The forest stank of blood and death, the reek sharpened by the heavy snow that had fallen the night before. It blanketed the ground in a pristine white shroud, now trampled and stained crimson where fallen horses and humans sprawled across the blood-soaked earth, their entrails spilling out onto the frost. Sitting atop a splintered cart, its wood slick with ice and stained bloody, was a figure wrapped in fresh bandages that crisscrossed her lithe frame. Her ears, pointed and feline, twitched faintly as she gnawed on a strip of cloth, her tail flicking lazily behind her.
Her wide eyes followed another girl paced, her boots squelching in the muck of blood, snow and mud. Her voice bubbled forth in a ceaseless stream, words tumbling over one another as she gestured wildly at the wreckage. "Did you see that one guy? Took three swings before he went down—thought he'd never stop twitching! And the horses, ugh, what a mess, right? Bet they didn't see it coming either!" She kicked at a discarded blade, sending it skittering into a pile of gore with a wet thud.
"...of course I have always wanted to be Jeweler in a rich city" Nita went on, her breath fogging in the frigid air as she bent to roll a large man over with a grunt of effort. "Where I wouldn't have to deal with the nastiness of men. Then I will make a lot of money, catch the eye of a noble, marry and born lots of children"
She turned to her companion, catching the faint curve of a hidden smile beneath the bandages, and grinned back.
She turned back to the body, patting down his shirt pockets—coins were seldom there, but she checked anyway. "My life wouldn't be more perfect"
She saw a thin silver necklace around his fat neck and was tempted to take it because it had no distinct feature but she thought better of it. She had more than enough not to take risks, no matter how slight.
Standing, she brushed snow from her knees and moved to the next corpse. It feels like a very long time ago when they first met. Nita thought she was a goner, and she still believe she would have been had she not desperately offered to take her to Nicholas Fitzwalter's camp. Somehow she was able to get through to her in her madness with her terrible desperation and tears. She wasn't ashamed of it—not after what she'd witnessed after.
It was brutal. Her madness did not quenched until the last man's head was a gory paste. Nita had hidden, watching in terror, and was only bold enough to approach the wounded feline, who had lost consciousness after the last efforts, because she noticed she only attacked men, and women who attack her first. She treated her--she heals fast--and looted the camp clean of coins, and then took the feline to a safe place, waited for her to wake up, to see she saved her, and they've been together ever since. Going through forests, and sometimes towns and bandit paths. She attacks them, and Nita rid their corpses of their coins.
She doesn't talk, but she listens well, and most times her eyes smiles. Nita liked to think they'd grown close, like sisters. She cared for her, and with her, Nita felt safest since she was a little girl.
With the coins they've gotten so far, they can afford a new life, a good one. One far away from all these hurt and pain. She still cries in her sleep. Nita wants her to stop, and she is looking for a perfect time to tell her, but everytime she sees her go through the men, it feels like a debt. Like unresolved business. She fears if she brings it up the girl would rather Nita goes alone, than give up her quest. Knowing her enough now she would most probably nod, and then sneak off in the dead of night while Nita sleeps. Nita can't bear that. The girl is strong, but she can't survive on her own. She needs her, and it seems like they are both all they've got.
Nita sank into the snow beside the cart, brushing flakes from her trousers as she counted the day's haul—a handful of coppers and a single bronze piece. "Enough for a hot meal tonight, at least," she muttered, forcing a grin. "Maybe even a bed, if we find a town that doesn't ask too many questions."
The girl's tail flicked once, her ears tilting forward, but she said nothing. She never did. Nita wondered, not for the first time, what her true voice might sound like—soft as a whisper or rough like the growl she loosed when she faced Nicholas Fitzwalter. She'd seen her rip through seasoned men like they were parchment, but now, in the fading light, she looked small. Fragile, almost.
"You ever think about stopping?" Nita asked, her voice barely above a breath. She didn't expect an answer—never did—but the words slipped out anyway. "Not forever, just… for a while. Somewhere safe."
The feline girl turned her head, meeting Nita's gaze. Her eyes didn't smile this time. They shimmered, wet and dark, and for a heartbeat, Nita thought she saw something break in them. Then she looked away, her bandaged fingers tightening around the cloth, and the moment was gone.
Nita stared at her, pity swelling in her chest, then turned her gaze ahead.
Something caught her eye—a shape half-hidden in the underbrush, cloaked in white. Frowning, she trudged over, her boots crunching, and dragged the body free: another bandit, his throat a frozen ruin. She knelt to check his pockets when a twig snapped behind her.
The feline girl was up in an instant, ears flat, a hiss rumbling low.
"Easy," Nita whispered, but her hand slid to the knife at her belt. The forest had gone deathly still—no wind, just the faint drip of melting snow.
Three figures emerged from the trees, cloaked in patchwork leather. The tallest, a man with a scar splitting his brow, twirled a hatchet and sneered. "Carrion birds, eh? Picking the bones clean?"
"We don't want trouble," Nita said, hands raised, but the feline girl's blades were already out, glinting like ice. The man laughed. "Heard of a beast tearing through camps. Didn't think it'd be so pretty."
She lunged, a blur of fury. One swipe split the scarred man's chest, blood spraying the snow red. The second screamed as her blade found his throat, dropping before he could swing. The third turned to flee, but she pounced, driving him face-first into the snow. She slammed the butt of her blade heavy into the back of his head, breaking his skull with the very first strike, and she hit him again. She was more angry than before, each hit harder than the last. Nita didn't approach, she just watched, and waited. When there was nothing left to hit, she screamed out in frustration, breathing hard, and still not standing up.
Nita approached and went to the ground with her, and gently embraced her from behind, resting her head on her. She was slowly calming down now, and Nita still hugged her. You poor, poor little thing, she thought when a tear touched her arm. The little girl can't survive. She still needs her.
┌─────── ♕ ───────┐
Anruin, Cremia
Through the swirling chaos of the market the first knight led the way, navigating through the throng. Nadia followed closely behind, and the other knight guarded her rear. They all kept their heads down with the hoods without making it seem like they were hiding their faces.
A peasant girl came through the crowd from the opposite direction. As she walked past the woman in the dark, form-fitting robes, her eyes caught a bit of her face, barely hidden by her scarf or hood. She hesitated for a moment, but kept walking. She stole another look over her shoulder as she walked away.
The three kept moving, unbothered by the pushing crowd or the occasional angry shout. Their path led them toward the far end of the market, where the noise took on a darker tone—metal clinking, soft cries of pain. Ahead was the slave stalls, a group of iron cages piled unevenly under a torn overhang. Most of the cages were empty, their bars rusty and dirty, but a few held slumped figures, some of them humans, too tired to look up. It stank terribly, and people generally avoided the area, not wanting to stay too long. It is where the slaves who can't be sold or the ones the merchants were not interested in buying, are kept.
"...Nadia?"
The woman in black stiffened, her head tilting slightly as a small figure darted forward. It was the peasant girl from before, her basket now tucked under one arm as she bent forward, peering beneath the woman's hood. "I thought that was you!" she exclaimed, her face splitting into a wide, eager grin. "Where have you been? It's been so long!"
Nadia turned fully now, and the hood slipped back just enough to reveal a faint smile. "Hello, Elsie," she said, her voice smooth but guarded. "How are you?"
Elsie didn't hesitate. She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Nadia in a quick, fierce embrace. Her voice dropped, trembled. "I thought they hurt you."
Nadia let out a sigh. "I'm fine," Nadia replied, her tone steady but clipped. She gently disentangled herself from the girl's grip. "But I do need to go."
"Of course," Elsie said, stepping back with a forced smile that wobbled at the edges. "It's just… it's nice to see you again."
Nadia's lips curved upward in return, but the smile was shallow, a polite dismissal that never reached her shadowed eyes. Elsie lingered a moment longer, then turned away, raising a hand in a small wave as she melted back into the crowd.
"You need to get rid of her," she said, her voice cold and flat, still fixed on the spot where Elsie had vanished.
The knights turned to her, their expressions and behavior betraying unease, reluctance etched into their postures.
"You think the king will allow the complications that come with this discovery?" her voice low and cutting.
The two exchanged a look and finally, with a heavy tread, one broke away from the group, slipping into the crowd after Elsie's retreating figure.
Nadia and the other man stood in silence for a moment, before she turned away without another word, continuing her way toward the slave market.
┌─────── ♕ ───────┐
It was way past midnight when Vojnka came back, dirty and sweaty from an intense training workout. Laughter and chatter from grown ups— spilling from rooms, corners, and courtyards—barely registered as she trudged toward her quarters.
She was near her room when someone suddenly jolted her terribly with an ambushed embrace from behind.
"You are finally home!" her heavily pregnant sister said with the ambush.
Vojnka was grateful to the spirits that held her hands back from reacting like they wanted to with the sudden contact.
"Sister you should be sleeping" Vojnka tried to shrug her dread off.
"This is no time for sleeping, my beautiful beautiful strong sister" Marit gushed, vibrating with happiness as she clung tighter "Your knight armor came in! We must see you in it! I still can't believe this is all real!"
Before Vojnka could respond, Marit shoved past her, practically vibrating with eagerness into the room, and so did her husband, who Vojnka didn't realize was there until now.
The large room still bears features of its high noble past, but it is unrecognizable now. Dust floats in the faint glow of the dying crystal chandelier, illuminating roughly made wooden furniture that looked more salvaged than chosen. A massive, unadorned bed dominated one side, its furs and rough blankets piled haphazardly. In one corner, discarded training gear – dented leather, a chipped axe – lay where they'd been dropped. The stone walls were bare, unless for a few hastily hung beast pelts, offering a suitable primal contrast to the delicate carvings that peeked out from beneath layers of dirt.
Vojnka walked in without a word, very tired. She noticed soft gleam amongst the piles on the bed and didn't need to get closer to know it was the new armor, especially since that's where Mogens, her sister husband, went to. She dropped her axe by the side, wishing to be left alone.
Mogens picked up a piece reverently. "I don't think you can ever afford to ever repay the king" he said, half-joking, half-awed "You can feel the very soul of the master craftsman in this"
Marit laughed. "Or maybe," she said, nudging Vojnka with a wicked grin, "he's hoping you'll repay him another way, hmm?"
Mogens smirked. "Now that would explain the craftsmanship."
Marit giggled, clapping her hands. "Imagine! Our quiet little Vojnka, capturing the king's… affections so thoroughly! Oh what he will do to her! He looks rather strong so I think he might go all night."
Mogens chuckled darkly as he turned the breastplate over in his hands. "Bet he had you in this, then bent you over something solid. A table, maybe. Armor still on, just pushed aside where he needed."
Marit gasped, scandalized and delighted. "Mogens!"
He grinned. "What? You think he gifted her this without breaking her in first? Come on. He probably had her moaning in that throne room, begging like some well-trained pet."
"Please," Vojnka whispered, her voice barely there.
Neither of them heard it.
"Oh, spirits," Marit laughed, fanning herself dramatically. "Did he pull your hair, sister? You look like the type he'd want face-down, ass up, armor half-on like some war prize."
"ENOUGH!" Vojnka's voice cracked like a whip, raw and jagged.
It stunned the room to silence. She had never raised her voice at anyone or anything. If you've never seen her fight you would never believe she can hurt a soul. She was always so strong, yet impossibly soft.
Mogens glanced at Marit, searching for an explanation but she was just as stunned. Vojnka trembled, her face pale with terror. Marit nodded subtly, and Mogens quietly slipped out.
She stepped toward her sister.
Vojnka crumpled to the ground, hugged her sister's waist tight with trembling hands. Her body shook with silent sobs at first, but the moment her sister's consoling hand touched her head, she started bawling her eyes out like a hurt little child.