The Drunk and The Warrior
Copyright & Credit: Suse Hammond-Pears (Shannah)
Copyright & Credit: Sarah Watkins (Dashiel)
(late afternoon - some small coastal village off the Bay of Filrian - Isle of Manan)
***
Alcohol, and copious quantities of it. It was the best method Dashiel Blas na Mara knew for forgetting humiliation: and he was feeling pretty humiliated. So the copious quantities he had imbibed were justifiable. At least he thought so. And the copious quantities he had imbibed allowed him to agree with himself wholeheartedly.
The fact that the room was starting to spin slightly was a minor irritant, and he batted at the spinning oil lamp ineffectually. He was actually several feet away from it, but that was also just a minor irritant.
He poured himself another goblet of wine from the flagon, took a hearty sip from the flagon as a matter of course and slumped back in his seat. Who needed a job, anyway? This sitting around in dockside taverns was ENTIRELY more preferable.
Yes. Entirely.
After a few more moments, he became slowly aware that someone was staring at him.
Dreams and Memories
Copyright & Credit: Sarah Watkins (Dashiel)
(pre-dawn - some distance from the Bay of Filrian - Isle of Manan)
***
Sleeping on the floor in the bedroll was strangely comfortable, Dashiel found: or perhaps it was more down to the exhaustion of several days of no sleep. Since he had received the injury to his leg, he had been unable to get comfortable. The fact that it was clearly healing quickly was helping; as was the remaining numbness of his earlier inebriation.
It had been touch and go for the first two days as the ship’s surgeon had sat, almost gleefully, waiting for the wound to become infected.
However, it had not. And the surgeon had reluctantly stitched the wound up.
Dashiel shifted slightly on the bedroll, his eyes opening the merest crack. He was braced for the hangover, so when it leapt on him from all sides, he wasn’t too alarmed. It wasn’t usual, this drinking himself into a semi-stupour: he’d been feeling humiliated, unwanted - almost childish in many ways, he knew - and in a certain amount of pain.
Recognition
Copyright & Credit: Suse Hammond-Pears (Shannah)
Copyright & Credit: Sarah Watkins (Dashiel)
(early morning - about 20 miles from the Bay of Filrian - Isle of Manan)
***
He didn’t quite manage the extra hour’s rest that he had planned. The dull throb of his leg kept him from falling into deep sleep and after a few minutes uncomfortable doze, Dashiel sat up, rubbing at his eyes in semi-resentful tiredness. Dawn had made its transition from a faint, pinkish glow to the light of eary morning, and the horses were moving about, grazing contentedly. His cloak and blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, the young man headed to the remains of the night’s fire, which was still smouldering gently, and blew on the coals, hoping to return some life to it.
A few moments later, a lick of flame marked his attempts as a success and he grinned to himself. He COULD do this travelling-on-the-road thing, after all.
The Tor
Copyright & Credit: Suse Hammond-Pears (Shannah)
Copyright & Credit: Sarah Watkins (Dashiel)
(small tor thirty miles south of Shancree - south of the Plains of Aerith - Isle of Manan)
***
They travelled for a few days, almost randomly it often seemed. To begin with, Shannah wanted to put as much distance between them and the coastal village where she’d found Dashiel, so they headed in a roundabout way inland. For a day or two they followed the river, crossing it no less than four times and then making an odd angle backtracking for another few hours and then branching off again.
Eventually, her wish to leave as confusing a trail as possible seemed sated, especially after a night of heavy rain that would obscure even the tracks of four horses.
After that, she picked a direction and largely stuck to it, until a swan flew overhead and without reason or explanation, she swung her horse’s head around and followed after it, towards a small tor in the far distance.
The White Dog
Copyright & Credit: Suse Hammond-Pears (Shannah)
Copyright & Credit: Sarah Watkins (Dashiel)
(the river, twenty five miles south of Shancree - south of the Plains of Aerith - Isle of Manan)
***
One minute they were riding alongside the river - it seemed this journey was destined to involve this river, at least thus far anyhow - and the next several things seemed to be happening all at once.
The first was that Shannah kind of went still and silent in her saddle again, in the middle of a sentence, and the horses flattened their ears and Dash’s mount threw its head up suddenly and shied away from her.
The second was that something rounded the bend in the river ahead of them. Borne along by the fast flowing current was the corpse of a stag, and not far behind it, a white dog. Unlike the stag, the dog was very much alive, though clearly struggling to avoid being dragged under.
The third was that Shannah had kicked out of her stirrups and was making a flying leap off the overhanging river bank into the river, her eyes latched firmly on the floundering dog.
The fourth was that poor Dash, unused to such sudden movements from his horse, fell off landing awkwardly. This particular event was accompanied by a lot of interesting swearing until he noticed what she was doing.
“You’re KIDDIN’ me? It’s just a DOG!”
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