A glance to her side as she thought she heard the start of a complaint from her hound, and the walker saw that, indeed, his hackles were raising. Then, she also started to hear the padding of the paws behind them. Why are the wolves…? Oh no! I forgot about the birds! Fresh-kill scent, and moving! Not that her thoughts were quite that ordered and verbal, but such was their meaning. She whirled as she heard one settle in to spring, and met it with her spear, cursing herself inwardly for her carelessness.
It was a confusing battle, anticipating and reacting, hound saving woman, woman taking advantage of created opening, whirling, thrusting, sweeping, blocking, and eventually, with enough effort, and the sacrifice of four of the six quail she'd had, they got the battle broken off. If they hadn't been also moving into the territory of a second pack that would resent the first, it might not have gone even that well.
Hurts or no, and her own were dripping down into her boot as she limped along with the aid of her spear, Hildegund knew that she couldn't stop even for Fang's just yet. But the one stream they had found before shouldn't be too far back up the hill.
It look longer than she'd like to make it there, as hurt and spent as she was, but she got them there, and set to checking her hound over. Superficial scratches only, thanks to his quick movements and his fur, so at first she just washed at them from the running water. He didn't much like it, but he was too concerned for her and the smell of her blood to give her any meaningful complaint.
Then, she finally set to getting out of her boot and trews to examine what had happened to her leg, which was the only place she'd felt any pain. Setting the half-shredded trews to soak in the cold water, watching the pink trail float away from them almost mesmerised her. With a shake of her head, she turned her gaze to her flesh, and started washing at the lacerations running from low thigh all the way down her calf.
That took a while, with required stops to keep from losing awareness, and she was still bleeding. She got into her field kit with its curved bone needles and waxed threads, and started to work on closing up the worst of her wounds, with further stops required to let the red haze clear from her vision again, and to give comfort to a worried Fang.
While letting some of her own pain fade a bit again, she took care as best she could of the worst of his, as well, and comforted him even more after. She'd have done a better job if her vision had been clearer at the time, and she knew it, but she had to make do with the situation as it was.
She resumed fixing up her cuts, and took another break to soak her boot some. The water would help ensure that it would be ruined in a few days, but the blood that had already soaked into it was going to do about the same, anyway. New boot, new trews, she had work to do that she'd not been anticipating, now, and had to hope she had the materials on hand. She wasn't going to be able to hunt, nor even do much tanning, right away.
On top of that, it was the moot day. They needed to head back now, and she wouldn't have time to finish the other tasks she'd wanted for the day. Not now that she'd be moving quite a bit more slowly. The one trapper camp was on the way, though. She still might be able to see what the two remaining quail were worth to them in coins, or what they might suggest they could be worth elsewhere.
She got herself stitched up as best she was able, wrung out her trews and put them back on, and got into the boots again. Standing, even with the aid of the spear, nearly cost her consciousness, but she held on through some wobbling and the flush of red haze until she could start to see again.
"Which way home, Fang?"
It was something of a game she sometimes played with the hound, seeing whether he knew. This time, she was having to hope he really did, at least for now. There were still black and red spots dancing across her field of view.
He gave a little bark and started up the hill, watching to see whether she'd follow. That seemed right to her, for all it was the hardest direction, and she hobbled after him. "Good lad!" She had to get moving, regardless. Cold water in her clothes would chill her too badly, otherwise, for all the part on her wounds felt almost nice. The other leg, though, was just getting cold.
The sun was getting altogether too far up in the sky by the time she hobbled up to the trapper's camp. Most of them were already out checking their lines. The two who were present called out, sounding perhaps alarmed, and made as if to try to carry her in. She shrank back, shaking her head, pulling her arms in around her. Between that and Fang's protectiveness, they kept enough distance, barely, for her to feel less threatened by it. She recognised their concern, but the pain and the feeling of the cloth moving against her skin was already pushing her limits. More touching was not something she could handle.
They kept pace with her as she finished entering their camp and found a spot to sit, levering herself down, leaning heavily on her spear. Fang and the trapper Ored nearly had a disagreement over how much the man wanted to help.
"Thank you." She sighed, knowing it wasn't really enough words, but words came hard when she hadn't had time to think them up beforehand.
"What happened to you, Tree-Walker?" Both men asked, almost at the same time, though only Evan included her use-name.
"Stupid birds," she started, then shook her head, angry with herself. She took a deep breath, and tried again, taking more time to structure her thoughts into words. "Stupid mistake with birds. Wolves. Had to give up four birds."
The men eyed the two qual still lashed to her pack, and the dog, and her leg. Ored gave a low whistle, and Evan nodded to him. "I reckon we see now why you say just you and your hound are enough for what you do out here, ma'am."
Evan nodded to Ored again and added, "If you don't mind my asking, what plans do have for the birds now?"
It took her a few breaths to put her thoughts into words again. "Was bringing all here to see about… selling? That is the word? Is two still enough for that?"
Evan gave her a small smile. "Selling's the word, yes. And I know you don't like to hear it, but I still have to tell you that you'd get more for them in Combe than from us."
She crinkled her nose at that. "Know you. Not know this Combe. Sounds loud and stinky."
Ored guffawed, quickly trying to stifle himself. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but that just got me! Truer words have seldom been spoke, though." He nodded to her with a friendly smile.
Evan chuckled, adding his own smiling nod. "All right, then." He looked at her, maybe more than just at her birds, she wasn't sure, then turned to his friend. "What do you think? Sixteen pennies for these birds?" That was certainly more than she'd been led to expect, but she had tried to get good quail, so maybe she'd just done really well?
Ored looked at her leg, then back to Evan. "For these birds, I think eighteen."
Even more? But why had he looked at her leg to judge that, and not the birds? This was even more confusing than dealing with people usually was.
Evan nodded, apparently not concerned that the look had not been at the birds. "Right. Eighteen it is." He moved and got into his gear, and she heard soft clinks of metal. Taking her cue from that, she twisted out of her pack and got the birds loose from it to trade for the little discs.
"I see you got yourselves stitched up, ma'am, and looks like you know how, but…" Ored trailed off, looking to Evan for help.
"If that gets to be worse than you can handle, Tree-Walker, for all it's loud and stinky, Combe is where you should go. Not for the whole town, but one man, has a cabin on the Bree-town side. Leecher Cartwell. If you need it, he'll see to you."
Both men looked to her, clearly wanting something from her. Probably her agreement. She nodded slowly, and repeated the unfamiliar name as best she could. "Leecher Cart-Well." Trying to picture carting a well was almost hurting her head, but she knew what a leecher was, at least.
They nodded, She'd got the name right, and apparently satisfied them. She also got the exchange done for her quail. She took out the cloth she'd prepared earlier, wrapping the discs in it to secure them, and stashing it up in a fold of her sleeve. This got an approving nod from Ored on its own.
"Well done, ma'am."
She smiled a bit, knowing it was expected, though surely being prepared was just what should be? "Not want clinking noise in woods."
A soft chuckle, and Ored nodded again. "Exactly so, ma'am."
The moment stretched a bit, and she felt awkward, as she often did, but this time she knew what she needed to do, and to say. "We have long way to go, on slow leg." She got her pack situated again, and clawed her way back to a standing position with the use of her spear.
The men looked at her with concern, slowly rising with her. "Are you sure you are all right to travel there, Tree-Walker?"
She nodded. "We… may be late for dinner, but we will manage. And you… you have camp to watch, and later traps to check. Should not come with, anyway." She smiled a bit. "But yes, we will manage. Is all right."
They nodded. "As long as you're sure, ma'am. You're right enough about what else we have to look to, but we… we think of you as a friend, ma'am. Traps can wait if they have to."
This took her aback, and she blinked, then nodded with another smile as she processed it. "Friends is good. But we will manage. Is all right." She cursed herself inwardly for her flawed sentence structure, but they didn't seem to mind.
"Be careful, Tree-Walker."
"We will."
The men waved to her, and she tried to manage a small wave back, though she wasn't really used to the gesture. She turned and started hobbling off with Fang keeping to her side.
It took a while, of course, to make it back to their lodge-house, and she stopped at her personal camp on the way to change into her robe. It delayed her a bit more, but it let her arrive not quite so flushed with exhaustion and visible pain, and it helped hide just how bad her leg was, or so she hoped. Of course, the limping and hobbling got her all too much notice as it was once she entered the hall, including from the painfully loud dwarf. Home-Wright's fetching of willow-bark tea was most welcome. The honey in it was… odd. She was used to the bitterness, but it wasn't too sweet, and the woman certainly meant well by it. Besides, while it wasn't what she was used to from the tea, it… wasn't bad, she found.
Then came the discussion of possibly paying the dwarf to do some building for them. She didn't want to just say "I have some pennies" during those discussions, but she wasn't sure the little clunking noise she'd made and her words had been understood as such. She suspected that Snow-Hair's declaration of being spread too thin, after declaring at an earlier time she could do it all, really only meant she was unwilling, but she didn't claim to understand most of what went on with her, anyway.
Once the dwarf had gone, it was time to see about reading their letter from the brown wizard. The trappers had been quite nice about helping her with the scratchings. While she would have liked more time to learn, their need to know what the letter said didn't seem to allow for that. So, she started trying to read it out for the clan. And she did a horrible job! She was slow, and kept fumbling over pieces of words, and almost losing track during the wizard's longer passages. Why couldn't he write simpler for them?
Oh, how painful it must be to listen to her! She could barely try to piece together what was meant by the words she'd uttered, or to participate in any of the discussion that followed, so deep was her shame at how badly she'd done in reading the few short passages. If she hadn't hurt so much, she'd have fled.
She finished her tea, and Nightingale was nice enough to give her the rest of the packet to take back to her little camp for the night. She'd need it to sleep well enough to get Fang to Hound-Friend in the morning. Not that he wouldn't probably come to see to the wounds anyway, but he shouldn't have to. Getting Fang to him was her responsibility.
She got back to her little lean-to, and stripped off her robe as she re-kindled her little fire and heated the tea. Even that little cloth on her skin was too much after so many things had been happening. Just the air was almost enough to drive her crazy while she waited for the steeping.
Poor Fang wanted comfort, and wanted to comfort her, but knew not to touch her when she was like this. She slurped down the tea was fast as she could without actually hurting herself, and closed her eyes, listening as best she could to just the fire, trying to block out the other sounds of the night – which to her hearing were legion. Finally, she felt herself relaxed enough, and she lay down, patting the space on the bedroll next to her. "Good lad, Fang."
The hound was huddling up to her and spinning around before finally settling into place, as they do, and very glad to be with her, and comforting each other. This was what he felt was right and proper with his world.
She held him close as she slowly drifted off, managing to tell him once more "Good lad." Yes, he'd done very well by her today. He was a very good lad, indeed.
