The fire is still cracking and spitting. The hushed chatter of those on watch and the steady susurrus of breath becomes soft and heavy to her ears. Ruormad’s skin - pressed to hers as much as they are able, on the ground, in the dark, amongst their countrymen - is rough and coarse from exposure. His body is leaner than she remembers and his face has changed, but somehow he smells still of the same pine and raw earth of their homeland. They haven’t spoken much to one another this evening - there is too much at stake here - and there hangs between them the unvoiced fear that this is all a dream. Soft glances and the furtive, confirming touch of hand against hand or cheek is all they allow themselves while amongst the others.
Ruormad is asleep now. He is barely visible by the faint dance of firelight, but Etiene is studying the new planes of his face. She doesn’t move, just watches as orange and yellow flit over what used to be handsome and proud and which now is scarred and sharp.
His breathing is even and warm and the promise of sleep is tantalizing; although her body is weighty with exhaustion and she would love to sleep, the tight knot of anxiety in her stomach won’t loosen. The wheels of her mind skip over thoughts of Moerel and the Fulcairns - they are painful and if she dwells on them there will be no rest at all tonight. Instead she struggles to distract herself with other thoughts...
The Northern Woods of Wilders Gorge are a dangerous place: only the most foolish or the most skilled would tarry here. Etiene is in her fourteenth year when she ventures in alone. The Woods hold no fear for her - she is cocksure and flush with the invincibility of youth. At first the terrain is familiar and she slips through the light brush easily. She delights in testing how close she may stalk the hares and deer before they notice her presence. A solitary boar appears - a trophy too aggressive to risk on her own - so instead she follows it, hoping to be lead back to a sounder of sows. Its midday before she realizes she is lost. Etiene climbs a golden-leafed oak in an attempt to get her bearings - but a broad swath of mountain and trees rise up to meet the horizon in all directions. A few clearings dot the landscape, but their scale is hard to judge. The male boar is gone by the time she climbs down. She waits for the sun to fall enough so she may ken her direction..
Etiene is sitting in a sunny spot, warming herself in the autumn sun, when the hairs on her body bristle. Although there is no outward sign - the birds still sing, the wind still blows - she is suddenly aware of being observed. It's a struggle not to give into impulse and react - she keeps her breath steady, eyes heavy-lidded and repeats in her head the feeling of the motion of reaching smoothly into her boot for her knife. There will only be one chance. She’s so preoccupied preparing for the attack she knows is coming that when a strong hand clamps over her mouth as an arm snakes around her midsection, dragging her back into the brush, she reacts with a blitz of violence. Her body snaps taut, head back,smashing their skulls together, making her ears ring. She bites down on his hand while she brings both her arms up, hands cupped for a vicious clap to his ears. But too late Etiene realizes that he is also prepared - and much stronger. He rolls and her face is smashed into the dirt as he lets the full weight of his body pin her to the ground. He springs quickly to a crouch, her small frame trapped beneath his knees, freeing his hands to secure hers. There are hot tears of humiliation and rage muddying the dirt on her face but the final blow doesn't come. She waits, but he remains - poised taut atop her back, but low enough to stay beneath the cover of the brush. She can’t make out his face - his head is cocked, intently listening. Etiene closes her eyes and stretches her hearing as far as she might… a moment later she finally notices - it’s barely perceptible from the flutter of wind in leaves but something is moving between the trees, belied only by the soft noise of weight on mossy ground. It’s quite far from their position - but both Etiene and her captor instinctively hold their breath until well after it has passed them by.
“Please, “ he whispers, “ do not make a noise, Valmyrri. We must go, quickly and quietly.”
Etiene nods, and he allows her to rise, gesturing for her to follow. On her feet, she observes that the young man is only a few years older than herself - but he holds himself with a steady confidence. She thinks she may recognize him as the son of a Wilder, but cannot name him.
Travelling with the young ranger, Etiene is surprised to find it almost difficult to keep up. They make great time, and soon she is certain that she could find her own way, but allows herself to be led home. The young Wilder stops on the road, within sight of the Valmyrri manor house, and gestures for her to go on.
“Give me your name, Wilder, so that I may ensure you are thanked properly for your service to my family today.”
He inclines his head, dark hair falling over his eyes.
“I am called Ruormad, lady”
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