leaving Owen and
Bruce lying prone in the dirt.
She saw Chera rear in protest as one of them yanked on her reins
and pulled her away. Too stunned to even move, she sat stock still
save for her shivering until complete silence took over again. She
could hear agonized moaning just outside the clump of branches
under which she sat, but hardly even knew how to move her limbs.
But something propelled her onwards. Dizzy with hunger and
fatigue, she crawled out of the shelter and up to Owen's figure
lying in the snow.
His breath coming in tortured gasps, and she knew his end could
not be long. Still on her hands and knees, the snow soaking her
clothes and stinging her skin with numbing cold, she carefully
worked the arrow from Owen' chest as more blood spurted out of the
wound. A deep red puddle spread over his cloak, telling her all
too clearly how serious his wound was.
"Owen...Owen," she whispered.
His eyes opened and stared up into the sky, unfocused, and his
breathing becoming raspy and hollow.
Bruce and Peter rushed to his side now, covered in blood
themselves, though not nearly as badly off as their comrade. She
could tell they were bearing the pain of their wounds ever so
bravely. They lifted Owen as best they could and dragged him back
into the shelter. Numbly, she crawled back in after them.
"Put his head in my lap," she said as she struggled to sit.
Branches painfully dug into the top of her head.
They placed his head in her lap and she cradled it.
"We're going to try and get some help," Peter said as they backed
out of the shelter on their knees.
"How? They've taken our horses, baggage, everything we had, even
Chera!"
"It's stopped snowing and the day is bright and clear. We should
be able to manage on foot. We shall find something to help us, if
only the tracks of the thieves, so we can get back what is ours.
Or at least find help. They'll be local. They'll know where the
settlements are hereabouts, and that will mean help for us all."
"No, it's too dangerous—"
"So is staying out here with naught," Peter said quietly.
All the men nodded, even poor Owen.
"We shall separate," Bruce said. "I still have my compass. If I
head north-west and Peter heads south-west, one of us should be
able to reach help and rescue the others. Peter and I shall meet
up hence."
"You really mean to leave us here ?" she asked in horror.
"You must stay here with Owen. Worry not. Someone will be back to
fetch you. If Peter and I both go, ‘twill double our chances of
finding help. Have you a better idea?"
"Nay." She shook her head, unable to grasp the horror of the
situation, much less dream up an innovative idea to get them out
of it.
"Fine. God willing, one of us will return soon with help for us
all. Let us go, Peter."
"But what if the brigands return?"
"We have killed their leader. They will not dare."
She didn't ask how he could be so sure, but now was not the time
to argue. Not if they had any hope of saving Owen. So despite all
her fears, she nodded. "Very well. Go."
Peter offered her his dagger. "Hide it in your sleeve. If anyone
does come, well, you know what to do."
She blanched, but nodded. "I'll protect him."
Peter looked surprised at that, but gave an encouraging smile.
"Good lass. We'll make an owl call twice when we return so you
shall know we're coming with help."
"Thank you. I'll see you soon," she said in a tone ringing with
confidence, even though inwardly she was terrified.
She watched them depart, and saw the two men separate after a few
paces, while she gently rocked Owen's head, talking to the partly
conscious man soothingly.
"They will be back soon, Owen. They will return with help. We shall get
out of this, we shall all be fine."
He began to stir, and his eyes focused on her face. A hint of a
smile broke through the wanness and he took several tortured
breaths before he was able to speak.
"I am dying, lass,
Bruce lying prone in the dirt.
She saw Chera rear in protest as one of them yanked on her reins
and pulled her away. Too stunned to even move, she sat stock still
save for her shivering until complete silence took over again. She
could hear agonized moaning just outside the clump of branches
under which she sat, but hardly even knew how to move her limbs.
But something propelled her onwards. Dizzy with hunger and
fatigue, she crawled out of the shelter and up to Owen's figure
lying in the snow.
His breath coming in tortured gasps, and she knew his end could
not be long. Still on her hands and knees, the snow soaking her
clothes and stinging her skin with numbing cold, she carefully
worked the arrow from Owen' chest as more blood spurted out of the
wound. A deep red puddle spread over his cloak, telling her all
too clearly how serious his wound was.
"Owen...Owen," she whispered.
His eyes opened and stared up into the sky, unfocused, and his
breathing becoming raspy and hollow.
Bruce and Peter rushed to his side now, covered in blood
themselves, though not nearly as badly off as their comrade. She
could tell they were bearing the pain of their wounds ever so
bravely. They lifted Owen as best they could and dragged him back
into the shelter. Numbly, she crawled back in after them.
"Put his head in my lap," she said as she struggled to sit.
Branches painfully dug into the top of her head.
They placed his head in her lap and she cradled it.
"We're going to try and get some help," Peter said as they backed
out of the shelter on their knees.
"How? They've taken our horses, baggage, everything we had, even
Chera!"
"It's stopped snowing and the day is bright and clear. We should
be able to manage on foot. We shall find something to help us, if
only the tracks of the thieves, so we can get back what is ours.
Or at least find help. They'll be local. They'll know where the
settlements are hereabouts, and that will mean help for us all."
"No, it's too dangerous—"
"So is staying out here with naught," Peter said quietly.
All the men nodded, even poor Owen.
"We shall separate," Bruce said. "I still have my compass. If I
head north-west and Peter heads south-west, one of us should be
able to reach help and rescue the others. Peter and I shall meet
up hence."
"You really mean to leave us here ?" she asked in horror.
"You must stay here with Owen. Worry not. Someone will be back to
fetch you. If Peter and I both go, ‘twill double our chances of
finding help. Have you a better idea?"
"Nay." She shook her head, unable to grasp the horror of the
situation, much less dream up an innovative idea to get them out
of it.
"Fine. God willing, one of us will return soon with help for us
all. Let us go, Peter."
"But what if the brigands return?"
"We have killed their leader. They will not dare."
She didn't ask how he could be so sure, but now was not the time
to argue. Not if they had any hope of saving Owen. So despite all
her fears, she nodded. "Very well. Go."
Peter offered her his dagger. "Hide it in your sleeve. If anyone
does come, well, you know what to do."
She blanched, but nodded. "I'll protect him."
Peter looked surprised at that, but gave an encouraging smile.
"Good lass. We'll make an owl call twice when we return so you
shall know we're coming with help."
"Thank you. I'll see you soon," she said in a tone ringing with
confidence, even though inwardly she was terrified.
She watched them depart, and saw the two men separate after a few
paces, while she gently rocked Owen's head, talking to the partly
conscious man soothingly.
"They will be back soon, Owen. They will return with help. We shall get
out of this, we shall all be fine."
He began to stir, and his eyes focused on her face. A hint of a
smile broke through the wanness and he took several tortured
breaths before he was able to speak.
"I am dying, lass,
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