Weeding through and revising writing I did for Aden before I made the decision to bring him into RP to better fit with presenting him in a larger, less predictable narrative. If you're interested in seeing the stories in their original, unedited form, go here.
Anyway, let's get to it....
![[Image: tumblr_nzosx0UbEK1v0ltaqo2_r2_1280.png]](https://40.media.tumblr.com/ad3bee96533553de4327d8fcd1defd67/tumblr_nzosx0UbEK1v0ltaqo2_r2_1280.png)
The Storm
Rated: M, explicit violence.
Notes: Originally written after playing for three weeks. I'm still gaining a grasp on lore and setting specifics even now, so please keep that in mind.
The storm blew in, full of furious wind and brilliant lightning, while Arild and Nadine were away for the retirement of an old friend. Aden made the call to let the ranch hands stay in the main house that night, and didn’t rest himself through all the noise. In the early morning just as the first suggestion of light kissed the horizon he made his way through the house, padding carefully between mounds of blankets strewn across the first floor, and out to the stables.
For once the chill morning air smelled less like the distinctive bouquet of a chocobo farm, instead ozone and deep forest and split wood–he took a deep breath, grateful. The older he got the more he minded the smell, contrary to the conventional wisdom of everyone he’d ever worked with.
The newly downed branches slipped and snapped underfoot, wet leaves made for awkward footing, and he circled the barn, just able to make out the stark, clean lines of it in the grey pre-dawn. On the far side a limb from a massive tree that stretched a full quarter over the clearing the house and barn were in had fallen, caved in the back corner.
“Shit.†Soft, little more than a breath. The hole was too close to the doors on this side so he went back around, unlatched and rolled open the doors to a dark aisle and that distinct musk he hadn’t missed, soft coos. He pulled down one of the lanterns just inside the door, lit it, and the birds started shifting, feathers rustling. A few came to their stall doors, made quiet, needy noises at him and Aden spared each one who sought it a reassuring stroke. Their birds weren't nervous by nature, but it had been a rough night.
At the end he found what he was looking for: the farthest stall, unoccupied, had been destroyed. He could just see through the branches of the limb to the early morning outside. Aden hung the lantern as close as he could and hopped up at the door of the neighboring stall, looking over for the sleeping bird inside.
An old, dead part of the limb lay amidst the remains of the dividing wall into the next stall. Aside from a few feathers, the bird was absent. “Damn it all!â€
He grabbed the lantern and rushed back out of the barn, looking for any sign of which way the bird had gone, but the rain and wind had removed any trace. Then he went back to the house, roused Ylaine, one of the senior hands, crouched next to her. “Keva’s gone.â€
She stopped rubbing her eyes and sat bolt upright. “Naddy and Ari won’t be back for a good three days, what do we do?â€
“I’m going to take Senna and go look for him.â€
For a second Ylaine stared, almost as if uncomprehending. “You can’t–you know there’s been reports of Ixal around of late.â€
“Someone has to. You can run the farm while–†she opened her mouth to protest, but Aden cut her off before she started, “don’t. Give me that. You’re more than capable. Just because you don’t own the place doesn’t mean anyone is less likely to listen to you. If I’m not back before Ma and Mam, they’ll handle it.â€
She protested no further, and he left to gather a few things while she went to saddle up the bird. As she watched him leave in the first rays of true dawn she didn’t dare say it wasn’t running the farm she was worried about, but what Nadine and Arild would do when they found out she’d let him leave alone.
He’d chosen Senna because she was the most mature bird in the stable, not by age but by behavior. She was even tempered, and if he told her to run home he knew she would. Keva wouldn’t dare be led, too wild a bird for that, but Senna would put up with it when he finally caught Keva.
When, he assured himself as evening fell, not if. He came upon a pair of elezen Gods’ Quiver clearing out debris to set up camp, but enough light remained that Aden felt comfortable keeping on for an hour or so.
He stopped anyway when the woman hailed him from across the clearing, voice bright and airy. “Ho there! Got business out in the wild?â€
The man straightened from tossing aside downed limbs, “Wait, I recognize you. You’re from the Dellebecque farm?â€
“I am.†They stepped closer so as not to be shouting at him, and Aden figured the woman to be a full head and shoulders taller than him if he were on the ground–the man was a more reasonable height. “You haven’t seen a stray bird go past, have you?â€
“Got out in the storm?†the woman asked, and Aden nodded. “Ixal probably got it then, hate to say it. We’ve had two skirmishes with them since daybreak.â€
“You’d best stay with us tonight, and head home in the morning.†The man eyed Aden as he spoke, and Aden knew was looking for a weapon of any sort. “It’s luck you haven’t run into them already. If anything does happen we can protect you.â€
“Thanks.†Somehow Aden managed to bite back the bitter resentment the man’s concern–so obviously more an assessment of ability, nevermind how true–conjured in him. He lifted Senna’s reins, ready to go. “But no thanks. If you know what farm I’m from, you know who my parents are. I can handle myself. What you don’t know is how much that bird is worth.â€
And he was gone, leaving the two Quivermen standing in the clearing. The woman crossed her arms and said, “Mucked that one right up, Ves.â€
He just stood for a moment, staring after Aden, then gestured wildly in that direction with both hands. “Of course I know who his parents are! But what's that got to do with him getting shanked by birdmen?â€
"Ves." She reached out, settled a hand on his shoulder, and Ves half-turned to face his companion. "You can't help someone who doesn't want helping. Let's get back to work."
It rained again that night, and Aden huddled miserably under a tarp strung between three trees, Senna settled down beside him. There was just enough room for both of them–that’s what the tarp was for, after all–and she made soft trilling noises as she dozed. The bird was warm, and soft, and smelled like home, and Aden fell asleep despite his intentions.
By morning the rain gave way to heavy mist, hanging like fog more than falling like rain, and it settled everywhere in spite of the tarp. Too much of this weather would ruin the feed he’d brought for Senna, watertight bag or not, and he grudgingly accepted they had maybe another day out in this before it became an issue.
Around noon the debris grew too heavy for Senna to manage with a rider so he dismounted, led her through the fallen limbs and underbrush. Knowing Keva, the bird would deliberately take the most difficult path so as not to be followed. The mist kept up all day, and around mid-afternoon they came out of the heavy treefall into a clearing. Senna started making soft, distressed noises as they moved, so Aden stopped to soothe her. She went quiet, but quivered as he stroked her neck, and in that silence Aden finally noticed the stillness of the forest, birdsong and vilekin trill absent.
The first arrow skimmed his cheek, opening a deep split, and slammed into Senna’s saddle. Aden ducked reflexively, clicked his tongue twice, and Senna obeyed, dashing off back over the tumble of treefall. He turned to see an ixali coming out of the mist with a spear, already in mid-thrust, too close to simply run.
Aden pivoted on his heel and the spearhead skimmed a finger’s width from his chest. He lunged towards the ixali, grabbed the haft of the spear and wrenched it from his attacker's talons. The ixali squawked loudly, grabbed for the spear again, but Aden continued his forward lunge to throw his weight into the ixali. It staggered back, and Aden stepped back as well, spinning the spear around into the correct grip.
The next arrow only missed because Aden lunged again, drove the tip of the spear into the lancer’s throat. It fell clutching at the wound, trying to squawk and only gurgling weakly as blood welled in.
And then the forest came alive with the squawks and trills of Ixali fighters hidden in the mist. Aden ducked, hunching his shoulders and ears twitching–different instincts than the fighting ones Nadine had spent years drilling into him. He looked much more like a cat crouching to run than someone who had just disarmed and slain a seasoned fighter, and it dawned on him under the noise–he should be running if he had the opportunity.
He started moving, and another arrow nicked the tip of one ear. In the brief melee and the shifting mist he’d lost the path he’d come on, and moved simply away from the noise. Two more ixali emerged from the mist, one swinging an axe overhead and the other swiping low with a sword, shield braced in its other arm.
The axeblade was too large for him to catch it haft to haft, and the shaft of the spear unclad wood. Aden backpedaled, nearly slipping on the wet leaves, and the sword fighter followed, quicker than the one with the axe.
Between the two of them the ixali pushed him back to where he’d started, though neither managed to land a blow. With the two of them alternating attacks he had no room or time to retaliate. They backed him into a tree, and the axe fighter came in hard.
Aden ducked, darted away from the sword fighter, and the axe bit hard into the great old tree. The ixali only pulled once before letting go, but it was long enough for Aden to jab the spear up from his crouch. Another arrow scored a line across his back mid-thrust, but didn’t bite deep enough to stop him. The axe fighter turned from the blow, but only presented his front and backed into the sword fighter behind him. So rather than merely wounding Aden’s strike went up beneath the ribs, hit something vital, and he had to pull hard to get the spear back while the sword fighter tried to deal with the suddenly flailing axe fighter falling against it
He turned to run again, and the next arrow caught him in the shoulder. Aden swallowed a cry, and looked up–he saw only mist, but he had a good lead on the archer’s position now. He bolted, and when a tree loomed out of the mist and another arrow thudded behind him he jabbed the butt of the spear into the ground to vault up to the first branch, began climbing one-handed.
The archer panicked, loosed another arrow but it went wild. And then the archer tried to climb away, but the awkward scramble of grasping talons on wood couldn’t outpace Aden in a chase. He couldn’t use the spear up here, and couldn’t risk the archer gaining distance again, so when Aden pounced he rolled both of them out of the tree. The archer lost its bow, string snagged on the tree, but still held an arrow in hand and jabbed it into Aden’s side mid-air. Aden’s grip only tightened, and they went crashing archer-first through an old, rotten branch and into the leaf litter. It winded the archer, and Aden stood and finished it the way he’d finished the lancer, a quick, clean thrust through the throat.
A shield slammed into him and bore him up off the ground. The impact drove the arrow in his side in further, snapped off the shaft, and he couldn’t hold back a cry this time. The sword fighter, smeared in its companion’s blood. Finally it crushed him against the tree, and between the air forced from his lungs and his head slamming against the wood Aden fell into darkness.
Eta and Ves had a comfortable routine by now on patrols, and when they bedded down for the night in a cliff overhang Eta put the fire down to coals, settled up against the cliff face with her bow across her lap. Ves crawled into his bed roll, savored the fact that it was dry inside the overhang, stretched out against the day’s aches. They’d seen signs of ixal but hadn’t met them today, perhaps a good sign–if the wave they’d met had merely been driven to take shelter from the storm and not part of a larger group, then perhaps they’d be leaving soon.
Eta shook him awake well before time for his watch. “Hey,†she hissed, “there’s a chocobo wandering out in the wood.â€
“Dellebecque’s missing bird?†He sat up, stretching–if Eta was waking him she meant to try to catch it.
“Maybe.†She rose to a crouch and headed back to the mouth of the overhang. After taking a moment to tug his boots on Ves joined her.
Sure enough he caught a pale flit of feathers in the wood–and something dark, too. “Wait, did he say the bird was saddled?â€
“No, he didn’t.†Ves heard the trepidation creeping into her voice, and she went very still. “Go put your armor on. Get your bow.â€
He did, and they headed out into the wood, got on either side of the chocobo to herd it in toward the camp. It went easily, and in the open space in front of the cliff it stopped, waited for them making soft, distressed noises. Ves went to stir up the fire for light while Eta soothed the bird, and when he returned Eta had tugged an arrow out of the bird’s saddle.
“This is the bird that boy was riding,†she said grimly.
Ves ran his fingers over the split in the saddle, found it didn’t go through and the bird was likely no more than bruised. He drew his fingers back with flecks of dried blood anyway, showed it to Eta.
She looked at him, jaw set, but neither said a word.
They found the ixali camp just as the morning sun finally burned off the mist, leaving patches and wisps of good cover. There weren’t many, maybe eight, with four additional sentries. The sentries went quietly, arrows in throats.
The ixali in the camp did not go quietly. Eta and Ves circled the camp in opposite directions, each loosing only once before moving on. After the first two went down the camp turned into a flurry of motion, warriors taking up arms and ducking for cover. Eta and Ves staggered their shots while moving, trying to make it seem as though there were more of them. An archer loosed return shots, but they whizzed past Eta harmlessly.
Finally the ixali split up, came out into the woods. They’d been waiting for this, and retreated deeper, meeting back up and slipping around behind the group. They picked two more off, already wounded with arrows, and split up again. One of the ixali shouted a challenge, but Eta and Ves simply let them wander in the wood a while.
The archer panicked, bolted, and Eta shot it before it got out of sight from the other two. Seeing this they ran, too.
It did not save them.
Eta and Ves finally emerged from the cover of the wood, checked to make sure the ixali were dead, stood silent for a moment.
“Do you think they’ll have something at the camp?†Ves asked, voice quiet. “Anything we can take back to the farm. Something they can bury.†Remains, but he didn’t hope for it.
“We can look,†Eta said.
So they did, searching through the makeshift shelters–in one Eta found feathers from a chocobo, probably the one the boy had been looking for. By the nature of the shelters and the scant contents Ves decided his guess had been correct, and the ixali hadn’t meant to stay.
“Have you met Nadine or Arild?†Eta asked, fingering one of the feathers she’d grabbed.
Ves shook his head. “Only once, I mostly know them by reputation, though I’ve seen everyone from the farm either at a distance or in town.â€
“I remember when they first bought the old farm–they didn’t raise chocobos at first, of course. They’re both pleasant enough, but Nadine can be frightening. I haven’t spoke to them in a long time but I know they were….†she paused, twirling the feather between her fingers, “fond of their boy.â€
“He’s not really theirs, though, is he?†It was obvious enough–a hyur and an elezen woman did not a miqo’te child make–but he meant something else by the question.
“No. I don’t know the whole of it but I take it he’s the son of someone from their old adventuring group. He came few years after they bought the place, hardly more than a babe.â€
Ves nodded grimly, wondering as they finished sifting through the shelter if the bird had really been worth that much. They stepped out, only two left to go.
The second Ves set foot in the next shelter he shouted, “Eta!†The ixal known to frequent this part of the wood didn’t take prisoners, and yet there was the Dellebecque boy, bloody and hogtied. Ves pulled out a knife and crouched down to start cutting the ropes, then thought to put a hand to boy’s neck feeling for a pulse because that was a lot of blood.
It took a moment, but there it was. Ves cut the ropes while Eta started fumbling around in her pouch for a potion. She got it out just as Ves started easing the boy over onto his back to prop him up. He stopped when she snarled her lip, the boy half on his lap.
“Arrows,†she said, and he looked down–two hafts broken so close his clothing nearly hid them, one in his left side and one in his right shoulder, the shoulder he’d been laying on. The potion would help, but if they used too much digging the arrows out would be even worse. “Should we?â€
“Yes. Aside from that,†Ves nodded down at a shallow stab wound on the boy’s stomach, one where the blood wasn’t as dry as the others, “he’s got a head wound. It’s worth it.â€
Between the two of them they managed to get the potion into him, though it was slow going. Near the end he gave a little gasp of pain, shuddered. Both of them sat very still for a moment, waiting.
He jerked himself out of Ves’ grasp with a sound of panic/pain, lurched forward and scrambled past Eta, much faster than he had any right to be injured or not. They stayed still with hands visible. He got across the shelter, close to the door, before his strength gave out and he collapsed onto his side, facing them, with another soft, pained sound. “You’re not–†he gasped, grit his teeth, “–not ixal.â€
“Well at least he’s not that addled,†Eta said.
“We’re the Quivermen you met the other day,†Ves offered.
He just groaned and pressed his forehead into the swept dirt floor of the shelter.
Eta and Ves glanced at each other once more, spoke in whispers and gestures–Eta was the more experienced fighter, they agreed, so Ves should carry him. So Eta stood and headed outside, and Ves moved over to him, laid a hand as gently as he could on the boy’s arm.
“Hey. We need to get you back to our camp, so I’m going to lift you. It’s going to hurt.â€
“No shit,†he muttered.
Ves wasn’t sure if he should be offended or amused, but he took it as a good sign for whether or not the boy would pull through. “I need you to try to be quiet in case there are more Ixal around. Do you think you can do that?â€
He nodded, rolled over onto his back, screwed his eyes shut, and took a deep breath. But when Ves started to get him off the ground he managed, every sound restrained to his throat or bit back behind clenched teeth.
He was unconscious before they reached the borders of the camp, for which Ves was equal parts grateful and concerned.
Aden woke to more rain, but he was warm and dry–and naked in an unfamiliar bedroll. He startled, sat up–or would have, instead immediately sank back down with a groan of pain. One of the Quivermen appeared hovering over him, and Aden squinted, trying to remember if they’d given him names before. No, he decided, so they remained Blondie and Tall. This was Blondie, mouth drawn into a tight line and the corners of his eyes drawn up in concern. Blondie propped him up with one arm and offered a canteen with his other hand, and Aden didn’t protest the help, drank gratefully.
When he finished Blondie laid him back down, said, “We need to get those arrows out before the wounds fester, but I didn’t want to risk you waking and thinking you were under attack. Do you think you’re up to it?â€
“I’d best be,†Aden murmured, voice weaker than he’d like. Blondie stared at him for a moment, eyes searching for something in his face, and Aden looked away. He was grateful for the help, but still sore about how Blondie had talked to him, and bitter that it had turned out true.
Blondie disappeared for a while, and Aden took the time to seek out the wounds he remembered with his good hand. The arrows he avoided, and the back of his head, but everywhere else found neat bandages, including the stab wound he’d earned during an escape attempt–he winced, remembering the ixali wrenching his arms back, nearly out of the sockets, to tie him up after that. They’d never said what they wanted, but Aden supposed he was lucky, all things considered.
He was drifting again when Blondie returned, this time with Tall. “I need you to hold him down,†Blondie said to her. He pulled a kerchief out of somewhere, rolled it up and offered it to Aden. “You’ll want this.â€
Aden didn’t question, just took the kerchief with his good hand and settled the roll between his teeth. He took as deep a breath as he could manage, but his pulse quickened and made him light headed while Blondie rolled back the blankets. He looked straight up at the firelight dancing across stone overhead, static fuzz joining in as he started to hear his own blood pulsing.
“You’ll want that last potion handy, he’s going to lose more blood.†Tall said something in response, but her voice fuzzed out. He felt hands on his skin, fought the urge to squirm away.
Then pain, heightened by the fact that potions had healed the wounds over around the arrowheads, by the fact that he was already muzzy-headed and weak and couldn’t process it right. He screamed behind teeth set against the kerchief, repeated to himself when his body tried to react and hands pressed down against his good shoulder you’re safe you’re safe you’re safe
Aden didn’t remember blacking out, but he supposed that was the nature of it as he fought his way back to wakefulness. It was dim, early morning or late evening, and he already knew better than to try to move this time, vision whiting at the edges when he turned his head. Blondie sat at the mouth of the overhang, dark shapes of the forest past him, staring at the banked embers of the fire, bow balanced across his knees. Aden craned his head, saw a lump in another bedroll he assumed must be Tall.
Blondie finally noticed him moving, came over with the canteen again. This time he didn’t offer to let Aden take it, and Aden didn’t much mind. “Going to stay with us this time?â€
He didn’t remember waking before, so Aden just made a noncommittal noise between sips of water. When he finished Blondie sat there for a moment, just staring again. “What’s your name?â€
“Aden,†came out more of a croak than a word.
“Aden,†Blondie repeated, and something about his tone struck Aden as strange but he couldn’t put his finger on what. “I’m Ves.†He jerked his head towards the other bedroll. “That’s Eta.â€
“Thanks.†Aden meant it for more than just the names, but left it at that. “So the Quiver recruits physickers, too?â€
Ves opened his mouth to reply, but nothing more than a soft, “Ah,†came out. He looked away, assumed a carefully neutral smile. “I started down that path, but things happen. And here I am.â€
“I suppose I’m lucky, then.â€
“Careful is what you should be.†Ves looked back, frowned very faintly, and something about the look reminded Aden of Arild when scolding. “You should’ve stayed with us, and you wouldn’t be in this state.â€
“Excuse me for living, then.†Aden rolled his head to look the other way, and thankfully Ves took that for the dismissal Aden meant.
Aden spent several days in and out, and he didn’t remember making it back home but woke to birdsong out the window and his own bed and Arild sitting in a comfy chair across the room, darning something. “Mam?â€
She dropped her work on the floor and rushed over as Aden pushed himself up, the thick curls of her long salt-and-pepper hair bouncing as she moved. She sat down on the bed next to him, smoothed his now well unruly hair out of his face and kissed his forehead. “Welcome back, dear heart.â€
“Did Senna make it back?â€
“Yes.†The tiny wrinkles at the corners of Arild’s dark eyes crinkled up in a smile. “And she brought Keva with her.â€
Aden elbowed a pillow up behind him, leaned back against it. “Damn bird showing me up.â€
“Aden!†She didn’t lightly slap his arm like usual, and he smiled; he’d take this scolding, because mam had earned the right. “Are you hungry?â€
“Starved.â€
“I’ll bring something up.†She stood, ran a hand across the blanket to smooth a wrinkle. “Nadine will want to talk to you.â€
A few minutes after Arild left he heard Nadine’s heavy tread on the stairs, and he dreaded what might be coming. She wouldn’t punish him for heading out alone just yet, because she was firm, not cruel. There’d be more practice, which he wouldn’t object to; more chores, which he probably already did; but it would be justification to deny the thing he’d been asking for since his last birthday, when he was finally old enough for it.
Nadine was tall, and broad by elezen standards, still heavily muscled from her years adventuring and years on the farm but tempered now by age and a softer life. With her honey brown hair pulled back severely and the sweep of her ears matching the cut of her cheeks, she looked all harshness, metal and stone. She turned a disapproving look on him and his courage wavered.
“You know better,†she said, voice even.
“I do, Ma.â€
She frowned, little more than a twitch of her lips, and Aden ducked his head. “Be earnest with me.â€
He took a deep breath, focused on the plaid of the blanket rather than his disapproving ma. “I know how much Keva is worth. I thought if he were only a day or two out, I’d bring him in easy. He likes me.â€
She let a little silence hang, which plucked at Aden’s nerves, then, “The Quivermen warned you.â€
“They were right arseholes when they did.â€
He thought that might make her smile, but if it did he couldn’t hear it in her voice. “Keva isn’t worth you, Aden.â€
“I know, Ma.â€
She walked over to the bed, sat down and took up his hand. Aden released a breath, and something else he hadn’t realized he’d been holding the entire time. With Nadine he was well and truly safe, and everything over. She stayed until Arild brought food up, gave her son a kiss on the forehead and her love a courtly kiss on the hand, and went back downstairs to deal with the barn.
But it wasn’t over. Aden watched from his window a couple of days later as the Quivermen stopped by, met Nadine at the fence and talked for a long time. She eventually turned and shouted back towards the house, and Arild joined her, wiping her hands on her skirt as she walked. They were out there nearly two hours chatting with Eta and Ves.
Even after the Quivermen left Nadine and Arild stayed out, talking about something rather animatedly. After a few minutes Aden decided it was an argument and went back to the book on his lap, an old and much-loved travelogue. It was the kind of book that put ideas and aspirations in a young child’s head, and he read it somewhat bitterly now–those aspirations had never died in him, but now they slipped further and further from his grasp.
He heard boots on the stairs, and put his book aside when Nadine knocked. “Yeah?â€
She opened the door, leaned against the jamb with a hard set to her jaw, a fire in her eyes that frightened Aden just a little. “The Quivermen who rescued you stopped by.â€
“And?â€
“They found the ixal you killed.â€
Aden’s hands fisted into the blanket, and he looked out the window.
“They told me you weren’t armed when you left.â€
“No.†He grit his teeth, uncertain where this was going. He hadn’t mentioned the fight, because it was better if his mothers thought he’d been captured helplessly or while fleeing than hearing he’d rushed headlong into danger and failed when confronted with it for the first time.
“They told me it looked like you tore a spear from one of them and killed him with it.â€
“I did.†His throat grew tight, and just the memory of the fight quickened his pulse. She'd taught him how to disarm someone, but he didn't dare snap that she held any fault for that.
“And an axe stuck in one of the trees.â€
“Yes.†The adrenaline returned in some measure, both at the memory of the threat and Nadine’s firm tone. He wasn’t prepared to justify himself and didn’t intend to.
He heard her shift away from the doorjamb, boots clicking against hardwood. “And then they told me it looked like you leapt into a tree to throw an archer down out of it.â€
“I did.â€
“There was blood on the tree limbs.†Aden cringed, thinking it an accusation. “After he had shot you?â€
“Yes, in the shoulder.â€
“You let him get distance on you again?â€
Ah, now this made a little more sense, but that didn’t help his nerves. “No, I used him to break my fall.â€
Nadine laughed, full throated and hearty, and Aden looked up, startled. She laughed so long she bent over double, hands on her knees, and when she finally recovered straightened up and asked, “How did they stop you?â€
“One shield bashed me as I was finishing the archer. Into a tree. I hit my head.â€
She smiled, something beautifully predatory in it, and Aden found himself responding tentatively.
“I suppose I’ll have reason to write letters to some old friends in Gridania soon. And we’ll want to get you something better than a stolen ixali spear. Something proper.â€
Aden shouted, practically leapt up out of bed, but the cry of victory caught in his much-abused throat and turned into a cough. Nadine laughed again, but this time her smile was all pride.
Anyway, let's get to it....
Rated: M, explicit violence.
Notes: Originally written after playing for three weeks. I'm still gaining a grasp on lore and setting specifics even now, so please keep that in mind.
The storm blew in, full of furious wind and brilliant lightning, while Arild and Nadine were away for the retirement of an old friend. Aden made the call to let the ranch hands stay in the main house that night, and didn’t rest himself through all the noise. In the early morning just as the first suggestion of light kissed the horizon he made his way through the house, padding carefully between mounds of blankets strewn across the first floor, and out to the stables.
For once the chill morning air smelled less like the distinctive bouquet of a chocobo farm, instead ozone and deep forest and split wood–he took a deep breath, grateful. The older he got the more he minded the smell, contrary to the conventional wisdom of everyone he’d ever worked with.
The newly downed branches slipped and snapped underfoot, wet leaves made for awkward footing, and he circled the barn, just able to make out the stark, clean lines of it in the grey pre-dawn. On the far side a limb from a massive tree that stretched a full quarter over the clearing the house and barn were in had fallen, caved in the back corner.
“Shit.†Soft, little more than a breath. The hole was too close to the doors on this side so he went back around, unlatched and rolled open the doors to a dark aisle and that distinct musk he hadn’t missed, soft coos. He pulled down one of the lanterns just inside the door, lit it, and the birds started shifting, feathers rustling. A few came to their stall doors, made quiet, needy noises at him and Aden spared each one who sought it a reassuring stroke. Their birds weren't nervous by nature, but it had been a rough night.
At the end he found what he was looking for: the farthest stall, unoccupied, had been destroyed. He could just see through the branches of the limb to the early morning outside. Aden hung the lantern as close as he could and hopped up at the door of the neighboring stall, looking over for the sleeping bird inside.
An old, dead part of the limb lay amidst the remains of the dividing wall into the next stall. Aside from a few feathers, the bird was absent. “Damn it all!â€
He grabbed the lantern and rushed back out of the barn, looking for any sign of which way the bird had gone, but the rain and wind had removed any trace. Then he went back to the house, roused Ylaine, one of the senior hands, crouched next to her. “Keva’s gone.â€
She stopped rubbing her eyes and sat bolt upright. “Naddy and Ari won’t be back for a good three days, what do we do?â€
“I’m going to take Senna and go look for him.â€
For a second Ylaine stared, almost as if uncomprehending. “You can’t–you know there’s been reports of Ixal around of late.â€
“Someone has to. You can run the farm while–†she opened her mouth to protest, but Aden cut her off before she started, “don’t. Give me that. You’re more than capable. Just because you don’t own the place doesn’t mean anyone is less likely to listen to you. If I’m not back before Ma and Mam, they’ll handle it.â€
She protested no further, and he left to gather a few things while she went to saddle up the bird. As she watched him leave in the first rays of true dawn she didn’t dare say it wasn’t running the farm she was worried about, but what Nadine and Arild would do when they found out she’d let him leave alone.
He’d chosen Senna because she was the most mature bird in the stable, not by age but by behavior. She was even tempered, and if he told her to run home he knew she would. Keva wouldn’t dare be led, too wild a bird for that, but Senna would put up with it when he finally caught Keva.
When, he assured himself as evening fell, not if. He came upon a pair of elezen Gods’ Quiver clearing out debris to set up camp, but enough light remained that Aden felt comfortable keeping on for an hour or so.
He stopped anyway when the woman hailed him from across the clearing, voice bright and airy. “Ho there! Got business out in the wild?â€
The man straightened from tossing aside downed limbs, “Wait, I recognize you. You’re from the Dellebecque farm?â€
“I am.†They stepped closer so as not to be shouting at him, and Aden figured the woman to be a full head and shoulders taller than him if he were on the ground–the man was a more reasonable height. “You haven’t seen a stray bird go past, have you?â€
“Got out in the storm?†the woman asked, and Aden nodded. “Ixal probably got it then, hate to say it. We’ve had two skirmishes with them since daybreak.â€
“You’d best stay with us tonight, and head home in the morning.†The man eyed Aden as he spoke, and Aden knew was looking for a weapon of any sort. “It’s luck you haven’t run into them already. If anything does happen we can protect you.â€
“Thanks.†Somehow Aden managed to bite back the bitter resentment the man’s concern–so obviously more an assessment of ability, nevermind how true–conjured in him. He lifted Senna’s reins, ready to go. “But no thanks. If you know what farm I’m from, you know who my parents are. I can handle myself. What you don’t know is how much that bird is worth.â€
And he was gone, leaving the two Quivermen standing in the clearing. The woman crossed her arms and said, “Mucked that one right up, Ves.â€
He just stood for a moment, staring after Aden, then gestured wildly in that direction with both hands. “Of course I know who his parents are! But what's that got to do with him getting shanked by birdmen?â€
"Ves." She reached out, settled a hand on his shoulder, and Ves half-turned to face his companion. "You can't help someone who doesn't want helping. Let's get back to work."
It rained again that night, and Aden huddled miserably under a tarp strung between three trees, Senna settled down beside him. There was just enough room for both of them–that’s what the tarp was for, after all–and she made soft trilling noises as she dozed. The bird was warm, and soft, and smelled like home, and Aden fell asleep despite his intentions.
By morning the rain gave way to heavy mist, hanging like fog more than falling like rain, and it settled everywhere in spite of the tarp. Too much of this weather would ruin the feed he’d brought for Senna, watertight bag or not, and he grudgingly accepted they had maybe another day out in this before it became an issue.
Around noon the debris grew too heavy for Senna to manage with a rider so he dismounted, led her through the fallen limbs and underbrush. Knowing Keva, the bird would deliberately take the most difficult path so as not to be followed. The mist kept up all day, and around mid-afternoon they came out of the heavy treefall into a clearing. Senna started making soft, distressed noises as they moved, so Aden stopped to soothe her. She went quiet, but quivered as he stroked her neck, and in that silence Aden finally noticed the stillness of the forest, birdsong and vilekin trill absent.
The first arrow skimmed his cheek, opening a deep split, and slammed into Senna’s saddle. Aden ducked reflexively, clicked his tongue twice, and Senna obeyed, dashing off back over the tumble of treefall. He turned to see an ixali coming out of the mist with a spear, already in mid-thrust, too close to simply run.
Aden pivoted on his heel and the spearhead skimmed a finger’s width from his chest. He lunged towards the ixali, grabbed the haft of the spear and wrenched it from his attacker's talons. The ixali squawked loudly, grabbed for the spear again, but Aden continued his forward lunge to throw his weight into the ixali. It staggered back, and Aden stepped back as well, spinning the spear around into the correct grip.
The next arrow only missed because Aden lunged again, drove the tip of the spear into the lancer’s throat. It fell clutching at the wound, trying to squawk and only gurgling weakly as blood welled in.
And then the forest came alive with the squawks and trills of Ixali fighters hidden in the mist. Aden ducked, hunching his shoulders and ears twitching–different instincts than the fighting ones Nadine had spent years drilling into him. He looked much more like a cat crouching to run than someone who had just disarmed and slain a seasoned fighter, and it dawned on him under the noise–he should be running if he had the opportunity.
He started moving, and another arrow nicked the tip of one ear. In the brief melee and the shifting mist he’d lost the path he’d come on, and moved simply away from the noise. Two more ixali emerged from the mist, one swinging an axe overhead and the other swiping low with a sword, shield braced in its other arm.
The axeblade was too large for him to catch it haft to haft, and the shaft of the spear unclad wood. Aden backpedaled, nearly slipping on the wet leaves, and the sword fighter followed, quicker than the one with the axe.
Between the two of them the ixali pushed him back to where he’d started, though neither managed to land a blow. With the two of them alternating attacks he had no room or time to retaliate. They backed him into a tree, and the axe fighter came in hard.
Aden ducked, darted away from the sword fighter, and the axe bit hard into the great old tree. The ixali only pulled once before letting go, but it was long enough for Aden to jab the spear up from his crouch. Another arrow scored a line across his back mid-thrust, but didn’t bite deep enough to stop him. The axe fighter turned from the blow, but only presented his front and backed into the sword fighter behind him. So rather than merely wounding Aden’s strike went up beneath the ribs, hit something vital, and he had to pull hard to get the spear back while the sword fighter tried to deal with the suddenly flailing axe fighter falling against it
He turned to run again, and the next arrow caught him in the shoulder. Aden swallowed a cry, and looked up–he saw only mist, but he had a good lead on the archer’s position now. He bolted, and when a tree loomed out of the mist and another arrow thudded behind him he jabbed the butt of the spear into the ground to vault up to the first branch, began climbing one-handed.
The archer panicked, loosed another arrow but it went wild. And then the archer tried to climb away, but the awkward scramble of grasping talons on wood couldn’t outpace Aden in a chase. He couldn’t use the spear up here, and couldn’t risk the archer gaining distance again, so when Aden pounced he rolled both of them out of the tree. The archer lost its bow, string snagged on the tree, but still held an arrow in hand and jabbed it into Aden’s side mid-air. Aden’s grip only tightened, and they went crashing archer-first through an old, rotten branch and into the leaf litter. It winded the archer, and Aden stood and finished it the way he’d finished the lancer, a quick, clean thrust through the throat.
A shield slammed into him and bore him up off the ground. The impact drove the arrow in his side in further, snapped off the shaft, and he couldn’t hold back a cry this time. The sword fighter, smeared in its companion’s blood. Finally it crushed him against the tree, and between the air forced from his lungs and his head slamming against the wood Aden fell into darkness.
Eta and Ves had a comfortable routine by now on patrols, and when they bedded down for the night in a cliff overhang Eta put the fire down to coals, settled up against the cliff face with her bow across her lap. Ves crawled into his bed roll, savored the fact that it was dry inside the overhang, stretched out against the day’s aches. They’d seen signs of ixal but hadn’t met them today, perhaps a good sign–if the wave they’d met had merely been driven to take shelter from the storm and not part of a larger group, then perhaps they’d be leaving soon.
Eta shook him awake well before time for his watch. “Hey,†she hissed, “there’s a chocobo wandering out in the wood.â€
“Dellebecque’s missing bird?†He sat up, stretching–if Eta was waking him she meant to try to catch it.
“Maybe.†She rose to a crouch and headed back to the mouth of the overhang. After taking a moment to tug his boots on Ves joined her.
Sure enough he caught a pale flit of feathers in the wood–and something dark, too. “Wait, did he say the bird was saddled?â€
“No, he didn’t.†Ves heard the trepidation creeping into her voice, and she went very still. “Go put your armor on. Get your bow.â€
He did, and they headed out into the wood, got on either side of the chocobo to herd it in toward the camp. It went easily, and in the open space in front of the cliff it stopped, waited for them making soft, distressed noises. Ves went to stir up the fire for light while Eta soothed the bird, and when he returned Eta had tugged an arrow out of the bird’s saddle.
“This is the bird that boy was riding,†she said grimly.
Ves ran his fingers over the split in the saddle, found it didn’t go through and the bird was likely no more than bruised. He drew his fingers back with flecks of dried blood anyway, showed it to Eta.
She looked at him, jaw set, but neither said a word.
They found the ixali camp just as the morning sun finally burned off the mist, leaving patches and wisps of good cover. There weren’t many, maybe eight, with four additional sentries. The sentries went quietly, arrows in throats.
The ixali in the camp did not go quietly. Eta and Ves circled the camp in opposite directions, each loosing only once before moving on. After the first two went down the camp turned into a flurry of motion, warriors taking up arms and ducking for cover. Eta and Ves staggered their shots while moving, trying to make it seem as though there were more of them. An archer loosed return shots, but they whizzed past Eta harmlessly.
Finally the ixali split up, came out into the woods. They’d been waiting for this, and retreated deeper, meeting back up and slipping around behind the group. They picked two more off, already wounded with arrows, and split up again. One of the ixali shouted a challenge, but Eta and Ves simply let them wander in the wood a while.
The archer panicked, bolted, and Eta shot it before it got out of sight from the other two. Seeing this they ran, too.
It did not save them.
Eta and Ves finally emerged from the cover of the wood, checked to make sure the ixali were dead, stood silent for a moment.
“Do you think they’ll have something at the camp?†Ves asked, voice quiet. “Anything we can take back to the farm. Something they can bury.†Remains, but he didn’t hope for it.
“We can look,†Eta said.
So they did, searching through the makeshift shelters–in one Eta found feathers from a chocobo, probably the one the boy had been looking for. By the nature of the shelters and the scant contents Ves decided his guess had been correct, and the ixali hadn’t meant to stay.
“Have you met Nadine or Arild?†Eta asked, fingering one of the feathers she’d grabbed.
Ves shook his head. “Only once, I mostly know them by reputation, though I’ve seen everyone from the farm either at a distance or in town.â€
“I remember when they first bought the old farm–they didn’t raise chocobos at first, of course. They’re both pleasant enough, but Nadine can be frightening. I haven’t spoke to them in a long time but I know they were….†she paused, twirling the feather between her fingers, “fond of their boy.â€
“He’s not really theirs, though, is he?†It was obvious enough–a hyur and an elezen woman did not a miqo’te child make–but he meant something else by the question.
“No. I don’t know the whole of it but I take it he’s the son of someone from their old adventuring group. He came few years after they bought the place, hardly more than a babe.â€
Ves nodded grimly, wondering as they finished sifting through the shelter if the bird had really been worth that much. They stepped out, only two left to go.
The second Ves set foot in the next shelter he shouted, “Eta!†The ixal known to frequent this part of the wood didn’t take prisoners, and yet there was the Dellebecque boy, bloody and hogtied. Ves pulled out a knife and crouched down to start cutting the ropes, then thought to put a hand to boy’s neck feeling for a pulse because that was a lot of blood.
It took a moment, but there it was. Ves cut the ropes while Eta started fumbling around in her pouch for a potion. She got it out just as Ves started easing the boy over onto his back to prop him up. He stopped when she snarled her lip, the boy half on his lap.
“Arrows,†she said, and he looked down–two hafts broken so close his clothing nearly hid them, one in his left side and one in his right shoulder, the shoulder he’d been laying on. The potion would help, but if they used too much digging the arrows out would be even worse. “Should we?â€
“Yes. Aside from that,†Ves nodded down at a shallow stab wound on the boy’s stomach, one where the blood wasn’t as dry as the others, “he’s got a head wound. It’s worth it.â€
Between the two of them they managed to get the potion into him, though it was slow going. Near the end he gave a little gasp of pain, shuddered. Both of them sat very still for a moment, waiting.
He jerked himself out of Ves’ grasp with a sound of panic/pain, lurched forward and scrambled past Eta, much faster than he had any right to be injured or not. They stayed still with hands visible. He got across the shelter, close to the door, before his strength gave out and he collapsed onto his side, facing them, with another soft, pained sound. “You’re not–†he gasped, grit his teeth, “–not ixal.â€
“Well at least he’s not that addled,†Eta said.
“We’re the Quivermen you met the other day,†Ves offered.
He just groaned and pressed his forehead into the swept dirt floor of the shelter.
Eta and Ves glanced at each other once more, spoke in whispers and gestures–Eta was the more experienced fighter, they agreed, so Ves should carry him. So Eta stood and headed outside, and Ves moved over to him, laid a hand as gently as he could on the boy’s arm.
“Hey. We need to get you back to our camp, so I’m going to lift you. It’s going to hurt.â€
“No shit,†he muttered.
Ves wasn’t sure if he should be offended or amused, but he took it as a good sign for whether or not the boy would pull through. “I need you to try to be quiet in case there are more Ixal around. Do you think you can do that?â€
He nodded, rolled over onto his back, screwed his eyes shut, and took a deep breath. But when Ves started to get him off the ground he managed, every sound restrained to his throat or bit back behind clenched teeth.
He was unconscious before they reached the borders of the camp, for which Ves was equal parts grateful and concerned.
Aden woke to more rain, but he was warm and dry–and naked in an unfamiliar bedroll. He startled, sat up–or would have, instead immediately sank back down with a groan of pain. One of the Quivermen appeared hovering over him, and Aden squinted, trying to remember if they’d given him names before. No, he decided, so they remained Blondie and Tall. This was Blondie, mouth drawn into a tight line and the corners of his eyes drawn up in concern. Blondie propped him up with one arm and offered a canteen with his other hand, and Aden didn’t protest the help, drank gratefully.
When he finished Blondie laid him back down, said, “We need to get those arrows out before the wounds fester, but I didn’t want to risk you waking and thinking you were under attack. Do you think you’re up to it?â€
“I’d best be,†Aden murmured, voice weaker than he’d like. Blondie stared at him for a moment, eyes searching for something in his face, and Aden looked away. He was grateful for the help, but still sore about how Blondie had talked to him, and bitter that it had turned out true.
Blondie disappeared for a while, and Aden took the time to seek out the wounds he remembered with his good hand. The arrows he avoided, and the back of his head, but everywhere else found neat bandages, including the stab wound he’d earned during an escape attempt–he winced, remembering the ixali wrenching his arms back, nearly out of the sockets, to tie him up after that. They’d never said what they wanted, but Aden supposed he was lucky, all things considered.
He was drifting again when Blondie returned, this time with Tall. “I need you to hold him down,†Blondie said to her. He pulled a kerchief out of somewhere, rolled it up and offered it to Aden. “You’ll want this.â€
Aden didn’t question, just took the kerchief with his good hand and settled the roll between his teeth. He took as deep a breath as he could manage, but his pulse quickened and made him light headed while Blondie rolled back the blankets. He looked straight up at the firelight dancing across stone overhead, static fuzz joining in as he started to hear his own blood pulsing.
“You’ll want that last potion handy, he’s going to lose more blood.†Tall said something in response, but her voice fuzzed out. He felt hands on his skin, fought the urge to squirm away.
Then pain, heightened by the fact that potions had healed the wounds over around the arrowheads, by the fact that he was already muzzy-headed and weak and couldn’t process it right. He screamed behind teeth set against the kerchief, repeated to himself when his body tried to react and hands pressed down against his good shoulder you’re safe you’re safe you’re safe
Aden didn’t remember blacking out, but he supposed that was the nature of it as he fought his way back to wakefulness. It was dim, early morning or late evening, and he already knew better than to try to move this time, vision whiting at the edges when he turned his head. Blondie sat at the mouth of the overhang, dark shapes of the forest past him, staring at the banked embers of the fire, bow balanced across his knees. Aden craned his head, saw a lump in another bedroll he assumed must be Tall.
Blondie finally noticed him moving, came over with the canteen again. This time he didn’t offer to let Aden take it, and Aden didn’t much mind. “Going to stay with us this time?â€
He didn’t remember waking before, so Aden just made a noncommittal noise between sips of water. When he finished Blondie sat there for a moment, just staring again. “What’s your name?â€
“Aden,†came out more of a croak than a word.
“Aden,†Blondie repeated, and something about his tone struck Aden as strange but he couldn’t put his finger on what. “I’m Ves.†He jerked his head towards the other bedroll. “That’s Eta.â€
“Thanks.†Aden meant it for more than just the names, but left it at that. “So the Quiver recruits physickers, too?â€
Ves opened his mouth to reply, but nothing more than a soft, “Ah,†came out. He looked away, assumed a carefully neutral smile. “I started down that path, but things happen. And here I am.â€
“I suppose I’m lucky, then.â€
“Careful is what you should be.†Ves looked back, frowned very faintly, and something about the look reminded Aden of Arild when scolding. “You should’ve stayed with us, and you wouldn’t be in this state.â€
“Excuse me for living, then.†Aden rolled his head to look the other way, and thankfully Ves took that for the dismissal Aden meant.
Aden spent several days in and out, and he didn’t remember making it back home but woke to birdsong out the window and his own bed and Arild sitting in a comfy chair across the room, darning something. “Mam?â€
She dropped her work on the floor and rushed over as Aden pushed himself up, the thick curls of her long salt-and-pepper hair bouncing as she moved. She sat down on the bed next to him, smoothed his now well unruly hair out of his face and kissed his forehead. “Welcome back, dear heart.â€
“Did Senna make it back?â€
“Yes.†The tiny wrinkles at the corners of Arild’s dark eyes crinkled up in a smile. “And she brought Keva with her.â€
Aden elbowed a pillow up behind him, leaned back against it. “Damn bird showing me up.â€
“Aden!†She didn’t lightly slap his arm like usual, and he smiled; he’d take this scolding, because mam had earned the right. “Are you hungry?â€
“Starved.â€
“I’ll bring something up.†She stood, ran a hand across the blanket to smooth a wrinkle. “Nadine will want to talk to you.â€
A few minutes after Arild left he heard Nadine’s heavy tread on the stairs, and he dreaded what might be coming. She wouldn’t punish him for heading out alone just yet, because she was firm, not cruel. There’d be more practice, which he wouldn’t object to; more chores, which he probably already did; but it would be justification to deny the thing he’d been asking for since his last birthday, when he was finally old enough for it.
Nadine was tall, and broad by elezen standards, still heavily muscled from her years adventuring and years on the farm but tempered now by age and a softer life. With her honey brown hair pulled back severely and the sweep of her ears matching the cut of her cheeks, she looked all harshness, metal and stone. She turned a disapproving look on him and his courage wavered.
“You know better,†she said, voice even.
“I do, Ma.â€
She frowned, little more than a twitch of her lips, and Aden ducked his head. “Be earnest with me.â€
He took a deep breath, focused on the plaid of the blanket rather than his disapproving ma. “I know how much Keva is worth. I thought if he were only a day or two out, I’d bring him in easy. He likes me.â€
She let a little silence hang, which plucked at Aden’s nerves, then, “The Quivermen warned you.â€
“They were right arseholes when they did.â€
He thought that might make her smile, but if it did he couldn’t hear it in her voice. “Keva isn’t worth you, Aden.â€
“I know, Ma.â€
She walked over to the bed, sat down and took up his hand. Aden released a breath, and something else he hadn’t realized he’d been holding the entire time. With Nadine he was well and truly safe, and everything over. She stayed until Arild brought food up, gave her son a kiss on the forehead and her love a courtly kiss on the hand, and went back downstairs to deal with the barn.
But it wasn’t over. Aden watched from his window a couple of days later as the Quivermen stopped by, met Nadine at the fence and talked for a long time. She eventually turned and shouted back towards the house, and Arild joined her, wiping her hands on her skirt as she walked. They were out there nearly two hours chatting with Eta and Ves.
Even after the Quivermen left Nadine and Arild stayed out, talking about something rather animatedly. After a few minutes Aden decided it was an argument and went back to the book on his lap, an old and much-loved travelogue. It was the kind of book that put ideas and aspirations in a young child’s head, and he read it somewhat bitterly now–those aspirations had never died in him, but now they slipped further and further from his grasp.
He heard boots on the stairs, and put his book aside when Nadine knocked. “Yeah?â€
She opened the door, leaned against the jamb with a hard set to her jaw, a fire in her eyes that frightened Aden just a little. “The Quivermen who rescued you stopped by.â€
“And?â€
“They found the ixal you killed.â€
Aden’s hands fisted into the blanket, and he looked out the window.
“They told me you weren’t armed when you left.â€
“No.†He grit his teeth, uncertain where this was going. He hadn’t mentioned the fight, because it was better if his mothers thought he’d been captured helplessly or while fleeing than hearing he’d rushed headlong into danger and failed when confronted with it for the first time.
“They told me it looked like you tore a spear from one of them and killed him with it.â€
“I did.†His throat grew tight, and just the memory of the fight quickened his pulse. She'd taught him how to disarm someone, but he didn't dare snap that she held any fault for that.
“And an axe stuck in one of the trees.â€
“Yes.†The adrenaline returned in some measure, both at the memory of the threat and Nadine’s firm tone. He wasn’t prepared to justify himself and didn’t intend to.
He heard her shift away from the doorjamb, boots clicking against hardwood. “And then they told me it looked like you leapt into a tree to throw an archer down out of it.â€
“I did.â€
“There was blood on the tree limbs.†Aden cringed, thinking it an accusation. “After he had shot you?â€
“Yes, in the shoulder.â€
“You let him get distance on you again?â€
Ah, now this made a little more sense, but that didn’t help his nerves. “No, I used him to break my fall.â€
Nadine laughed, full throated and hearty, and Aden looked up, startled. She laughed so long she bent over double, hands on her knees, and when she finally recovered straightened up and asked, “How did they stop you?â€
“One shield bashed me as I was finishing the archer. Into a tree. I hit my head.â€
She smiled, something beautifully predatory in it, and Aden found himself responding tentatively.
“I suppose I’ll have reason to write letters to some old friends in Gridania soon. And we’ll want to get you something better than a stolen ixali spear. Something proper.â€
Aden shouted, practically leapt up out of bed, but the cry of victory caught in his much-abused throat and turned into a cough. Nadine laughed again, but this time her smile was all pride.
 Sylastair Wolfhart Wiki