Thanks to the mass panic, Marco was able to ride relatively smoothly without fear of being chased. Thoughts and questions about what happened still floated around in his mind, screaming for answers. Only his focus on steering the horse and the road ahead kept his mind intact. However, Marco wished he could have said the same for Sasha. He glanced down at her in front of him, leaning against the thick nape of the horse, still unconscious. Marco had no idea what to do with her. Sure, she scared the hell out of him but seeing her in so much pain and fear before her transformation left quite the scar in his memory. Moreso than even the dangerous spectacle that followed. All he knew now for sure was that he wanted to get Sasha medicine, a bath, a cot, a fresh supply of red tea, and whatever food he could scrounge.
Unfortunately, he did not know how much his comrades had to spare, or if they would even be willing. Although they are not raiding or bombing key infrastructure since they are in their quiet period, this was still the Resistance. Meaning everything they did had to be both anonymous and swift. Especially after formally making themselves known, or at least the main body was. They still had covert groups and individual agents all through the various kingdoms and republics at their disposal, but they were too far and few to support the main body's day to day needs. And while they were fortunate enough to camp near a Sinsîn tree, there was only so many red leaves and black berries from the tree to go around. Nowhere near enough to sustain an army, let alone a rag tag cabal of rebels. However, regardless of the circumstances Marco felt as though him and Sasha were both entitled to the largest shares after what just happened. And he was determined to collect no matter how hard he had to fight, or steal, for it.
Marco rode for another full day, only just arriving at the encampment once the silver moon was high. Seeing his rush, the guards immediately let him pass, allowing him to speed right towards the nearest medical tent.
"I need help!" he yelled as soon as he stopped in front of a tent, prompting a pair of medics to rush towards him with a stretcher.
Marco wasted no time dismounting himself and then Sasha, helping her onto the nurses' stretcher and telling them what had transpired. Although woefully confused, once Sasha was laid down carefully the nurses still thanked Marco before quickly carrying Sasha to the medical tent. Marco wanted to follow them but unless someone was ill, or as close to a medical profession as could be themselves, no one was allowed to enter. He simply reassured himself that Sasha would be okay before heading in the direction of his father's tent. His ire must have been prevalent because a number of his peers and associates questioned him constantly as he rushed by.
"Marco, is everything alright?" Lady Margo asked, her hands dark red from crushing red leaves.
"Hey, Marco," called nobin Fleur out from the smithy. "What happened? I heard you came in in such a rush! Is the girl alright?"
"Marco, make sure you report to your father asap." Commanded sir De'leon.
Over and over again someone had to ask or say something to him. And time after time, Marco gave one dry remark or quick answer after the next. He hardly ever had time to be stalled by questions or commands and this time in particular, he had even less so. He simply puffed up his face and ignored them, trying his best to remind himself that getting angry at them would only cause problems. Remind himself that only he would have to apologize and make up for his outburst, and not them for stuffing their noses were they should not belong. Marco gave a few deep breathes as he finally neared his father's tent. He allowed himself just a moment to calm his irritation before marching right in. As per usual, their leader, Sir Galath, was busy going over current news and future operations with his council. He did not bother looking up as Marco approached the war table.
"Send Elsa and her team to Sumodo," Sir Galath ordered, tracing his almond-colored finger across a map of Greater Hema. "Tell her to take this route to avoid the new patrols. Once there I need her to track down and keep an eye on Sir Ocelot. Some of our informants in neighboring towns have sent letters, informing me that he plans to send some troops south across seas. I need to know why." His council nodded their understanding.
"Now then," He finally regarded Marco. "What have you to report Page Marco?" Marco tried with all his might to hold his tongue in that instant, but the words came spewing out anyway.
"Your little time bomb blew up when a pale man arrived at Lady Rolla's party."
"Explain." Sir Galath commanded, clearly ignoring the venom flying out of Marco's mouth. Marco strained, but he was able to squeeze his fist and go over what happened. He left out no detail as he explained the otherworldly bizarre events that he bore witness to. But even as he spoke to Sir Galath and the council, he made sure to take notice that all of them seemed to be completely unfazed by the news.
"Excellent, and how is she now?" Sir Galath asked, still stroking his white beard in slight contemplation.
"Excellent!?" Marco yelled, slamming his hands on the table. "What the hell does that even mean? Did you plan that? What the hell was that even about?"
"That is none of your concern," Sir Galath brushed off. "Now report her status."
"Be damned her status," Marco yelled, his blood rushing faster than he could think. "I was there and nearly died, but you're asking about her!?"
"You are here now as I planned you to be, nothing else matters but what I have asked of you."
"So, if you knew what was going to happen why the hell didn't you tell me!?"
"So, that you wouldn't lose your nerve."
"Well, it's for damn sure already lost!"
"That I can see," Sir Galath said before looking to his council. "Leave us, I will send a runner to deliver to each of you the remaining details." At that, Sir Galath's council bowed and made their way out of the tent, allowing the front cloths to unroll as the last one left. Leaving Marco and Sir Galath in privacy.
Marco watched as Sir Galath strutted over to him and, without a simmer of expression, smacked him hard across his cheek. The pain of the swift slap was intense, but Marco would not allow it to show. He simply turned his face back towards him, holding his glare against Sir Galath's blank expression.
"The next time you lose your head, do it on the battlefield. Not during my council."
"Maybe I'd be less inclined to lose anything if you would keep me as informed as you do your precious council."
"That is above your station, page," Sir Galath said coolly, shifting his black fur cape as he folded his arms across his chest. "Whether you are my son or not, you earn the right to question me. Till then, question your own weakness."
With that, Sir Galath shifted to leave. Brushing open the front cloth and exiting out of the tent, leaving Marco right there; embarrassed and angry. He promised himself he would never let that man make him cry again, but as with everything else; he failed at that too.