"Oy, aye, many thanks, Althulf!" The towering, rusty-haired man raised his hand and gave a parting wave, before lowering it quickly to help support the bundle of parcels tucked beneath his arm. He'd have to clean his boots well tonight, in preparation for the next and final leg of their journey. Spring was bearing down quickly over these southern lands, and the snows in the higher hills were melting, sending misty clouds and thick dew into the lower plains, and turning the streets of Stangard into highways of gravelly mud. The tall man didn't seem to mind for the moment, however, as he strode along towards the tavern, humming in a deep bass tone.
He kicked off as much of the muck as he could before stepping inside and calling out a friendly greeting to the barkeep. He was eager to show his wares to his traveling companion. Eager for her to see how well and how thoughtfully he'd prepared, buying a few things that were not quite necessary, but that might bring a smile to her pale, shadowed face. Perhaps a smile was too much to hope for still, but he would try. She seemed a little better, after all. She was speaking again, at least, a few words here and there. He approached the door of their shared room, straightening his spine, readying some cheery words. But as his hand reached for the latch, he paused, for a sound was coming from within that froze him on the spot.
A gentle voice was speaking. No, it wasn't "speaking", really. It was moaning. A deep, guttural sound that made the hairs on his arms stand up. She was calling out a name. Over and over again, in a voice that wasn't quite weeping, but a sort of awful begging, like one on the verge of death who can only think of pleading for their life. He stood there, unable to move, desperately wishing he wasn't hearing this, that he could stop it, but the poignant intimacy of what was happening in the room was like a stone wall. How was one to break through it?
A few more seconds passed, and he could take no more of it. He drew a quick breath and turned the latch, opening the door. Not knowing what he would find, nor what he would or should say, he moved into the room quietly, even as his eyes took in the scene. Predictably, she had gone silent, the moment the door opened, but he could see now that she was clutching her cloak. It was pressed to her breast as if it were a living thing, and her face had been buried in it, though she was now already turning away, silencing herself, a hand moving to cover her mouth. As if embarrassed.
The man's heart wrenched painfully in his chest. He stepped over to the small table in the corner and deposited his parcels, then walked over to the bed where she sat, now curled up towards the wall. Hiding.
He sat down beside her, the bed complaining loudly beneath his weight. One hand moved, slowly and carefully, to grip her far shoulder. She resisted the pull weakly and briefly, for he did not relent, but gently dragged her from her hiding place and turned her towards him. His other hand moved around her opposite shoulder, and she was pulled against his broad chest. Her hands refused to release the cloak, and she gave no response other than to sag against him, though once his arms moved fully about her, she surrendered and began to sob. He could feel her bones through her tunic as she shuddered and quaked. He thought she'd been eating better, but...
"All right, lass," he murmured gently, resting his chin on her flaxen hair. "All right."
The decision was made. They would not be leaving just yet. She needed more time, more rest, more food, more...more what? What could he possibly offer to help her through this nightmare? He kept her safe on the road. He offered meals and conversation and a place to sleep. But against this dark beast that sought to consume her from the inside, he was helpless. And the realization of this filled him with a quiet rage.
But for now, he swallowed it down, though his thick arms trembled with the sudden rush of indignation and frustration. She did not need a wrathful monster, railing against the world and its cruel fate on her behalf. She needed solace, and solace he would offer.
The sun sank slowly over the western hills. The room grew dark. He rocked her softly, like a child. At long length, she fell asleep against him. He gently pried the green cloak from her hands and laid it nearby, then shifted them both back against the wall. His green eyes stared ahead into the darkening shadows as night fell.
