Open None to point

[Bakromanser]

The sky ate up the fire and spat it to be another man's problem. Didn't do much for smoke, though. It was getting thick enough to chew in the confined space. An unkind mist that gave tears and coughs instead of silence.
The only sound Etain could hear as the door burst inward was the sound of a man who'd stop coughing, and that final bit of air, leaving. A soft thud.
Ewan was leaking into the ground.

Lemm froze, staring at his still red cheek instead of the much redder blood.
Luck was with him today, but he had yet to decide whether that was a good thing. Best he could see were the vague shapes in the grey blanket, but he could make out armor for armor.
He was starting to believe she really had fucked up the Ox.
Turned around slowly and simply applied pressure to the old guy's middle. His own pitchfork did the rest. There was no time to worry about a fully grown man grabbing his leg in all this fuckery.

Instead, still consumed by the moment, he grabbed one of the boys and held him by the scruff.
„No.“ Cough. „Further.“ A small noise of choke and liquid lungs came from the floor.

Damn. He should've jabbed deeper. That was a bad way to go.

Behind, for the first time, the Captain looked at him like he was something foreign. Worse than fire.

How bad did they think he was...if things like that still followed him?

For once, he was truly afraid.

*​

The valley still smoked. The fire had left Sumu in a rush, forgetting a few of its children, so they celebrated it by dancing on roofs. Where it relocated, only ash remained. Even the ground blew a few small bubbles before settling into warped clay. It still roamed there, picking fights with grass and root alike.

And upon the hill, a dance of ice and fire.
As the two shrouds closed the distance, the air itself sizzled with what little moisture remained unconsumed. Her mud hardened, her armor warmed, but her body remained cool. Where she walked, frost remembered to cling a little harder – and if she looked back, she'd know the old ghosts would approve.

He was still smoldering.
Even if he was yet to feel it, the world had gotten a little cooler. Steam was slowly giving up. If he tried to swallow, he'd find nothing there. The body had no more liquid to spare. And whoever thought boiling was bad had clearly never tried roasting.
The wind to his right promised to wash away the heat. Surely. Someday.

As Edwynna approached, equal parts worried and furious, a yell bounced up the hillside:

„Maam.“ A blond youth, caked in dirt and soot, called out.
„Is Ser Skykiller gonna be alright?“

 

[Etain d'Aramond]

Smoke clung to the room like a wet rag over the mouth. It stung Etain’s eyes raw, made them tear and every breath a scrape down her throat. Her lungs pulled in ash and old wood, and whatever else that had been burning. The corpse of the old man bled slowly into the floorboards, still warm, mouth half open like he’d tried to beg and couldn’t get the air in time. That did something to her. Something sharp. Something brutal. Etain stepped in over the body like she’d stepped in over dozens before, boots heavy, shoulders squared and mercy in the form of the blade in her hand.

She was blinking hard, trying to see, shapes more than faces, but she knew the one who did it. And in the middle of it, that bastard. The one holding the boy like a meat shield. “You kill an old man in a burning room, and now you’re hiding behind a child? That's how you want to be remembered?” The point of her sword angled up, kissing distance from Lemm’s throat. Her eyes streamed.

“You fucking rat. You gutless coward.” She growled.

She coughed then, deep, shuddering. Smoke and tears made everything blurry, but it didn’t matter. Etain stepped closer, through the grey, sword lowered and loose in her grip. “Let the child go.” Another step. Blade trembling not from fear but from how tightly she gripped it.

"Face me," she snarled, stepping closer “Or does your godsdamn dick shrivel up your ass when there's a real fight in front of you?” The boy whimpered, choking on the air. The knightess coughed once, hard and spat into the dirt, ash clinging to her teeth.

“You hear me? Let. Him. Go.” Her voice rasped raw and shaking with fury. “and I’ll grant you a fast death.”

 

[Hector]

Tongue like a brick in his mouth. Skin tight about stiff limbs. The sounds of fire betwixt his ears. Like kindling being eaten away by that mass of wavering heat. No sweat to cool off. No spit to drink down. Red and gold, blue and green there behind his eyes.

A wash of cool came over. Mud and ice pushed back the shimmer and haze of unseen flame. Mud dried to dirt and caked off of steel plate. Edwynna steeled herself, arms raised up to shield her from the pulse of heat. A last flare to try and eat away the coldness. But the spirits of the cold winds and late frosts felt right with the world, so the heat died there in its last gasp.

Edwynna grit her teeth. Let loose breath she had held, and bent closer to the elf. Knees fell to baked earth. Indents there in the mantle gave way to cold beneath, cold around, and cold that followed to well and gather. She pulled free his helm, slammed open the bevor and saw a familiar face, raw and sun cooked. His lips cracked, and his eyes still glowed with fire's light. Staring at the grey clouds above. His lungs pulled dry rasps, and gulped down what heated breath they could.

Edwynna's hands moved quick. Pulled free a vial filled with blue-violet tincture. Pulled the stopper. Bitter scent burned the nose. "Here you go now, Half ear," Edwynna whispered, almost tender, "Drink up," she hissed through teeth, put bottle's lip to his and tilt it easy. A potion. Brewed from the petals of midnight sword fern, salamander slime, and the silk of an orb weaver.

Ma'am... Is Ser Skykiller gonna be alright?

A startle up Edwynna's spine saw some of the poition spilled. "Shit," she hissed, fixed her pour and wiped up the dribble. "I'm fucking working on it!" she called back over her shoulder. Shook her head as she looked back down to the half-cooked half-elf. "Bloody fucking Skykiller is it?" she sighed. Pulled up her visor. "Boy! Get your ass over here!" she called, feeling the heat having quelled with part the potion downed. Earth about her dark again with ice-melt.

She'd pass the potion on to the lad. "Make sure, Ser Skykiller here drinks the whole of it, else the dragon might come back, you hear?"A grin a, a laugh, for the fear in his eyes, and Edwynna got up, and made for the village, bow still shoulder slung, with sword and rondel at her hip.

 

[Bakromanser]

Behind Etain, people were crowding the exit.
The blade twitched at his neck in warning, and he hugged the little fucker tighter.
„Knights.“ Spat, misjudging the angle. Landed in the kid's hair.
„The fuck's a story worth when yer dead?!“ His grip became a vice. If he was going, the whelp was coming with him.
„Yous gonna move outta the way, or the boy gets it.“

The Captain didn't say a word. Just looked at the boy in his arms, the sword at Lemm's throat, and the whole village clogging the door. His jaw clenched, breathing deep.
And then he let go.
The kid stumbled, already shielding the back of his head.
No reprimand came – just a gentle push toward the door.

„Ain't worth it.“ Barely audible in the smoke.

He never wanted to be Lemm.

And the other man saw it, if only for a moment.
The captain's eyes on him were tired, done.
Knocked something loose inside him. Grip didn't loosen yet, but it wasn't as tight either.
The boy shifted in his arms.
And he looked back to the other man, only for a moment.

Looking for orders – but they never came.

---

„Come on, Ser.“ The boy wasn't gentle about it. „Yer drinkin' this. Angry lady said so.“
Reminded him of his ma, that one did.
He couldn't believe he was bottle feeding a shroudfiend. Still, better that than have 'im set the village on fire again.
No one would dare call him a coward after this.
He wouldn't say it out loud, but up close the fiend really wasn't all that scary.
His ear was messed up like the boy's left pinky, and somehow, that made him seem less monstrous.

*​

Edwynna hadn't made it far before villagers started creeping closer.
Lil' Andy was up there with the dragon, and still kickin' – so maybe them firefuckers weren't all bad after all.
„Scuse me, miss knight ma'am.“ A younger Orkin stepped forward, not fully daring to approach. His voice cracking.
Eyes tried not to look past her and onto the burned hillside, But they wandered anyway.
„Why did you try to burn us?“

He looked to the still smoking roofs instead. That only made it worse.

 

[Etain d'Aramond]

Etain’s sword hit the burnt floor with a heavy clunk. The sound cut through the smoke like a crack of thunder, louder than words, sharper than threats. Like a coffin lid slamming shut. When Lemm's eyes turned to his captain in that heartbeat of hesitation, she moved. Sabatons slammed across the blood-slick floor as she crossed the distance, grabbed the bastard’s blade before he could react. She saw the blade, saw the trembling line of steel against the boy's neck.

Fingers closed around the blade, right there, near the boy’s neck. Gauntlet catching but not saving her entirely, she felt the bite through the leather. Steel teeth biting her palm and fingers. Blood welled under her grip, hot and fast, but she held it tight. Blood ran between the seams. Then her other hand came up, full force, smashing into his face in a fast a jab. She held the blade away from the child.

She pressed forward, face to face in the haze, her breath rattling. “Let him go, or I’ll shove your blade so far down your throat they’ll find it in your shit.” She snarled. Her hand stayed on the blade, blood running down her wrist in sheets. She pulled. Slow at first, deliberate, steady, hen wrenched the blade away from the boy’s throat like yanking a nail from rotten wood. That was all that mattered, the sword would no longer touch the child.

 

[Hector]

Edwynna marched on toward the village. Peered back and over her shoulder as she huffed shroud-heated air coming into the village. Could smell the coppery tang of the work woven through the air. Almost electric. She shook her head as her nose scrunched like she had smelled old piss. Stopped in her tracks.

"What?!" she barked back at the younger kid asking the stupid question. "T-tried to burn you? Who in the," she spied the eyes fixed on her. Saw the crowd gathered round some building, still smoking. Crammed into the doorway like lemming's the lot of them. "We didn't try to burn your village!" she said sure, hand jut out toward the rooftops still smoldering, some teasing tongues still clung stubborn to the ice-thawed thatch. "And by the looks of it, you lot still want it to burn down!" She jut her finger at the lad. "Go and get some pike poles!" she looked to the older folk still about. What few of them had eyes on her at least. "You lot, move it! Water buckets from your well, form a line!" she snapped. Hands gesturing direction and motioning the action of passing. Her eyes looked to the crowd gathered just beyond.

Was that big bitch in the house?

Edwynna moved closer. Got to the edge of crowd. Pulled them aside as she hissed and cursed. "Get your gaggling asses to fight the fires still licking about, come on now," she grunt as she pushed and shoved them to some form of order. All the while, she peaked over to see if she might find something out about the shining hero.

---

The shroudfiend near choked on some of the bitter medicine. Blue-violet mess ran down the side of his face, and his frame shook with a cough-cough that saw him breath hard after. Bottle done, his breath steadied some. Mind half awake, half dreaming. He came to. Scrunched brows at the young face that met him.


"My, my thanks," he croaked weakly. wrenched himself up off the mud. Unsteady. World set to spin. He wobbled, and caught himself against the kid. "Help me up," he said through chords so dry they felt about to crack.

 

[Bakromanser]

House in smoke, Etain

Lemm's grip loosened. Not all at once. Blade first, slick with the knight's blood. Then the boy slipped free. There was no struggle, just a release. Like the kid was something too hot to hold. Didn't even look at the woman. Looked at the Captain. But the Captain didn't meet his eyes. So Lemm stood there. Empty handed. No orders. No out.

The boy stumbled, half blind, before rushing into the crowded doorway. The mob almost forgot to part as they poured in.

Then came the hoe.

It wasn't swung with skill. Just the raw clumsy weight of someone who'd almost lost a child. The rusted edge cracked into the bandit's head and dropped him in place. No ceremony. Just blood, dirt, and a small groan of breath and bone.

The first strike had an owner. The next few were shared.

They came in waves. Hands grabbing whatever was close – fire pokers, sticks, broken broom handle. Someone had brought a kitchen knife but never found a place to use it. No one screamed. Dull blows and the sound of wet in the smoky room. Visibility just enough to see someone spit on the floor when it was done.
No one checked if the job was finished. No one asked if it was enough.
They just left. One of them nodded to Etain as they moved back out.

A boy watched from the doorway. Silent. Learning.

---

Outside, Edwynna

The command cut through the panic that hadn't yet drained from the crowd. Some of the gaggling asses ran for pikes, poles, buckets. Not because they wanted to. But because it was easier than thinking.

As she made her way to the door, the villagers spilled out. Bloody tools in hand, eyes glazed. None spoke to the woman at the threshold. Simply moved around her like river round a rock.

Inside, the air still clung like wet cloth. Smoke had started to thin, but it still held by the rafters. Someone had dropped a fire iron by the door. It steamed faintly.

She could see the big bitch's armored back. Blood pooled around her, slow and steady.

One of the bandits slumped by the wall like a cracked egg.

Another one sagged in the far corner. A bandit, maybe. Curled in on himself. No one had touched him yet.

Behind her a child stood stuck in the frame.

*​

Hillside, Hector

The boy didn't argue. Just wedged his shoulder under the knight's arm and braced like a beam in a broken house. The two swayed before they could catch proper balance.

„You really Ser Skykiller?“ The boy asked without stopping.

„Think I could learn some of the fire stuff? Not the house burning kind. The rest looked...useful.“

 

[Etain d'Aramond]

Etain yanked her sword off the ground. Her hand was red around the grip. His blood, hers, it didn’t matter. The smoke curled like a claw around her throat. Every breath rasped. Her eyes stung, tearing, the heat biting through plate and padding.

She stepped over the ruin without a word, the crowd's violence nothing but a shadow behind her. Not her kill, not her concern. Just another name for the flies. Etain shoved her way out of the hut, shoulders catching on the frame. She stumbled into the cold air like a beast freed from a trap. Eyes red, stinging, and rimmed with ash. She sucked in air like a drowned woman... only to cough it right back out.

The sword stayed low in her grip. The smoke hadn’t cleared from her lungs. Etain tore the helmet from her head, the straps yanked so hard one snapped. Her face was black with soot, streaked with sweat, ash, and the gods knew what else. She spat black into the dirt, half a cough, half a curse, then staggered to the nearest barrel, tub, or godsdamn puddle... whatever passed for water. Whatever she found, she snatched it up and dumped it over her head. Steam rolling off her.

She blinked hard, one eye twitching against the sting, and kicked the empty bucket aside with a grunt. She stumbled over to a trough that had water that wasn’t boiling or piss-warm. Cupped her hands and drank deep. Water spilled down her chin, over her armor.

Etain blinked water and smoke from her eyes, wiping her face with her the palm of her hand. But her cut toward the sky. That white flame. She remembered it now. Seared across the clouds like the gods' own holy beacon... "Where’s the fuckin’ mage?” she growled. She took a step forward. Mud sucking under her boot. “Point me to that fire-casting pisswit!"

 

[Hector]

Edwynna looked long and hard at the carnage inside. Clicked her teeth with a shake of her head. Never one to worry to much of what could have been. Her eyes found the gleaming hulk of smoke-stained metal and steam.

Felt the weight of her kit all the more for a long moment as the lord sworn drank down a blessing, and seemed to still a moment before a pool.
Would be mighty easy in the then, wouldn't it? Helmet off as it was.

The beast of a woman wasted no time. Where's the fuckin mage.

"Up Ghanga's gash for all you need knowing," Edwynna muttered, let her hand fall from the rondel she'd been gripping as she stepped toward. "Will you be givin him your thanks, Ser knight?" she called out with a grin.

Sneaky fucker she was, she kept to woman's bad leg. Distance measured. A respectful distance. Befitting of any unacquainted warrior upon a field of death.

---

"Ser Skykiller?" the sound of it grated on his ears. Face twisted in and lips puckered, too bitter mixed with too sour. Nothing sweet in it, save the sickly smell in the air. He shook his head, set his eyes forward. Unto the ruin he had brought. Set his jaw firm as they marched toward it. "First lesson to learn," he started as they hobbled forward. "It is one and the same,"

“Point me to that fire-casting pisswit!" came a shout. Some villagers parted, birds scared of something bigger.

His ears twitched at the sound. Some ten yards ahead, with the burned still being picked up from the ground, and the buildings being torn at with poles, stood the knight who had ridden out on her horse.

Edwynna there behind her. Cool as a cat.

"Hail, Ser!" he rasped out of charred chords. Coughed a fit. His own legs still at the mercy of the boy who had been so helpful so far. He let go of the boy, and stood as tall as he could. "You've found said, pisswit,"

Edwynna's eyes narrowed, and the corners of her mouth sank. "Fucking sunkissed idiot," she hissed beneath her breath. Eyes never left the big lady.

 

[Etain d'Aramond]

Her head turned, eyes bloodshot and rimmed with smoke-tears, locked on Edwynna. “Yeah,” she rasped, voice thick with smoke and spite. “I’ll thank him.” Etain yanked her sword back into its sheath. “I’ll thank him so fuckin’ much, he’ll wish he’d stayed up in the gash."

Her eyes locked on the mage, bloodshot and watering from smoke. She stalked forward, boots heavy, gait stiff. Half from pain, half from fury.

“You think y-" Cough."-done something clever?" She pointed a soot-smeared gauntlet straight at him, shoulders heaving. Her voice was rough, broken from smoke and shouting. "You light-" Cough. Cough. "-the fuckin' sky-" Cough "-forgot people live down here?!” A cough hit her like a spear to the gut. One, then another.

She paused mid-step, doubled over and braced herself on her knees. Her lungs heaved, choked full of smoke and heat, throat scraped raw. "Fuck me sideways," she growled between coughs. She hawked up something, spit and phlegm hitting the dirt below. She stood there a moment, fists on her thighs, breathing hard, before she straightened up. There was not enough breath left in her to tear off his head. Not even with words. One more ragged breath.

Then...
“Fuck this.”

Etain turned, limped toward the well, every step dripping frustration, blood and sweat. Over there, she stripped her chest plate with fumbling fingers and a snarl. It clanged to the ground. Piece by piece, her upper armor came off like she was shedding her skin. Then the chainmail and the gambeson, soaked through. She peeled it off, revealing the sweat-drenched tunic beneath. She joined the water line. Etain wasn't done being useful yet. Her hands worked without ceremony, grabbing buckets and hauling them.

 

[Hector]

Edwynna gawked at it all. Looked to Hector, who but stood there, like the dumbstruck idiot he was. Looked to the villagers, who still moved with their work.

Shook her head. "Fuck this," she muttered, almost in agreement. Laughed, and affixed her bow as she walked over to half-cooked half-elf. Pat him on the shoulder. "Boy!" she said with a point toward the kid who'd helped her counterpart. "Good job helping the dragon, here," she said with a nod, looked to Hector, who just stood still as stone. His eyes taking it all in. A sharp whistle left Ewynna's lips. "Your brain fried, Skykiller?" she teased with a grin fit for a pike.

"Don't call me that," Hector cut.

Edwynna's dark humor bled out as quick as an artery. "They'll call you worse after this," she said, flat as a nail head. "Might turn on you, once the work is done,"

Hector shook his head, and stepped toward the line. Joined in the work. Armor holding him up, and will keeping him moving.

Edwynna shook her head. "Gods damned idiot," her eyes looked to the boy. "Alright you, go round and get the wounded gathered," her eyes cast out to the field. The damned beast of a horse was still out there. And their packs were stashed by the trees. "Better yet," she cuffed the boy and pointed out the copse they had hidden in at the start of all this. "See that there, pair of packs hidden there," she eyed him, knife like. "You go and bring those here, quick as you can," she shoved him forward, and went to harass some mothers to help gather the wounded.

 

[Bakromanser]

The fire was mostly out now. It's light still flickered off wet walls and cracked beams. Smoke and steam mixed in a new kind of shadow – one too light to hide, but one that knew how to muddle.

From the obscured doorway, a figure emerged. No cry or plea. Just slow footfall. Measured. Like someone was walking the gallows backwards.

The man was unarmed. Shirt torn, armor shed, his face a grim mask of soot and blood. Hard to say if it was his or someone else's. He walked past the well, past the buckets, past the villagers too tired to ask questions. No one recognized him. No one stopped him. He didn't look back.

No one checked the hut behind him.

*​

Near the well, steam rose from Etain as she worked the buckets. The crank squealed at first, but all its protests had long since been worked through. One of the mother's glanced to the knight, whispered something low to her child. The girl turned her face to her mother's skirt, and both vanished down the line.

Another man, ash in his beard and blood on most everything else, paused beside her, hammer shifting in his hand, gaze on her back as she went for the bucket. The gaze lingered a moment too long. Then he too moved on.

They had seen her. What she could became when pressed. And some things weren't meant to be known.

---

Hector was in the line, too. Armor caked in soot and stealth, it attracted far too much attention instead. The boy beside him – the same one who hauled him off the hill – didn't speak for a while. Just passed the bucket. Then again.

„You really meant that?“ Bucket kept moving. „What you said?“ His voice quiet in the hiss of steam. „About being one and the same.“

But it didn't stop the work. Even the quiet moments gave to purpose. The boy simply stared after the stranger. Something didn't allow his jaw to slack. A seed of doubt, maybe. Or belief.

---

Edwynna's orders were obeyed at first bark by this point. The wounded had been gathered together. One of the older women snapped at her for shouting near the children. It passed quickly. But the moment lingered.

They'd all seen too much. Heard too much.

Fire in the sky. Blood on the floor. Justice done without trial.

Someone finally asked, as the buckets grew fewer:

„Wasn't there another one in that house?“ No one answered. And one checked.

 

[Etain d'Aramond]

Etain felt it like a slow shift in the air. It was a weight behind every glance, like a blade resting on her neck, waiting for reason. The kind of quiet that comes when the birds stop singing before a storm. She could feel the tension behind her. The knightess had been in enough battles to know the crawl of it. Etain kept her eyes on the bucket, but her jaw tightened. She turned her head and caught a man staring. The man with his hammer, standing too long. Like he wasn’t sure if he should thank her, or put her down. Etain stared right back.

The crank groaned one more time under her hand, the bucket full. She dropped it with a heavy slosh, didn’t pass it down. Let them get it themselves. Let the chain clatter. She saw that people didn’t look at her now, not straight. They saw not a knight, not a woman. Not like someone who'd crashed through fire and smoke to save screaming children out of a burning hut. Not like someone who bled so a child could breathe. Not even a dog. They looked at her as something dangerous. She knew that look. She’d worn it herself, back when she still believd monsters had red eyes and lived in dark hollows.

Now she knew better.

“Fuckin’ stupid,” she muttered to herself. She shook out the filthy gambeson from where it’d slumped, wet and heavy, then shoved her arms through the sleeves. The fabric slapped damp against her skin, cold and miserable. She grunted. The chainmail she didn’t bother putting it on, just threw it over her shoulder like a sack of bones. Its weight dug into her collarbone. She stood up slowly, not careful, just fed up. Every muscle barked, every bruise pulled under her muscles. Her leg barely wanted to move, arrowhead still lodged deep.

The plates lay scattered near the well. Etain stared down at the pile of armor. It all weighed more than half the surviving idiots in this village. Every piece a promise of protection. But dead weight, if things turned and she needed to draw steel. Don’t need armor to kill pigs. Sword was still on her hip. Legs still wrapped in greaves. That was enough. Wouldn’t do to be caught with hands full of metal when some idiot with a wood axe decided to test his manhood.

Then she limped off through the village. Time to find the horse.

 

[Hector]

"Oh, stuff your motherly fury, ma'am," she said through her teeth. "I'm just as tired with all of this as you, but there is too much to do for me to care about the wee one's feelings, just now, so if you would like to make yourself actually useful you could-"

Edwynna's mouth hung agape as she eyed the slippery fucker slink toward the back shed. Hand instinctively slipped her bow from her shoulder, and trailed after.

"Hold on a moment, you said to round the wounded!"

Hissed, and muttered curses beneath her breath. Turned round to the wounded, saw the boys coming down back the hill with packs in tow. "Aye, no denying that," she said as she came back in defeat. Whistled sharp to the boys with the bags. "Over here, set em down," dug through the supplies, pulled free a a leather box, riveted and belted down. Undid the clasps and buckles, opened it to reveal vials and bandages, and a bevvy of supplies.

---

The work helped keep his mind distracted. Pain cracking through the haze of shock, mixed with exhaustion. The rhythm of the hands and the bucket. Helped him stay on the now and then.

The boy and his questions. They made sure he remembered. What he had done now. What he had learned then. And all those times in between. The call of fire. The heat, there at the tips of fingers, run down through vein and bone and set to pump through heart. Fill the lungs and eye with gold and blue as the mind burned white.

"The flame will always want," Hector said in rasp, cold as spent ash. Hands on the bucket before he passed it on. "To eat more, to dance more, to burn brighter," another bucket. Another pass. "Even dragons fear their own fire,"

A clack, a splash. Hector's eyes caught to the knight who moved away. Limp to her stride. He scanned the crowd. Saw the worry there in the people's eyes. How they shrunk back, or averted his gaze. Some stared too long.

He moved to pick up the bucket, and passed it down the line. What did it matter if they had no trust in him? If they feared him.

Skykiller.

He would help them as best he could, finding himself at old Murta's house, where the wounded were being triaged. Edwynna working stitches to shut a wound.

"Hurry on now, get out of that tin can, you're the lifeweaver between the two of us," the knight of Dusk reminded.

Hector ripped off his armor, piece by piece. Threw them down unto the earthen floor.

 

[Bakromanser]

The fire had mostly gone out. What gave away in heat, clung in smell. Oily and bitter. It sunk into beam and throat. But the sky was grey now, and far less terrifying than when it knew gold. The work had slowed. Fewer buckets passed. Fewer words.

As Etain limped past, soaked gambeson clinging to her like a second skin – a boy, maybe seven, ran straight for her. Face like a mouse, still caked in soot and worse. Eyes big with more than fear. Recognition.

„Miss?“ His voice was still smoke and rasp. Far too rough for something so little. „Thank you. For not letting him...“
„Sam!“ A woman's voice cracked like a whip. „Get away from her this instant!“
He flinched and stumbled back. Sound of skirt dragging through the mud as she closed the distance and ushered him off.

No one else looked directly at Etain. Not anymore.

The far hut saw a man dragging another by the arms. Away from the village. Into the quiet.

---

As Hector approached the wounded, the hurt man recoiled from his touch. Dread in his face, fear meant to be hidden. His leaking frame tried to lay flatter, but the soil only had so much give.

„He only skykills the bad ones“ A familiar voice said from behind. „Those goats we stole last winter don't count.“ A reassuring smile was short lived. Then, looking up at Hector with far too much hope: „Right?“

The work hadn't stopped. But it slowed. And it got quiet.

Near the triage area, someone whispered too loud for error: „That other one didn't even flinch at fire. Just walked like it wasn't even there.“

„Wouldn't want to make her angry.“

No one laughed.