Night hovered above the glen wherein he lay. His shirt had been removed and he reclined on the soft, dew-bejeweled grass. The silence was only punctured by the rhythm of his deep breaths. He moaned and relaxed against the cold forest floor. Confusion shrouded his normally sharp memory. Arxu felt as though he was hallucinating or looking through someone else’s eyes. Every sense seemed detached from his body, barely retaining their function. A woman with blue eyes leaned above him, examining his body. A crossbow was slung across her back in a leather holster. Nishka’s eyes lit up when she saw he had woken. Even despite the pain, Arxu was struck by the ironic reversal in roles. Not long ago, he treated Nishka for a life-threatening injury. He looked down and saw the red flesh glaring on his pale skin. Nishka dipped an herbal poultice in a wooden bowl of water, rose petals floating placidly on its surface. A waning moon reflected in the waters like an untarnished silver coin. She applied the cloth over Arxu’s wound, relieving the inflamed site.
