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Tale Of The Apprentice

By Nathan P. Whitney

-Chapter one-

Falren sighed to himself, gripping his horse's reins tighter and pulling his head deeper into the hood of his cloak as rainwater fell against it. The weather had taken a turn to the wet variety upon his arrival at Rain Woods outer edge.

What an ironic name. He thought to himself. I wonder if there's some relation.

Not that the rain was causing him issue. His equipment had been prepared for such situations, his cloak having had a minor ward placed upon it to aid in shedding away the unwanted water for example. A simple ward to be sure, if the heavens decided to rain a deluge upon him it had little chance of stopping it. But then neither would the conventional alternative, yet his wouldn't become a wet rag from anything less.

In truth he didn't mind the forest, rain or no. Its wild and untouched nature reminded him of a different time in his life, one that he had grown to call home in a way. He'd been through the old forest a few times in the past, but on those occasions his mind and body had always been preoccupied on other matters. Now though was not such an occasion, for the time being he could at least take a moment to take in the surroundings for just viewings sake. From the old oaks and maples towering above him with arms reaching towards the sky, their numerous branches casting a mottled light on the floor below. Many of them were so old he'd be lucky to reach his arms around even half of their trunks.

To the ground underfoot covered in the growth of thick moss, dense low-growing plants, and a layer of fallen leaves and pine needles; only growing thicker the deeper you ventured into the forests depths. The same depths he would have liked to reach before nightfall. Regardless of having a moment to view the world around him he couldn't allow himself to dally or fall into a state of carelessness. The old forest was home to dangers of its own, some stretching beyond that of nature itself. The isolation and obscurity made it an ideal place for those with shadowy intents almost as dark as the shadows in the forest itself.

Nevertheless, traversing the forests ancient depths meant cutting a considerable amount of time off his journey. And while he could have skirted his way around, such a detour would have been very time consuming... and quite possibly a deal more dangerous as well. But, trips such as this did allow him time to think without any outside interruption; be it the simple prattling of a merchant, or off completing another simple job. In all honesty he preferred the solitude rather than the crowds of people moving through the major cities.

His upbringing had been an isolated one; days spent with his Master teaching him all manner of things he would need had hardened him to that solitude. That upbringing hadn't been an easy one, hard training that led to even harder lessons. But such was life in this world, and his Master certainly seemed to have lived a hard life indeed. He had never talked about his past, not what he did or who he was before, though the scars and subjects he had taught told a story of their own.

A side effect of those skills and nature of his upbringing meant melding into the every day life of the average villager or townsfolk wasn't a likely outcome. He could have become a soldier with his skills, sure, but that did not appeal to him either. It held no purpose for him, no reason, to more than likely just become the tool of some noble or royal focused on their own greedy goals. A saying his Master had used came to mind: "You are the blade, or you are the hand. Either you are chosen to swing, or you choose. Which would you be, boy". At the time it had seemed such a simple statement. But now, years later, he found it to represent a deal more than it may have let on.

I wonder what Master would have thought of this path were he with me now. He thought to himself with a sigh, his hand unconsciously going to the silver pendant that hung around his neck. He glanced down at the hand holding the small trinket. It was a simple thing, a silver circle with a small, teardrop shaped, blood-red stone set in its center. He could still almost see the blood that had covered it...

It both saddened and angered him to think of his former Master. The man may have been a very strict and hard person, but his face was the only one Falren could put the word family to, despite the vast differences between them.

And in the end all his training had not been able to save him. His hand gripped the pendant tighter as his thoughts drifted into the past. The sound of ringing steel. The blood soaking into the cold ground-

The soft neighing and fidgeting of his steed shook him out of his thoughts. He released his death-grip on the amulet and glanced upwards at his surroundings to find that the rain had slowed from its pour to a more pattering variety. Casting his gaze around the forest around him he noted that the light had also begun to fade and the forest was beginning to grow thicker. His thoughts had occupied him longer than he intended it seemed.

"What's wrong old boy?" He said softly to the steed under him, "Something out there you don't like?"

He'd traveled with this horse ever since that first unfortunate event had set him out into the world, and not once had it driven him astray. If there was something it didn't like, it was for good reason. He shifted his senses to the surroundings and focused on the trees around him, trying to find if there was something amiss. The dimming evening light that had set upon the forest greatly hindered his eyesight, and the sounds of excess water dripping through the dense foliage helped his hearing little.

After a few minutes had passed with nothing coming to his attention, he decided that the cause for his horses disquiet wasn't an immediate concern. He did not, however, completely disregard it. Something had unnerved the animal; just because it wasn't jumping out at him now didn't mean he would let it pass from his mind.

Now though he had a more obvious matter to attend. The late-day sun would soon fade into night and in such a place he did not wish to be navigating the uneven ground under dark. Steering his mount to a nearby tree he dismounted from the saddle and tied the reins to a low branch, submitting to making a temporary camp for the night as the horse set about biting at the grass that sprouted from the dark soil.

He promptly set about freeing his horse of the simple saddle, unclasping the straps before heaving it off the creatures back. Having his horse unsaddled wasn't perhaps the best idea, but before having their progress slowed by the old forest they had been on the move for the greater part of a few days. The steed had earned a small reprieve. And besides, anything faster than a trot in such a place would likely end up with a broken leg or a broken neck with all the low branches and uneven ground. If something came to a fight he rather doubted fleeing would be a viable option in a place such as this.

Having done that, his next task was to gather dry tinder and wood for a fire. While it wasn't entirely necessary given the rain had dwindled to a drizzle and his attire protected him against the slight cold that had settled with the dark, it would be a welcome comfort nonetheless. Even with the rain that had been falling most of the day finding a supply of tinder wasn't a difficult matter; there was plenty to be had if you looked in the right places.

After piling his supply of wood to burn throughout the night, he dug his flint and striker out from his saddlebags. With his tinder arranged he lined his flint close to the pile, striking it a few times to shower sparks onto the susceptible material. It took a bit longer than usual for the spark to take, but with a little persistence he was able to get it to light, blowing gently to help the smoke turn into a flame. As the flame consumed the smaller tinder he began to add more substantial pieces, the flickering orange glow casting a heartening light in the darkness.

Having lit his fire he turned back to his saddlebags, unclasping his bedroll and laying it by the fireside. He grabbed his water skin as well and took a short pull before returning it, seating himself on the bedroll after he had done so. The night was early yet, but he had every intention of setting of once more as soon as it was light enough. With that in mind he laid himself on the bedding and peered up into the black sky, faint trails of smoke from the fire drifting its way upwards towards the blackness.

The final thing he did before closing his eyes was slightly draw the dagger at his waist and subtly positioned his hand near the hilt, in easy range to quickly pull the blade free. He wasn't planning on an attack in the night, but readiness had served him well in the past and the chances of something sneaking up on him, even while sleeping, were slim. And on that note he allowed his eyes to finally close, letting the realm of sleep take him until mornings light when he would resume his venture.

***

The dappled rays of dawn's light filtering through the foliage above wakened him for the final time. He had risen periodically to keep the meager flame going, only allowing it to burn down to embers shortly before sunrise.

Sitting up from his bedroll and allowing his muscles to stretch, he glanced around at his surroundings now that the dawn's rays were illuminating them. Without the dull grey shroud of the rainy weather covering it, the forest took on a different appearance. The forest appeared more vibrant now that the rain had fallen, morning dew still clinging to the hanging leaves and plants. The animals too seemed to be happy that the rain had cleared, if the notes of birds and chattering of the smaller creatures were any indication.

Allowing himself a brief yawn, he climbed to his feet and bent down to retrieve his bedroll from the damp earth. Giving it a quick snap to clear any leftover debris, he re-rolled it and brought it back to his saddle. While there he flipped open one of the bags and pulled out two items; his water skin and a cloth-wrapped bundle that was a part of his provisions. Returning to the flickering remains of last night's fire, he deposited the water skin and his simple meal of dried meat. While it may not have been the most grand of meals he had collected these provisions to last on the road, as he intended to keep on the move with little time to hunt or gather. Before setting into his meager meal he went to greet his horse, where it still stood munching at the grass. The creature's ears perched up at his approach as it raised its head to regard him.

"How you doing old boy." He said to it while stroking his hands through the large creature's mane, "Have a good rest last night, eh?"

The horse gave a gentle snort and nudged him with its snout. "I'll take that as a yes." He chuckled.

Giving the horse one last pat on the neck he walked back to where he had placed his breakfast, as the animal bent its head down to chomp at the grass once more. Sitting himself down cross-legged near the dim embers of his fire he set into his small meal while listening to the sounds of the forest around him. Whatever had made his horse anxious the day before had not made itself known through the night. It may well have just been an old scent trail from a bear or wolf prior to their arrival, or perhaps not. There were things much wilder and much more reclusive than a bear or wolf in a place as old as this one.

After chewing down the last of his breakfast he sighed to himself. Perhaps he'd be able to see some sign of what it was now that the weather had cleared... for now anyway. Standing, he brushed his hands off quickly and went to replace his water skin. After buckling the bag up tight, he hefted the saddle into his arms and carried it over to his tethered horse.

The horse gazed at him from the corner of its eye as he carried the saddle over and lifted it onto its back, fastening the straps after he had done so. Giving the straps a quick tug to make sure they were secure, the last thing he did was go over to the dim embers of the fire and kick dirt over them. Giving the area a quick glance over he returned to his horse and un-wrapped the reins from the branch they had been tied to. Placing his foot in the stirrup he heaved himself up into the saddle, taking hold of the reins after he was situated.

Turning to the previous days direction, he softly set his heels into the horse's sides and started once more into the depths of Rain Wood. The proximity and denseness of the forest growing more and more as the light of the sun was muddled by the tree coverage above...

***

By mid afternoon, or as much as he could tell between the breaks in the canopy above, Falren found himself crouched in a muddy game trail cutting its way through the thick forest.

Rain Woods depths had soon forced him to dismount, the hanging branches and leaves making mounted travel more a struggle than an ease. Navigating, too, had become a hassle, the plants on the forest floor forcing him to follow a worn trail less he want to battle his way through the thick vegetation.

It didn't seem he was the only one whom come to the same dilemma, as he now found himself inspecting the multiple sets of footprints that had sunk themselves into the mud. The majority of them he recognized as men, their boots leaving clear prints as they sunk into the rain-softened ground.

Though, there was one set of tracks that was very much not made by a man. A pair of splayed, claw-tipped prints had been left amongst the human ones. Judging by the unevenness of the steps and the periodic drag marks the owner wasn't going along willingly either. The nature of those tracks made him very curious as to the circumstances of the men seemingly holding their owner against their will.

"Well boy," he whispered, turning his head to the horse at his back, "this what had you anxious yesterday?"

The sable coated steed stared at him as if he had just made an obvious statement.

"Humph, that's what I thought." He said with a sigh.

Perhaps if the group had consisted of just men he would have simply slipped by them, but with what he recognized as a Sergal being dragged in their midst he was loathe to just ignore it. He got the distinct feeling that whomever these men were, they weren't of the friendly variety.

Standing from where he had been crouched, he unclasped the cloak from around his shoulders and rolled it around his arm. Underneath the heavy cloak he wore a sleeved, leather-backed mail shirt and pants, greaves, vambraces, and a light breastplate. It was simple and unadorned, but that was fine with him. The armor was there to protect him, not serve as a flashy piece of dress.

Walking over to his saddle he packed his cloak into one of the bags before taking his sword and buckling it around his waist alongside his dagger. The blade was a plain affair, four feet in length and as wide as a stretched finger at the hilt. The blade retained most of its width down its length, tapering slightly as it ran to the point. The inside edge was arrow straight, the outside edge following it until curving to an angular point at the end. Plain though it may be the blade was extremely strong and effortless to swing even singlehanded despite its length. The only flaw in the blade came not from itself but from the man wielding it, as it had not been crafted to suit his hand; or he doubted any Human for that matter. Still, he had grown accustomed to the grip and balance of the blade. It comforted him in a way.

"You know what to do from here old boy, aye?" The horse snorted at him as if in affirmation. "Alright then."

Patting the horses neck, he set off at a fast walk down the trail, following the sets of prints left by the unknown group but keeping silent in cast there were any that may have stayed behind. His steed would follow him after a time, an action he was well familiar with. He doubted they were much more than half a day in front of him, though as to the number of their party he couldn't be sure given how many of the tracks overlapped each other. He was somewhat surprised he hadn't seen any other sign of them before now, but in a place like Rain Wood you could almost feel as if you stood apart from the world.

Falren held a steady pace down the trail with only the occasional break in the high branches to suggest how much time had passed, the sky taking on a more and more orange hue. The footprints continued on in the same manner as he found them, though the occasional scuffing on the ground suggested whomever they were holding wasn't entirely out of fight just yet. He had the gut feeling that he was close to finding the group, the evidence of their passing being fresher then when he had first found their trail.

He found his reasoning to be correct, as minutes later his ears picked up at the sound of very faint voices traveling through the trees, though unintelligible as of yet. Slowing his pace he progressed further along the trail, watching for any signs of where they may have veered off the path; the din certainly didn't sound like that of a moving group. As the sound of mingled voices grew clearer he soon spotted the tell tale signs of where many feet had skewed from the path and off between the trees.

Lowering his stance, he followed the beaten course into the trees and brush, moving quietly now as to not alert the potential foe. The glow of firelight was quick to seep through the leaves, the hour having grown late enough to allow the light to stand out. Within a few more strides he was able to catch glimpses of the illuminated men and he crept forwards just enough to see them more clearly while keeping secluded in the shadows. The camp he saw struck him as more a permanent arrangement then a temporary one, with a circle of simple tents pitched around a central fire. A number of logs had been laid out around said fire, upon which now sat a collection of men. There were eleven that he could see, most wearing an assortment of studded leather and the odd mail hauberk. They bore no colors or crests to show who they may represent, but Falren had no doubts to whom they served. From their rag-tag assortment of gear and their haggard appearances there was no question in his mind. Bandits, highwaymen, outlaw. They were all the same and he had dealt with enough of them to know when he saw them.

As if a band of men camped in an isolated forest on the edge of Man's influence, all drunkenly boasting to themselves wasn't obvious enough. Amongst the collection was one that stood out from the rabble, an older man with a bald head and a ragged scar running down one side of his face. He wore leather and mail much like his comrades, though at some point he had managed to attain a few pieces of haphazard plate and a particularly large battle axe propped against the log on which he sat. It was apparent that he was the leader of the group, although he appeared withdrawn from the men around him, neither taking part in their drink nor rambling. Falren made a mental note to be a bit more cautious of that man should it come to a fight, as he seemed to have an air of confidence around him. Perhaps he had been a soldier or some such thing before turning to this lifestyle.

With his evaluation of the men over he cast his eyes around the rest of the camp, spotting a set of horses tethered across the clearing before moving his gaze onward. There was one final person he wished to find and his eyes soon fell upon it, curled on the ground just outside the circle of tents. The Sergal was close enough to his side of the clearing to just make out details in the firelight. It had crimson cloth wrapped around its shoulders and waist, though it looked more for show than anything else. If it had worn anything beyond that he couldn't tell, as besides the draped cloth all that covered it was its white and black fur; Fur that was matted down with the familiar sight of dried blood and dirt. Whose blood he was unsure, but the Sergal looked to be in a beaten state though still alive if its rising chest and bound limbs were any testament.

Having found the reason for his pursuit he slowly crept around the ring of brush to come closer to the prone form. He was careful to move ever silently, although with the sheer amount of banter coming from the half-drunk men he doubted they would even notice. Foolish of them to let their guard down just because of where they were, but bandits weren't exactly known for their levels of intelligence. He was quickly positioned in the shadows near the Sergal, a short running distance separating him and it.

If possible he would simply silent the creature away once the men had drunken themselves into a stupor, leaving none the wiser and with little they could do come morning when they noticed its absence. As he knelt in the soft ground that plan was quickly thrown to the wind however, as one of the bandits climbed to his feet on shaky legs and staggered his way towards the Sergal. Falren's eyes narrowed on the man as he made his drunken way over, one of the other men calling something unintelligible before he came to a stop above the prone form.

"Still breathing, eh animal." The man slurred, nudging the Sergal's ribs with his boot. "I think a little payback is in order for what you did to my friend."

As the man finished his muddled sentence he drew his foot back on wavering legs and violently drove it into the Sergal's stomach. The creature let out a pained exhale of breath as the air was driven from it, curling its limbs tighter to shield itself from the incoming blows as the man drew his leg back once more. That second blow never came however, for Falren stepped quite noticeably from where he had been hiding, the familiar cold calm gripping him as his fist unconsciously clenched.

"Who the hell are you!" The man called in surprise as Falren stepped into the ring of the clearing.

Falren said not a word in answer as he strode towards the startled man, whom had abandoned his skin of drink in favor of a hilt. He had hoped to deal with these men in a much more subtle manner, but if they sought a fight they would have it from him and not a defenseless creature. When Falren drew close enough the man tried to swing his sword in a shaky arc, only for Falren to catch his clumsy wrist, stepping behind him and twisting the arm until the bones gave a wet snap. If the rest of the men around the fire hadn't been roused by now, they certainly were as the man let out a scream of agony, the sword dropping from his grasp.

Before the man could react in any way, Falren kicked the back of his knee, knocking him to a kneeling position before locking his arms around the man's head and giving a savage twist. Falren turned away from the lifeless body as it fell to the ground, gazing now at the rest of the men. They were all on their feet at this point, weapons in hand as they moved to surround him. He drew his own blade in one well-practiced motion, the familiar weight settling into his grip as the next man began to charge at him. Falren stepped forward and met the man's reckless attack midway, turning aside the bandit's blade with his own before bringing it back around and delivering a deep slash across his body; the edge biting through leather and into the flesh beneath.

Falren spared not a second glance as the man fell to his knees, arms clutching as if to hold in his life, before he moved on to the remaining foes. A look of doubt began to cross their features at seeing two of their own fall so quickly, with only the leader bearing the same cold look set to his visage. Confidence or no it mattered little to him as his mind fell into the well trained state of calm that accompanied battle, striding forwards into the men with blade flashing. He paid naught attention to how many fell to his sword nor remained, only perceiving the flow of battle as he parried and slashed at the opponents around him.

***

Her mind was a haze of pain and soreness, just as it had been the day before and the day before that. In fact, she forgot what it was like to not feel the throb of pain. The wretched Humans had taken her captive what seemed like an age ago, but she vaguely recalled it as having been something akin to a week. The days had all melded into a haze as the men directed their abuse towards her. She had naturally resisted them in the beginning, when they had merely kept her wrists tied. They had quickly learned that did not prevent her striking out at them, and as such bound her forearms tightly together.

Then when she had used her still free jaws to rip the throat from one of her captors that had then led to her snout being tied shut. She had to wonder exactly what they had expected to happen once they captured her, or if they thought she'd just cooperate. After that last incident they seemed to stop caring for her physical health, only allowing her the slightest drink to keep her body going. Why they went through all the trouble evaded her. Hence she found herself curled on the ground, pain, hunger, and anger the only thing to remind her she was still alive.

The sounds of stumbling feet approaching made her crack open a golden hued eye to view one of the foul men approaching her. The man stopped when he was standing over her, looking down at her as she peered up at him with an eye filled with all the unpleasant things she'd do to him were she free.

"Still breathing, eh animal." He mocked her, nudging a boot into her ribs that only served to fuel her anger. "I think a little payback is in order for what you did to my friend."

She pieced together that his "friend" was the one whose throat she had added a rather large gap to. They had already made sure to enact their punishment on her for that, but it seemed this man had consumed enough drink for him to sprout his own ideas of "payback". She gave a snort, only to have it turn into an exhale of breath as the man drove his boot into her stomach. Her eyes squeezed shut as she held back the gasp of pain that threatened to leave her throat; she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She drew her body tighter to try and ward of the blows, trying in vain to block out the so prevalent pain.

She waited, preparing for the pain of the blows she so bitterly awaited. When no such blow came however, she peeked her eye open just as the man above her gave a startled cry, the skin falling from his hand as it flew to the hilt at his waist. She watched the man in confusion as to why he would be so shocked, until a new pair of boots stepped into her field of vision. She lifted a tired eye to gaze at this new stranger as he stepped towards her would-be tormenter, watching on as the surprised man swing forwards with his sword. The stranger shifted into the blow and caught the mans wrist, simultaneously stepping behind him and twisting the arm in his grip until her ears picked up the sound of breaking bones.

A satisfied smile stretched her features before the blanket of weariness created by exhaustion and hunger tried to claim her. She fought back the urge to drift into sleep, prying her eyes open just in time to witness the stranger drawing his own blade as a second man rushed at him. He knocked the charging man's blow aside and delivered a counterblow of his own that slashed deep into his foes abdomen, sending him to his knees with arms clutching as if to keep his life from spilling away.

Not a moment after the previous foe had fallen to the ground the man leapt forwards at the remaining men, the ringing of steel sounding forth as he blocked and slashed at the opponents around him. She would have felt pity for them as the man cut through them in a dance of blades, but the ability to feel such an emotion for the likes of these men had been lost on her long ago.

The stranger was rapidly scything through the men, or perhaps her own dimmed mind simply wasn't able to follow the scene before her. Whichever it may be, she lost the impossible battle of consciousness as the man faced down the few men left standing. The last she saw of the stranger was him parrying aside a blow and ramming his shoulder into the man responsible, throwing him to the ground before whirling around with his own blade and delivering a cleaving blow into the neck of the next opponent.

As her eyes fell closed she wondered if the man was fighting to aid her, or if she would find herself in the hands of yet another human. She supposed she'd find out either way.

***

Ten men lay dead or dying around him as he faced the last of the bandits, the bald, scarred man. The man stood before him, a two-handed battleaxe in hand with the same determined look on his face. He had to give him some respect for that, to still bear the same air of confidence after witnessing his comrade's fall before him. He wondered if the man realized the peril before him, or simply chose to stand in defiance. A subtle hint of movement alerted Falren as the man shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and lunged at him with a wide arc from his heavy broadaxe.

He darted away from the swing, dodging the weighty blow before quickly lashing forwards with his own blade. Knowing that he couldn't bring the large axe-blade around to block the blow, the bandit instead swung the butt of the axe around and knocked Falren's sword aside. He quickly threw another blow at the man, keeping him on the defensive without the chance to position his axe for a counterattack. They continued to trade blows in this manner as each gave slow steps to try and gain an advantage over the other, Falren pressing attacks with his faster blade while the other tried to land a grievous swing from his axe.

Falren couldn't deny the man had some skill with his weapon, be it through a life of banditry or training, but their game of trading blows was one he was not fit to win. A fact that was proven as the man once more tried to use the haft of his axe to stop another blow. The blade fell towards him in the same manner as before, but before the blade could connect Falren altered the angle of the swing. The man saw the change and tried to alter his block to compensate for it, but because of fatigue or lack of agility his actions only served to present a larger target. The blade glanced down the handle of the axe, slipping under the haft before cutting across the mans forearm, the sharp edge slashing through leather and biting deep into the meat of his arm.

The man recoiled away from him with a cry of pain as blood began to flow from his wounded arm, the blow having laid it open to the bone. He clutched his crippled right arm to his body, now trying to grip his axe single-handed as he glared at Falren with a new anger and hate. The man leapt forward with ferocity, lifting his weapon high with a newfound strength fueled by his rage. A commendable last act of defiance, albeit a futile one. Before the axe could descend on him Falren stepped forwards, darting his left hand upwards and grabbing the handle just below the crescent shaped blade; locking it in an iron grip. The man let out a grunt as his weapon was halted mid-swing, his eyes filling with a grim acceptance in that brief moment of calm. With the axe firmly gripped in his hand Falren thrust forwards with his own blade, burying it deep into the man's chest. He gave a rasping exhale of breath as the blade was withdrawn, his hand releasing the axe as his body went slack.

The bandit toppled to the ground with a dull thud, leaving Falren standing amidst the lifeless bodies with the man's axe in-hand. He took a slow breath, the fight now over, before bending down and laying the axe over its owner's fallen form. With that he turned away, sheathing his own blade as he walked over to the cause of his involvement. The Sergal still remained curled and motionless on the ground, only the faint rise and fall of its chest to discern it from the other forms on the ground. The familiar sounds of clopping hooves reached him as he knelt next to the Sergal, a snort issuing forth from the horse as it was ignored for the time being.

He pulled a knife from his boot and began severing the ties that bound the creature, starting with the bindings on its arms before moving to the ones around its angular snout. The Sergal made no movement as the ties fell away, and as Falren returned the knife to his boot he hoped she would remain in such a state until he had treated it. He was not absolutely certain it was a female of course, but he had interacted with both genders of the race in his life and would settle with his best assumption until proven otherwise. He certainly wasn't about to go seeking out the more discernable differences.

With the Sergal now free he bent over and slipped an arm under the crook of her legs and the other behind her back, then hoisted her form upwards. He carried the Sergal away from the scene of bloodshed into the ring of tents and the still burning fire; he hadn't noticed it while fighting, but the late day sun had finally fallen into early night. He laid her form besides the fire, allowing it to shed both its warmth and light across her. He would need that light to inspect the severity of the Sergal's injuries, as most of the fur on her upper torso was matted down with dried blood and he couldn't tell if was hers or some other poor sods.

First though, he would need something to actually clean away the grime and whatever injuries there may be. Standing, he walked over to his horse that had been standing nearby, watching him as he carried the unfamiliar person. He quickly gave the creature a rub on its thick head before proceeding to dig around in his saddlebags for the needed items. A large part of his life was spent on the move, never quite staying too long in one place. As such he kept a variety of necessary supplies with him; the items now in question being an extra skin of water, a small iron pot and, finally, bandages and an herbal paste to help treat any would-be injuries.

He carried the small collection back to the fireside, hastily placing the pot on the edge of the coals before filling it with water to boil. Next he tore a section from the roll of cloth, wetting it with water from the skin with which he then began to scrub away the blood and dirt that matted much of the Sergal's form. He started with its chest, where the amount of caked blood was largest, cleaning away the layers of grime until the snowy-white of the fur shown somewhat clearer. With the area now relatively clean he found what seemed to be the source of at least part of the blood. A long cut ran its way diagonally across the Sergal's chest from below her right shoulder down to the side of her ribs.

The wound didn't appear to be too deep, though with the dried blood and fur now gone it had begun to seep once more. He tossed the filthy cloth into the fire, tearing a clean section free before dunking it in the water that had been heating over the coals. He then began to more actively clean the wound itself, the Sergal giving the occasional twitch as he wiped away at the injury. For the moment he hoped she would stay in her sleeping state, as he didn't much care to be on the receiving end of a set of strong, tooth-filled jaws. She remained asleep however as he discarded the second cloth, picking up the small jar of herbal past which he then spread over the length of the wound. With the injury cleaned and treated he retrieved the roll of bandages, propping the Sergal's upper body into a half sitting position so that he could wrap them around its torso. When he had passed the cloth around enough times to properly cover the injured area he cut the length free, tying the loose ends together to keep from unraveling.

The wound now tended he turned his attention to the rest of the Sergal's form, quickly wiping down its arms and bloodstained muzzle, checking for any other injuries that may call for attention. Beyond the one on its chest the rest were all quite minor, merely limited to scrapes and bruises. He idly wondered where the rest of the blood had come from then, but given the nature of the subject in question he promptly came to an answer. With the Sergal now taken care of in that regard, he removed the pan of water from the fire and retrieved the roll of cloth and jar of salve. He climbed to his feet, stretching the kinks from his legs after being knelt down so long, and walked back to his horse to pack away the items.

Falren gave a sigh as he stowed the jar and bandages. "Here I was hoping for an uneventful trip." He thought, casting a glance to the sleeping figure.

He briefly wondered how the Sergal came to be caught this close to Rindal, though he was more curious as to why a group of bandits would go to all the trouble in the first place. Whatever the case the bandits were no longer a concern, now all there was to do was wait until the Sergal awoke. When that would be he wasn't sure, so he might as well get ready to stay the night in the camp. He would have preferred to leave the place behind, but considering he wasn't about to leave the Sergal alone in her state he didn't have much choice. Trying to carry an unconscious, and rather heavy, Sergal through a forest at night wasn't going to achieve much. He grabbed his cloak and bedroll from their place on the saddle and brought them over to the fireside, spreading out the latter near the Sergal. He then transferred the sleeping form from the hard ground onto the bedding and draped his cloak over her.

With little to do but wait now, he walked over to one of the nearby logs and settled himself down upon it, unsheathing his blade across his lap and setting about cleaning it with a cloth taken from his saddlebags. He cast a glance into the early night sky, spying the twinkle of stars and the crescent moon that hung in the black void above. He would have found the scene quite peaceful, if his mind wasn't occupied by more recent matters. He returned his gaze downwards once more, tossing a length of wood onto the fire from where the previous residents had stacked a small supply. A hint of motion registered in his eye, making him instinctively shift his gaze in that direction to see the cause. His sight fell on the Sergal just in time to see her curling up in her sleep, pulling the cloak around her tighter with her ears laid back and maw slightly agape.

He couldn't help but give a small chuckle at the sight, that one could appear so seemingly harmless and peaceful with sleep. He turned his gaze back to the sword in his lap, granting the creature its privacy while methodically running the cloth down the length of blade. Hopefully the night would remain calm so that come morning he could resume his venture and put this leg of the journey behind him. Not that he was overly eager to just up and leave of course; he just wasn't one to stay stationary if it could be helped. Regardless, he would see what he started through to the end as it were, whether that would be as soon as morning or not he would just have to wait and see.