Chapter Text
The mountain path narrowed sharply as it wove along the cliff that edged the deep forest. In the light of the full moon, Sir Adya stumbled to the side, gripping at the rocks to avoid slipping. Her side burned white-hot, but she had no time to stop, the crimson guard was in pursuit. They hadn’t traveled this far into King Ridley’s kingdom in years, but they were clearly after something that wasn’t just her.
An arrow struck the rock next to her with a sharp crack, she had paused for too long, she needed to make it back home to the King. Her breaths came out in sharp gasps as she maneuvered along the path, one hand pressed hard to the wound below her ribs the other clutching the hilt of her sword.
Footsteps approached too close and she pivoted to hold her ground, her sword Starfall clutched in her hand. It flashed bright in the moonlight.
“You should have stayed away from the forest, knight,” the commander of the guard spat out, her crimson cloak snapping in the wind.
Adya tried to stand firm, but her sword shook in her hand, blood dripping down, warm beneath her thick leather coat. Her strength was failing her.
“This is King Ridley’s land.”
“Not anymore. Yield.”
Adya tightened her grip on Starfall instead. She swung down hard, catching the commander's sword, nicking her arm in the process.
Another arrow swooshed next to Adya’s head. She twisted instinctively. Her boot slipped on loose gravel. For one terrible second she felt nothing beneath her feet at all.
The world became a disorienting blur, branches whipping across her face, glimpses of the night sky, the moon seeming to watch her… She landed with a crack and darkness surged up to meet her.
Pain returned slowly, distant as if her body belonged to something buried beneath mud and stone. Heaviness pressing down on her. She tried to breath and nearly choked at first, cold earth and wet leaves pressed against her cheek and mouth. The taste of blood lingered on her tongue.
Above her, somewhere far away now, voices echoed along the cliffs. “Find her!” Another voice answered, but the words were carried away by the wind.
She tried to sit up, but agony tore through her side immediately. She managed to turn her torso slightly, mouth finally free of dirt and leaves. A broken sound escaped her throat as her leg shifted unnaturally.
The forest loomed dark around her, impossibly tall. Branches swayed overhead even though it was still on the forest floor. The sound of movement around her faded and then, as her body finally stilled, the forest seemed to fall impossibly silent as well. The last thing Adya saw was the moon bright overhead, seeming to watch her.
---
The forest had fallen quiet. Z’ymira knew the sounds of the forest and this was wrong. Not the clean hush of snowfall or the growing silence of dusk as the birds sang their last songs. It was the kind of silence that settled as the prey retreated before predators struck.
She moved soundlessly through the trees, carrying herself like someone entirely unafraid of the dark, her dark green cloak blending into the dark of the night, scale mail glinting faintly beneath the fabric, her bow already in her hand. A while back she had found a Crimson Guard dead along a trail, but there was movement ahead. At the base of the cliff a sword glinting in the moonlight. She looked up. Something had crashed through the trees, branches cracked and broken.
Finally Z’ymira saw her, midnight blue leather blending into the dark forest floor. She held her bow steady at first. The body was crumpled, still among the roots of the tree. No threat. She crouched down. The knight looked barely alive. Z’ymira grabbed her chin and turned her to face her, the knight didn’t respond. Not a Crimson Guard, but still unwelcome in the forest.
As the knight’s face turned a dark streak of blood was visible dripping down across her forehead, matting down her short hair.
Lower down, a deep cut split through the leather at her side, the edges wet and glistening black with blood in the night.
Her leg looked worse. Bent unnaturally beneath her, the shape was wrong even before Z’ymira pressed fingers along the fracture and bone shifted beneath the swollen flesh. The knight didn’t flinch at the pressure.
Z'ymira stood up and turned to move. It was a waste, but this knight was probably the one that brought the Crimson Guard here. A clean death beneath the trees was at least better than rotting in the prison cells of the Crimson Guard. She would leave her.
As she turned to leave she couldn’t help but look back for one last look. The knight’s face was half-turned in the leaf litter, blood dark against pale skin, breath shallow.
Z’ymira looked away, the decision taking more effort than it should have. As she did, a breeze moved through the forest. She took another tentative step away when out of nowhere trunks creaked as they swayed and the leaves of the trees began to rustle. The life in the forest sounded again, crickets, the hoot of an owl, the movement of small mammals through the leaf litter. The forest was suddenly alive.
She exhaled softly through her nose. “Fine,” she muttered as she turned back to the unconscious woman. “You are fortunate that the forest is kinder than I am.”
With little effort she lifted the unconscious knight into her arms. She looked back, gleaming in the moonlight was the sword. She bent down and grabbed that as well before turning to leave.
---
Rain began to fall as she brought the knight into her hut. Z’ymira placed the knight down on the table. She wrestled off the knight's heavy jacket, dropping it onto the floor. The wound looked worse in even the dim candlelight of the hut. The stark white undershirt was painted red at the side, she pulled it up to reveal a deep wound, the edges angry and red. She grabbed a bowl of water that glimmered faintly, ripples of candlelight reflecting against the surface.
Spring water from the forest’s heart. She brushed the cool water carefully across the stab wound, cleaning it the best she could even as fresh blood still rose. But the reaction was immediate: the redness of the wound eased subtly beneath the touch of the forest water. It would need to be bandaged.
She moved over to the counter, pulling down fresh herbs and grinding them into a poultice that she pressed into the wound. She took a strip of cloth and bound it tightly.
She moved to the knight’s forehead, the skin warm with fever. She dabbed away the blood marring her face. The cut would heal, but the spring water seemed to ease her fevered breathing slightly. Not healed, never instantly. But it was alive in a way ordinary water wasn’t.
She wet the cloth again, laying across the knight’s burning forehead. “You are fortunate,” she said softly. Fortunate for surviving. Fortunate for being found. Fortunate that the forest was more forgiving than she was.
She moved to the leg which was already badly swollen. She would need to remove the knight's pants. It felt rather familiar, but she saw no other option to really assess the injury. Carefully she moved to remove the boot of the unbroken leg before turning to address the broken one—
---
—Adya jerked awake with a broken gasp, every nerve screaming at once. Candlelight flickered off the strange wooden ceiling, the room filled with the smell of herbs and damp earth. She was
not at the pass in the mountain. Certainly not with the Guard.
She tried to sit up. Pain hit her instantly, agony exploding through her leg. A hand shoved firmly against her shoulder. “Do not.”
Adya reached blindly for her weapon before finding herself stripped of anything threatening. Her jacket was even gone. Her vision started to clear. “Where am I?”
“You fell.” The woman bending over her was dressed in a dark tunic, dark hair in braids hanging over a shoulder. Not Crimson Guard.
Adya’s breathing still came too fast. “Who are you?”
“Z’ymira.” The name meant nothing through the haze of pain. “Knight-” she began.
“Adya,” Adya corrected.
“Adya, your leg is broken. I will need to reset the break. I will need to remove your pants.”
“What?”
“I cannot set the break without being able to feel your skin. If I do not set the bone properly you may never walk correctly again.”
“I usually prefer dinner first,” Adya joked weakly. The attempt at humor cost her. Her voice shook badly enough that even she heard it.
Z’ymira gave her a quizzical look, her face softening slightly, “You joke when frightened.”
“I joke constantly.” Then she nodded, stifling a groan as the movement of the pants jostled her leg regardless of the care Z’ymira put in. Dark bruising spread beneath her pale skin, swollen tight around the break.
Adya trembled before Z’ymira even touched her leg. Z’ymira ignored it, her hands moved carefully along the injury, steady and practiced. Adya watched her, the mysterious woman from the forest. Z’ymira was calm. The realization helped for a moment and then her hands settled fully around the break.
Adya’s eyes went wide. Fear cutting through the fever and pain. Z’ymira must have seen it because she moved to look Adya in her eyes. “Look at me,” she said firmly. “You survived the fall. You survived the guard. Survive this too.”
Adya trembled, fear and exhaustion stripping away any courage that remained.
Then Z’ymira pulled the bone straight.
Pain detonated through Adya’s body. Adya’s scream tore through the hut, the world disappearing into white agony.
Z’ymira was there, one hand bracing her shoulder. “Breathe,” she ordered.
Adya could not, tears burned at the corners of her eyes. Darkness tugged heavily at the edges of her vision as the pain finally began to ebb into something survivable. The last thing she felt before unconsciousness dragged her back was Z’ymira gently drying the tears on her face.
---
With the leg set, Z’ymira braced it with torn strips of cloth and bark, immobilizing the wound. She carefully removed the ruined shirt, setting it aside before carrying Adya to the bed, covering her in blankets.
She started a fire in the fireplace then grabbed a hunting knife to sharpen while leaning back in a chair. She wouldn’t sleep tonight.
The fever worsened as the hours passed. Were it not for the spring water she was sure Adya would not have survived the night. Her breathing worsened, too fast, too shallow. Z’ymira changed the cloth on her forehead then returned to her task, though her attention never truly left the bed across the room as rain hammered steadily against the roof.
Every few hours Z’ymira unwrapped the side wound again. Fresh infection lingered beneath the bandages despite the spring water. She cleaned it carefully, packed fresh poultice into the stab wound, then bound it tight once more.
Adya shifted weakly against the blankets, face tightening with pain as a dream disrupted her sleep. Her voice mumbled, “we have to tell…King Ridley…” She moved slightly, hands gripping the blanket. “The guard we…” The words faded, her eyes darting back and forth under their lids. “No…” Her breathing stuttered once, broken, then eased again as the dream loosened its grip. Z’ymira, for s moment, just watched the unconscious knight, seemingly unwilling to end her battle even when fevered, who had interrupted Z’ymira’s peace and her duties to the forest.
When she settled, Z'ymira sat at the edge of the bed, resting two fingers against the inside of Adya’s wrist. Her pulse was rapid, but steady. “You are difficult to keep alive,” she murmured. Adya shifted slightly then found Z’ymira’s hand gripping it. Z’ymira froze. Distance. Distance was necessary. Attachment brought danger.
She gently removed Adya’s hand and stepped back, but she didn’t return to her previous spot across the room, she pulled over the chair next to the bed, her bow within reach, watching the rise and fall of Adya’s chest through the long rain-soaked night.
---
As the morning sun rose Z’ymira grew restless. She couldn’t follow her normal patrol, she didn’t trust the knight to remain alive without her. But she knew the forest would understand her neglecting her duties this one time.
Adya stirred slightly and she awoke, fever still burning through her, but some awareness in her eyes. Z’ymira was there in a moment, a small earthen cup in her hand. The spring water reflected the light.
“Here.” Z’ymira helped her sit up slightly. “You need to drink this.”
Adya silently complied, sipping the water before turning to look at Z’ymira. “Where am I?” She asked, her voice small.
“The forest.”
Adya nodded, her gaze lingering on Z’ymira for a moment longer than it should have. Adya hesitated for a moment, eyes drifting shut, “You could have left me,” she said.
Z’ymira didn’t respond, but helped Adya lay back down before turning to place the cup on the counter. When she turned back Adya was already asleep again.
The forest had chosen Adya for some reason, Z’ymira was determined to know what that was.