A figure staggered into the night.
She should have known better. The letters were suspicious from the start, reeking of conspiracy. That she would be met with silence in return for her inquiries was even more suspicious, and that same suspicion was only punctuated by two final words: Thal's Respite. Had they not come from Ser Crofte, she might not have chosen to show up at all.
She should have known. She should have known.
It took everything to keep as silent as she edged out of the cavern that housed the shrine and hobbled alongside the cliff face. Her right leg had been rendered near useless courtesy of Shaelen's damned gunblade and the rest of her was racked in pain as well. "You didn't make it easy for him," the smuggler said. "It was hard. Painful. Painstakingly long."
"You deserve the same."
Yet again Delial had allowed herself to be caught off guard and she paid the price for it. Yet again it was Wolfsong who spared her from certain death. The scenario rewound itself in her head over and over as she picked out every mistake, dwelled on every blow and kick, and every drop of her blood. Yet with every turn of her thoughts, it always came back to Wolfsong.
She grit her teeth and told it herself it was because of her leg. Her footing swayed and she blamed the blood loss. He had stood between her and those who would have her head for so long, so long she could hardly believe him herself. Ever since she joined the hunt for Itarliht, she had returned the favor: blood for blood, life for life, her knight for his sister, her loyalty for his forgiveness, her love--
Something twisted and she could not tell what for the all the ache that was her body. Her limping gait reeled abruptly and she buckled, tumbled onto her hands and knees and into the blinding shock of pain. Wolfsong pushed a small medical kit into her hands and it had helped with the bleeding, but she was still so very tired. The ground swam before her eye and every prick of stone burned like hot needles in her palms.
"Bleed out or nae... I don' care anymore."
"I did not want this," Delial blurted stupidly, desperately, staring at Gharen's back as he walked away. "I only wanted to see you safe. Your sister... and you."
"Ye could have fooled me lass, but I suppose tha's what yer best at."
As the black started to cloud her eye she thought bitterly that she should have known. It did not matter. What she wanted stopped mattering years and years ago. It washed over her, a swell of rage so overwhelming that she did not feel herself succumbing to unconsciousness. Nor could she tell, in those last bleary moments, what exactly it was that enraged her so.
She should have known better. The letters were suspicious from the start, reeking of conspiracy. That she would be met with silence in return for her inquiries was even more suspicious, and that same suspicion was only punctuated by two final words: Thal's Respite. Had they not come from Ser Crofte, she might not have chosen to show up at all.
She should have known. She should have known.
It took everything to keep as silent as she edged out of the cavern that housed the shrine and hobbled alongside the cliff face. Her right leg had been rendered near useless courtesy of Shaelen's damned gunblade and the rest of her was racked in pain as well. "You didn't make it easy for him," the smuggler said. "It was hard. Painful. Painstakingly long."
"You deserve the same."
Yet again Delial had allowed herself to be caught off guard and she paid the price for it. Yet again it was Wolfsong who spared her from certain death. The scenario rewound itself in her head over and over as she picked out every mistake, dwelled on every blow and kick, and every drop of her blood. Yet with every turn of her thoughts, it always came back to Wolfsong.
She grit her teeth and told it herself it was because of her leg. Her footing swayed and she blamed the blood loss. He had stood between her and those who would have her head for so long, so long she could hardly believe him herself. Ever since she joined the hunt for Itarliht, she had returned the favor: blood for blood, life for life, her knight for his sister, her loyalty for his forgiveness, her love--
Something twisted and she could not tell what for the all the ache that was her body. Her limping gait reeled abruptly and she buckled, tumbled onto her hands and knees and into the blinding shock of pain. Wolfsong pushed a small medical kit into her hands and it had helped with the bleeding, but she was still so very tired. The ground swam before her eye and every prick of stone burned like hot needles in her palms.
"Bleed out or nae... I don' care anymore."
"I did not want this," Delial blurted stupidly, desperately, staring at Gharen's back as he walked away. "I only wanted to see you safe. Your sister... and you."
"Ye could have fooled me lass, but I suppose tha's what yer best at."
As the black started to cloud her eye she thought bitterly that she should have known. It did not matter. What she wanted stopped mattering years and years ago. It washed over her, a swell of rage so overwhelming that she did not feel herself succumbing to unconsciousness. Nor could she tell, in those last bleary moments, what exactly it was that enraged her so.
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