Mika Whitepaws (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wolfishsurvivalist) wrote2016-06-27 09:13 am
wolfishsurvivalist) wrote2016-06-27 09:13 am
Entry tags:
Snow and Solitude
"Tranquil! Behind you!" Her scream had cut across the impromptu battlefield, sharp and terrified as the wind screamed about her, her hat plucked from her head and tossed into the white oblivion about them. What had supposedly been a simple mission to escort a caravan from Whitebrim to Mor Dhona was now a tangle of screaming merchants and the battlecries of her companions as they charged down the Garlean forces who were armed with hand cannons. All she could smell was the bite of the cold, the wash of blood, and the acrid odor of the Garlean's horrible machines. When they had set out the skies had been clear, but after the ambush the wind had quickly gone from a gentle breeze across the white hills to a howling gale, stinging and blinding as ice and the needles were ripped from the boughs of the trees about them and struck like blows.
Her hands were too frozen to properly hold her staff, her shock made the whole rod tremble as her fire spells were lost to the winds, and she was forced to strike a soldier over the head in her panicked scramble to try and break through to the hulking red shadow she could barely see through the roiling snows.
"TRANQUIL!" Her shout turned to a hysterical scream as one of the soldiers spotted her, his shield striking her hard enough to knock her senseless and she felt her foot slip on a stone, her foot turning before it plunged into nothingness.
The cliffs.
She'd forgotten about the cliffs.
Her staff spun out of her hands, arms flailing and claws leaving grooves in the soldier's shield before she tumbled from the edge and into the dark abyss beyond. The last she saw was a terrifying blur of dark skies and jagged cliffside, her chocobo's distressed cries echoing above the winds and the sounds of battle before she saw dark shapes of trees jutting from the fogs below, a deadly whiteness beneath them as the ground came rushing to meet her with the force of a hammer.
The last thing she heard was her own terrified scream for her captain.
When she awoke, it was to the gentle fires of a lamp in the corner of a room, though even this dim light made her skull feel as if it were splitting open, and she groaned unhappily, her eyes falling shut again. Everything hurt, the pain almost unbearable, though from how her head felt packed with cotton bolls she was certain she was either heavily drugged or had given her skull an incredibly hard knock in her fall. Or, which was the most likely, it was both.
"Ser, she's awake!" A voice drifted to her as the room faded in and out of her vision, and before long two faces swam into view. One was a chirurgeon, a name eluding her for the moment if she ever had met him before, while the other...
The look of relief in his eyes told much about her condition, though his smile was tempered with grief. It was not a look that comforted her when it came from the infallibly cheerful Haurchefant of House Fortempts, and she peered up at him through watery, swollen eyes beneath heavy bandages. Mika had little idea how poor her condition was, how she looked barely alive beneath the gauze and wrappings, or how she'd been watched for days awaiting some sign that her weak heartbeat and shallow breathing would improve.
"There she is," his voice was muffled, but warmed her skin, and he sank into a chair beside her bed to gently take her fingers. His touch was featherlight, as if any firmer hold would make her crumble to dust, and he tried to cheer her. "I daresay there are far better ways to spend more time in my company, Miss Whitepaws." The fact that he knew her name, remembered her face though she'd been too shy to speak properly to him during most of their encounters out of all the dozens of adventurers and sellswords that traveled through the camp touched her. He knew everyone, it took only once for him to memorize their faces, the sounds of their voice. He'd hailed their party by name each time they'd opened his doors for whatever reason.
She tried to speak, but nothing came out, leaving her coughing and wheezing for air.
"Ah, ah, don't try. They'll have me out on my ears for certain if I rile you up." His smile was gentle as he covered her hand with his, and she could feel how warm he was compared to the numb chill that spread through her limbs when they weren't in excruciating pain.
"Rest well, I'll be back on the morrow. You've had a nasty time of it I'm afraid, and you need proper sleep." Her mouth twitched upwards at the corners, and darkness closed in again.
It was later that she discovered that he'd come to check on her in person because she was the only surviving member of their band of adventurers that had been found. None of the merchants or their cargo had been recovered, and the only lead had been a swathe of blood and destruction that had painted the pass. When she had learned that, her heart had gone cold, and it took days yet before she'd begun to cry. Her recovery was long and painful, much of it lost to a fog of despair and agony as she had to remember how to walk and do many basic things. It was luck alone that they'd managed to secure a conjurer who could aid her, or else she might not have been able to wield her staff again. As for her staff itself, it had been shattered upon the rocks in the fight, along with much else besides.
Luckily there had been one good thing that came of her healing, and had like as not saved her from wasting away. On the day that she'd been released from the healer's care, Haurchefant had met her at the door, the reigns to her beleaguered chocobo wrapped lightly about his hand. Ser Lumpkin looked well fed and stronger than ever, but it wasn't until he'd heard her delighted scream that his eyes had brightened and he'd reared up, his cry answering her own. He'd even suffered her sobbing and clinging, weathering her tears as if he knew how badly she needed to loose them as she cried into the bird's feathers for everything and everyone that had been lost.
Her hands were too frozen to properly hold her staff, her shock made the whole rod tremble as her fire spells were lost to the winds, and she was forced to strike a soldier over the head in her panicked scramble to try and break through to the hulking red shadow she could barely see through the roiling snows.
"TRANQUIL!" Her shout turned to a hysterical scream as one of the soldiers spotted her, his shield striking her hard enough to knock her senseless and she felt her foot slip on a stone, her foot turning before it plunged into nothingness.
The cliffs.
She'd forgotten about the cliffs.
Her staff spun out of her hands, arms flailing and claws leaving grooves in the soldier's shield before she tumbled from the edge and into the dark abyss beyond. The last she saw was a terrifying blur of dark skies and jagged cliffside, her chocobo's distressed cries echoing above the winds and the sounds of battle before she saw dark shapes of trees jutting from the fogs below, a deadly whiteness beneath them as the ground came rushing to meet her with the force of a hammer.
The last thing she heard was her own terrified scream for her captain.
When she awoke, it was to the gentle fires of a lamp in the corner of a room, though even this dim light made her skull feel as if it were splitting open, and she groaned unhappily, her eyes falling shut again. Everything hurt, the pain almost unbearable, though from how her head felt packed with cotton bolls she was certain she was either heavily drugged or had given her skull an incredibly hard knock in her fall. Or, which was the most likely, it was both.
"Ser, she's awake!" A voice drifted to her as the room faded in and out of her vision, and before long two faces swam into view. One was a chirurgeon, a name eluding her for the moment if she ever had met him before, while the other...
The look of relief in his eyes told much about her condition, though his smile was tempered with grief. It was not a look that comforted her when it came from the infallibly cheerful Haurchefant of House Fortempts, and she peered up at him through watery, swollen eyes beneath heavy bandages. Mika had little idea how poor her condition was, how she looked barely alive beneath the gauze and wrappings, or how she'd been watched for days awaiting some sign that her weak heartbeat and shallow breathing would improve.
"There she is," his voice was muffled, but warmed her skin, and he sank into a chair beside her bed to gently take her fingers. His touch was featherlight, as if any firmer hold would make her crumble to dust, and he tried to cheer her. "I daresay there are far better ways to spend more time in my company, Miss Whitepaws." The fact that he knew her name, remembered her face though she'd been too shy to speak properly to him during most of their encounters out of all the dozens of adventurers and sellswords that traveled through the camp touched her. He knew everyone, it took only once for him to memorize their faces, the sounds of their voice. He'd hailed their party by name each time they'd opened his doors for whatever reason.
She tried to speak, but nothing came out, leaving her coughing and wheezing for air.
"Ah, ah, don't try. They'll have me out on my ears for certain if I rile you up." His smile was gentle as he covered her hand with his, and she could feel how warm he was compared to the numb chill that spread through her limbs when they weren't in excruciating pain.
"Rest well, I'll be back on the morrow. You've had a nasty time of it I'm afraid, and you need proper sleep." Her mouth twitched upwards at the corners, and darkness closed in again.
It was later that she discovered that he'd come to check on her in person because she was the only surviving member of their band of adventurers that had been found. None of the merchants or their cargo had been recovered, and the only lead had been a swathe of blood and destruction that had painted the pass. When she had learned that, her heart had gone cold, and it took days yet before she'd begun to cry. Her recovery was long and painful, much of it lost to a fog of despair and agony as she had to remember how to walk and do many basic things. It was luck alone that they'd managed to secure a conjurer who could aid her, or else she might not have been able to wield her staff again. As for her staff itself, it had been shattered upon the rocks in the fight, along with much else besides.
Luckily there had been one good thing that came of her healing, and had like as not saved her from wasting away. On the day that she'd been released from the healer's care, Haurchefant had met her at the door, the reigns to her beleaguered chocobo wrapped lightly about his hand. Ser Lumpkin looked well fed and stronger than ever, but it wasn't until he'd heard her delighted scream that his eyes had brightened and he'd reared up, his cry answering her own. He'd even suffered her sobbing and clinging, weathering her tears as if he knew how badly she needed to loose them as she cried into the bird's feathers for everything and everyone that had been lost.