23rd of Vhalar 721
The beast clawed at the canvas covering with rapidity, it’s claws beginning to scratch their way through the sun-hardened resin that strengthened the cloth. With every swipe of its paws, the nails of the wolf dug into its surface, scuffing fabric and flexible resin alike, until it began to give way, revealing the reddened moonlight that shone above from Rhakrii. She could see its red eyes, staring balefully at her as she cowered beneath the blankets. The cold of night had sunk into her bones as the air flushed in through the opening, the wolf now using its deadly teeth to rupture the opening further. It’s teeth were like daggers, cutting away easily at the resin-coated fabric. It tore and gnawed through the opening, until it was able to fit its paws into the opening.
The creature, its eyes red with murder, dove at Demda, its razor maw clenching around her neck as the claws tore at her soft underbelly.
Demda awoke from her nightmare with a start. She was breathing heavily, and cursed the frailty of her mind, for wasting so much water as sweat into the blanket that covered her.
She’d long since made shelter in one of the rocky cave systems that doted the cliffs south of Luesco’s Wall. There, she rested her wounds off. Her belated sprain of her wrists, that she’d suffered from the fall off of Monk, and the scuffed knees from the same accident. A good accident, as it’d resulted in victory over the Thray, at least, and hadn’t crippled her entirely into the bargain.
Even so, the delayed severity of her wounds didn’t come apparent until later in the following days, as she began aching in her arms, and her knee burned with bruising and sand-scuffed skin.
The cave she took shelter in, she blocked off the entrance with a latticework of bamboo grates, that she constructed from a few strings of fiber harvested from plants all the way from the Veridian Scimitar. The bamboo was from the very same region. She had half a mind to circle around the mountainside, until she found herself back in that area. She knew of a few farms where she might find replenishment, and perhaps aid… That is, if her efforts at first aid for herself didn’t go awry.
She’d washed the wounds as well as she could, the parts that had scratched the skin with sharp sand and rock, as well as compressing the area around her wrists. Now, she didn’t know if such compression against her sprained joints would help. She’d seen such treatments applied by various healers in her time in Nashaki, while living in the Tower of Flesh and the city proper. It stood to reason that it might help, but she didn’t know if it would, or if some part of her own application of the technique was missing an important component that would thwart her aims.
Either way, she gave herself the best first aid, with what she had to hand.
She took a sip of her water, and gave some thought to how she’d manage to stay stocked and fed on the way to the Scimitar. As she took a few drams of water from her skins, she thought on it for a moment. She remembered her bowl. She could set it out, with a measure of water in it in order to attract mole cacti. The only issue with that strategy is that she would have to be quick about snatching up the cactus, and have to watch it the entire time.
Well, it wasn’t as if she had much better to do, waiting to see if she got well enough to ride again.
Monk was nearby, groaning in comfort under the far wall of the cavern. He was well, and appeared unharmed. The arrow that found purchase had only impacted upon the surface of his leather portions of his caparison and armor. It’s point was made of flint and fractured on impact.
Demda took the arrow as an extra supply, another piece of wood she could use, and flint was usually a good thing to have, in case she wanted to attract attention from the nearby Nashaki Garrison.
Fortunately, she wasn’t nearly that desperate.
She opened the bamboo grate she’d constructed at the small opening to the cavern system. It was set to block off the entrance from any nearby predators.
There, she brought out the decorative bowl that was from Dandelion. He’d sent it along to her last Zi’da, as a holiday gift. It was still, even now, one of her more cherished and useful items. One may not know it, but a bowl was a fairly useful item to have in the field, for more reasons than one. One of which was of particular use in the desert.
She walked out from behind the rocky outcropping, and toward the sands of the ravine, where mole cacti might be found to roam. She set it on the ground there, and with that, began filling it with a few drams of water.
With that done, she reached into her domain bag. She brought out of it a tough woolen skirt. This she draped over the bowl of water. This was not only to shelter the water from potential evaporation as the suns rays fell upon it, but also to catch any molerats scuttling by in search of water. It’s thorns would catch upon the fabric, with any luck, and there she would have more provisions than she started this journey with.
This done, and the trap set, she half limped over toward a nearby rock formation, and sat atop it, careful to keep the wall behind her, lest she be caught unawares by a prowling lioness.
And there she waited.
And waited.
Until at last, a few breaks later, while she was shading her face against the glare of the sun with her hood, something scuffed the cloth above the bowl and fell into that trap. She scooted off the rock and crept up on the make-shift mole cactus trap she’d set up. As intended. She reached out her gloved hand, to grasp the thing. It fit easily into her grip. That done, she took a thread of string and began wrapping it around the mole cactus. Mole cactus could endure some hardships and were unlikely to die from anything other than the absence of water. Demda considered a little bit of water to prolong its life a fair trade for the juicy tender meat and juicy innards. She would save it for when she was truly desperate. But for now, she was well stocked for water and food.
This done, she was emboldened by her success. She slid the bowl over near another cave opening, opposite the one she resided in. Hoping that more of the same mole cacti would find the trap, she filled it again with a quarter skin of water. Praise be to Dandelion, whoever he was.
She left it there and went foraging for seeds in the darker portions of the ravine, where groundwater appeared to be more plentiful.
Her forage for seeds and plant life went mostly fruitless. While she’d uncovered half a handful, there was little besides that. Much of the moist ground down at the bottom of the gorge had yet to bear fruit of life, and was too shaded for its existing plants to bear much fruit or seed.
She approached the mole cactus trap, and nearly stopped her heart when she saw what was stuck in it.
The wolf bitch of Kankaro. She lapped up the last of the water. Demda side-stepped, creeping over toward her own open cave. She steadily stepped, ignoring the wolf as it slurped up the water easily.
There, she grabbed ahold of her sword, unsure as to whether she should chance a missed shot against the beast.
Just as she was feeling these aggressive instincts, something in her softened. She turned, to look at the wolf. Its eyes glowed green as it met her gaze. Remarkably, the wolf didn’t appear hostile, but held up a paw, signing vulnerability. It occurred to Demda that this might be a trick, a method of goading silly, gullible humanoids into letting their guard down. So Demda maintained her guarded position, waiting to see what the wolf would do.
It lowered it’s head, near the bowl, and pushed it over the decline in the rock. The bowl rolled down the gorge, toward where Demda was. Did it want more water, was this some sign of truce?
She noted the signs of blood on its maw, from where it’d torn into the men from before. So, the same wolf she surmised. She knelt slowly, carefully, picking up the bowl with her free hand as it rolled to a stop by her feet. There, she remained, her eyes fixated on the she-wolf. Its eyes turned from green to blue, and suddenly Demda felt a sadness hit her. One that had eluded her for cycles, welling up since her exile from Nashaki.
She would not shed tears, however. The water was better spent on the energy needed to reach the Scimitar.
Even so, she sheathed her sword, and swept her arm in a bow toward the creature, signaling her own measure of peace and safety toward her. The wolf opened and shut its mouth, and then limped into the darkened alcove of its small cave opening. Demda exhaled, not even realizing until then that she’d been holding her breath.
She sat and took up the watch at the foot of the cave until darkness fell on the gorge. Then she shut herself into the cavern and took what safety it afforded her as she slept another night beneath the stones.
