[Aftermath, Orientation, Seven]
Gared recognized Mark's dark brown eyes and crooked nose. His face was odd and it reminded him of his father although the two looked nothing alike. The old man's face was always a comfort to him. But Mark's was covered in blood. Seeing the blood he flinched and his eyes focused on him.
The slave's mouth opened and Gared couldn't hear anything. He saw that his throat vibrated, and his lips pursed together, drawing out his words carefully with his eyes knotted together. Mark's fur was dyed red from the blood of the wolf, and the tip of his sword covered in blood, hung low near his waist.
Blood, Gared recognized. He thought back to the wolf. How close was he to dying? The blood, the evidence of the fight was being covered.
Mark reached out and grabbed Gared by his shoulder and shook him slightly. Gared felt his hand wrap around his shoulder but he didn't hear anything still, and he began to realize that he couldn't hear anything at all. His eyes glanced over at the others and they didn't seem to notice. Gared gripped Mark's arm and looked him in the eyes. "What?" He asked calmly.
Mark looked him in the eye trying to find something. "His Lordship has sent me to give you my workhorse." His eyes seemed to have found whatever he was looking for as he focused intently on his eyes. "You're, alright. Alright?"
"I know," Gared replied. His mind was swamped by his brush with death. He had seen wolves. He had seen beasts before. He had seen his father kill one of them before and thought himself to be capable of doing the same.
What he had not seen werewolves only slightly smaller than him, fast enough to cross a distance his horse couldn't react to, strong enough to tear bark from tree, and quiet enough in their attack to not even snarl as their abyssal maw opened to reach his face.
"My Lordship," He spoke softly. "Lord Merllion and Lord Zel are not fearful of anything within this forest. The only thing they fear is people like them. They're good people."
"They're good people." Gared repeated, "I know."
Mark pushed the reins of his workhorse into Gared's hand and he instinctively grabbed onto it. When he was gone, Gared looked at the horse that looked burdened by the items it was carrying and then looked over a few distances away at his maimed horse. For a moment he thought that it looked fake compared to the folk tales and the stories he heard. That the snow covered it too quickly as if it was supposed to be quickly forgotten.
Straight behind him, behind the trees, lay a land of green planes and great rushing rivers, where white towers and ornate glance rose amidst magnificent black tree-like mountains, and all the races walked amongst each other with brotherly love. His father had only seen this place once atop his horse when he was called into mercenary work when he was young and he called it "The Sanctuary of Martiel.". His mother instead called it, "The academy." The words were a prayer to his father, and a bad memory to his mother.
Perhaps, this was the reason his mother never answered his questions when he asked about the academy. She did not speak of heroic things like his father. She did not brag although she was accepted into what his father called 'Sanctuary'. He had never seen this mythical academy except for the words of his father who recalled his visit from time to time. Vivid. "When you reach… you'll see the snow first, and the cold second, then once you go deeper you'll find that anything can be overwritten and anything can become true."
He had almost forgotten his father's words of caution and the memory of his father brought back caution to his step. The great man he called his father had a sword that he said he had taken from a dragonborn's corpse. He was gigantic and he was a good warrior. In the village, he lived in. If anything involved fighting he was sent out as an envoy along with the other men of the village. Gared had watched his father fight before and saw with amazement the way things were settled in the world of men. He had forgotten that he too was a man now and that his father's words were meant to be from a greater man passed down to him. After taking a moment to himself he swore not to forget his father's words again.
He walked over to his dead horse looking into its frozen eyes, and shook his head ruefully as he reached down to begin unpacking his knapsack, food, rope, and a small knife his father had given him for skinning animals back in the village. "Hold this knife close to yourself," He said to him. The grin on his face was everlasting like the temples smilingly angels. "This isn't only meant for animals. There will come a time when it saves your life, and when the blood is on your hand. Relish. In the fact that you are alive. You were able to see another second longer than them."
Taylor grabbed his shoulder and turned him around so he could see her. "We're leaving." She said to him. "Get on your horse." This was more like Taylor. She said a few words but everything she meant was mixed almost discombobulated with what she truly wanted to say to him. Gared said nothing. He had known Taylor long enough to feel the urgency in her grasp and catch the shakiness in her voice that she was filled with fear. For weeks she was on edge before they had gotten to the academy.
When Taylor saw the look in his eyes she turned away from him. "Hurry up." She muttered.
Gared finished pulling his equipment from his dead horse and hoisted them to his shoulder. He walked to his fresh horse and saw that most of the equipment on it was gone. Turning to look at Zel and Merllion's horse it looked like they had packed their things on their horse. He turned his focus and hoisted his things on his new horse before kicking the ground and jumping onto the horse's back, he failed a few times, but he got on there eventually.
"It gladdens me that you're finally finished with your impossibly long packing times," Merllion said mockingly when they were done. Gared took hold of the reins indifferent to Merllion's words. His eyes looked down thoughtfully to the small little hunting knife he had hidden within the fur wraps around his forearm. He looked up and felt the coldness of the air around him.
"Slave." Zel was looking down at Mark who had approached his horse. "If you dirty my cape. I shall have some serious words with you." He told him and then offered his hand. Mark took the hand graciously with a bow head and hopped on the horse with Zel.
"I would never dream of it, Lord Zel," Mark replied graciously. "Thank you for allowing me to ride with you."
"Do not mention it," Zel said as he looked toward the rest of the group.
"We shall be moving." Merllion declared, his voice dripping with tiredness.
"Finally," Taylor sighed with a graceful intonation.
"Oh," Merllion raised his brow at Taylor and chuckled. "You actually sound accomplished, except for the fact that you only killed one wolf before freezing in fear. Truly, the might of mankind is astounding as always." He remarked sardonically as he set his horse in motion.
Gared followed suit guiding his horse directly behind Zel and Mark. Taylor and Merllion went ahead of the pack, carrying their sword outside of its sheathe with their hands touching the coldness of the blade. The winter weather was decreasing drastically in the path they were taking it was almost as if they were about to walk the border between winter and spring as they saw the inches of snow drop and random white flowers cover the pathway.