sudden, strange creation of this accursed land, or some effect of that curse he had simply never seen before until now. No, he was all but certain that the tree grew where it did because of her. And his suspicion about her magical ability was confirmed by the absence of pain in the multiple cuts on his shoulders - that was her doing, too.

In this world, and in his line of work, Bastion was no stranger to bad news, but the kind of bad news that Sylvie brought with her was something he didn’t understand. That made it worse. For now, though, he kept his misgivings to himself, and he just lay in the back of his wagon, keeping his ears open for signs of more hounds. He knew she was dangerous, but the hounds were a more obvious threat.

“Do you see or hear anymore?” Even as a patient under Sylvie’s care, Bastion didn’t fully relax; he never did unless he was indoors. Anyone who traveled these roads had to be alert at all times if they wished to survive.

Bastion hoped that the woman who was now tending to his wounds wouldn’t jeopardize his survival, in the long run.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

”No where else.”

Sylvie nods quietly to this, visibly relieved. Legs tucked under her and seated beside him, the small, strange pilgrim continued to tend to his shoulder, having to lean over his broad chest to do so- applying the same soothing technique until all he’d really feel was a dull tingling from the sticky sap.

Sylvie pulled back to let that shoulder breath now, picks up and considers the large cuts of green leaves.

“Do you see or hear anymore?”

Honey colored eyes flick to the front of the wagon first, still a little worried for his horses-the wolf she had stopped had been after them after all, and she was still a little nervous about the fact.

“I do not hear any, Mr. Bastion.”

She looks out the back of the wagon next, then refocuses on what she’s doing, begins to carefully apply the cuts of the large leaf over the sticky sap on his closer shoulder. “Are...are they really so very hungry, to want to eat Stampede and Biscuit?”

But the way the one had looked at her...Sylvie had never before seen such hostility. She’s still perturbed by it, and as she reaches across to apply the strips of green leaf to his opposite shoulder, she remembers how quickly he had picked up his bow, how he had knowledgeably anticipated their attack.

Sylvie frowns, brow furrowing a little as her eyes flick back to his face.

“Have you had to face such dangers on the road before?”

Often? Sparingly? Conflict of any kind was so unheard of, so foreign to her she couldn’t quite imagine-and how the one had looked at her! How they had hurt him, forced him to act with force, to fight!

Sylvie has never seen fighting. The wounds she has healed had always been accidents- never intentional, willful harm. Man nor creature.

And he had said he liked traveling! That he was suited for it.

Sylvie’s a little dumbstruck, forgetting entirely the other issue at hand. Did poor Mr. Bastion have to look out for such things all the time?

 

[BewareTheDream]

Yes, Bastion had faced mist hounds before, but those past encounters were different.

“I’ve had run-ins with them before, but not like this, and not outside of Essenia. I’ve never had to fight one up close; usually, when I kill or wound one with an arrow, the pack scatters. But these? These seemed bloodlusted”

The thought of bloodlusted mist wolves was a terrible one. If this happened elsewhere - if this wasn’t just an isolated case - then the roads would become even more dangerous. The only silver lining he could see in this cloud was the fact that if mist hounds became more aggressive, overall, then he could raise his price as a transporter and guide.

Of course, before he could hike up his price for the next job, he’d have to survive this one first.

“We have to get to the outpost as soon as possible.” Although they were in a hurry, he didn’t get up yet, because he knew if he shifted around it might mess up Sylvie’s efforts to heal him. So he lay there, anxious but still. It was nearly impossible for him not to notice how the sap and leaves she applied to his injuries dulled the pain almost immediately. Whatever she did worked better than any other healing he’d ever received.

That, too, was worrisome.

As soon as Sylvie was done, Bastion sat up, opened the chest at the back of the wagon where he kept his personal things, and found a new shirt. Putting it on, he hopped out of the wagon and hurried into the driver’s seat. Stampede and Biscuit both expressed their anxiousness through their whinnies and the stamping of their hooves, but because they were well-trained, they didn’t bolt, dragging the wagon behind them. But still, Bastion could tell they were eager to get going, and perhaps glad that he was on the driver’s bench, the reigns now in hand.

“Hand me my bow,” he asked Sylvie. He reached through the front opening of the covered wagon, so all she had to do was hand the weapon to him. Once she did, he slung it over his body, then snapped the reigns to get the two draft horses to get going. Stampede and Biscuit were more than happy to oblige.

“The outpost is almost an hour away,” he said over his shoulder. “Hold on; I’m going to get us there as fast as I can.” Under Bastion’s expert guidance, the two horses pulled the wagon down down the road much faster than earlier. The wagoneer knew they could go faster, but he didn’t want to push them so hard that they hurt themselves.