Several months ago...
The last thing Sarnai remembered before she passed out was pain. Broken bones, torn skin, blood slicking her face, the ache of her arm trapped beneath the boss of Rannulfr’s shield. As a child, she had feared pain. Now all she knew was that if you were in agony, at least it was a stark reminder that you were still alive. Her mother always said that “the best revenge is living well.” While Sarnai often disagreed with that statement, she grudgingly acknowledged that living well was fine vengeance.
The penultimate thing Sarnai remembered was battle. Her first true clash of arms since the winter brought an old, familiar thrill unmatched by any other sensation in her near twenty-two summers, one that made her feel more alive than anything else in these days. It seemed to sharpen her senses, flooding her mind with a disquieting mix of fear and enthusiasm. The warmth and the pounding of her heart, the metallic scent of her own blood, and the ringing of steel were familiar in ways that this land was not. She might have come seeking a tranquil respite from her old life, but it had followed her. In the end, Sarnai was a warrior and if she wanted peace, she would have to fight for it.
When she awoke it was in a dark room at night, beneath a heavy wool blanket. She no longer wore her armor or gambeson, and her gashes had been tightly bandaged by a hand with little more skill than Sarnai’s own. The cool air bore the characteristic reek of herbs, telling Sarnai that she was likely in some sort of healer’s house, although evidently an amateur’s. Throwing off the blanket, Sarnai stumbled out of the bed. Her head still throbbed from the injuries done to it, her wounds ached, and Sarnai winced as she stubbed her toe on something that gave a metallic ring. Looking downward, she saw her attire piled in an unceremonious heap on the floor, alongside a few of her previously concealed weapons. She reached down to pick up a knife, only to realize that her other arm hung rather limply at her side.
Fully awake now, Sarnai was aware of the pain she felt from various injuries. Remembering her lessons from when she was younger, the Easterling winced silently as she knelt on the floor and sat down atop her heels. She focused for a moment on the pain to assess the damage done to her body, thinking quickly in her own native tongue. Concussed, broken nose, likely damage to the teeth as well. Broken collarbone, several cuts, bruises everywhere, particularly the right arm. Her eyes widened as she realized the extent of her wounds. While she was no physician, Sarnai knew her way around the mortal body enough to understand that if she healed improperly, she might not be able to shoot again.
Cursing under her breath, she tied her bloodied gambeson into a sling for her arm. Years of working with her left hand would allow Sarnai to undertake most daily tasks, but it would not be easy to wait through the weeks for her recovery, and she might not be back to full fighting strength for months. As she donned her trousers and struggled with her belt, Sarnai realized that her boots and purse were missing. Even more alarmingly so, all of her weapons that were not stowed in secret were gone, even her quiver. She shouldered her pack and began to formulate a plan. A dark cloud fell over her mood as she crept to the door of the small house, quietly unlatching it and stepping outside.
Sarnai looked up at the sky. It was late, and fairly dark outside, but the moon was full. The healer would likely be back by midnight, giving Sarnai enough time to hurry along and go on her way. A nagging voice in the back of her head told her that if they were of any good, no medic would go out drinking at night instead of attending to her patience. Sarnai agreed with it, but she refused to pay it much attention as she stepped softly into the shadowed alleys of Bree-town, paying no heed to the cold cobblestones under her calloused feet as she walked out through the West Gate.
She stopped just outside the town’s walls, looking down to where the ground was marked with blood and other obvious signs of a prolonged struggle. Sarnai took a deep breath and looked up at the stars above, her eyes settling on the constellation called the Wain. Her lips moved in a barely audible whisper.
“These stars are a promise.” With that, Sarnai inhaled again and let out a long, clear whistle. Then, she stood and waited.
The moments dragged by like hours as the crickets chirped in the night. A breeze drifted by, ruffling Sarnai’s hair and reminding her of how spring nights could be far chillier than the days. She was about to give up and sit down in silent resignation when she heard the sound of hoofbeats upon the damp grass. A pale shape trotted closer in the moonlight, and Sarnai grinned to see her old friend approaching, still wearing her tack from the day before. With great effort, Sarnai clambered into the saddle. Slumping over her steed’s neck, Sarnai rode for home with haste, albeit without grace or good form.
She would return to Bree within a few hours, dressed in her hunting garb and carrying a lantern, with an axe poking out of her pack and knives poking out of her belt and boots. Additionally, Sarnai had dipped into the purse the Old Woman had given her for her work some months ago, and carried gold coins tucked in her purse.
Over the course of the night and early morning, about a dozen pawnbrokers and fences around Bree-town experienced a rare sight: a slip of a girl with her arm in a sling and more blades than most folk would be comfortable with seeing on a person, limping into their shop and demanding to see their recent acquisitions. Despite her ragged and battered appearance, she had a surprising amount of coin and haggled little, prizing efficacy over frugality. One would-be robber staggered out of an alleyway with a black eye and missing a few teeth. He claimed in the following days to have been attacked by a shadow, a burly warrior, and a rabid beast, according to different accounts.
That afternoon, Sarnai rode home with a heavy pack and full saddlebags. It took her a few trips to take everything inside with her injured arm, but she was eventually able to settle down at the end of her bed to clean and polish her weapons and armor. Exhaustion hit her like a blow to the gut, and Sarnai blinked furiously to keep her eyes open. She packed her battle gear into a chest nearby, tried and failed a few times to tie her hair back from her face, and noticed that she had forgotten to take off her boots upon going inside.
“I suppose I am finally taking up barbarian habits.” Shaking her head, Sarnai removed the offending footwear and struggled out of her coat. Making sure that her sling was secure, she collapsed wearily onto her bed and sank into fitful sleep.
