Starting Date and Time: Jedayan 1, 300 DM, morning

Starting Location: Thunderfang Camp, Kerawac (Valley of Screamers)

CS URLs: Asher & Verissa/Trix

The long night passed in fits and starts of restlessness for Asher. Not only did his body ache with innumerable injuries and the confining awkwardness of his bandage, but his chest was tight with his own inner turmoil and thoughts of Brynmore and his wife. Not only that, but as the Swordmaster was used to the sounds of the camp, the grumbling of horses, the barking of dogs, the sound of the wind, the infinite different sounds of people muttering, cooking, laughing, fucking...it was a noise much closer at hand that bothered him: Verissa crying. He wondered how other men did it, how they could stand to be responsible for such gut-wrenching noises of fear and despair? Did most slaves not cry? Or perhaps he was simply too soft on a maid from Ebonfort?

Morning arrived as a rapid lightening in the sky, promising to be clear if cold from the constant wind. A rooster began to crow early and Asher didn't waste time getting up, running his fingers through his longish hair and pulling back the partition. Clad only in loose linen trousers, his bandages, and the aged yellow fang pendant hanging around his neck, Asher shuffled over to the stove to rekindle the blaze inside and heat the cooktop. He glanced over at Verissa's bedroll often, noting the watchful eyes of the two ridgebacks, but he didn't rouse her yet. There would be plenty of time for to put the girl to work later. He could afford to let her sleep on her first day in camp. Her first day as someone else's property.

The sounds of copper cookware rattled where Asher worked, in spite of his efforts to keep the noise to a minimum. The small iron stove heated up and the sizzle of grease-fat filled the tent, preceding the scent of frying bacon as the kvaren man tossed it piece by piece onto his skillet. The bacon would take the longest, so after he had sprinkled it with a mix of black pepper, cayenne, and brown sugar he turned to a second, smaller skillet. It only took a few moments to mix water from a jug into a few cups of flour with sugar and milk and eggs, whisking it all together in a bowl set against his abdomen until the ingredients bubbled together. Scooping blobs of it out onto the skillet, he started the flapjacks, teasing the edges with a wooden spatula. As the bacon shriveled, he attempted to bribe Verissa's dogs with small pieces, murmuring to them softly in his own language.

When it came to making a breakfast that was as tasty as it was serviceable, Asher had a fairly good idea of what he was doing, though he made a bit more mess than usual due to a certain amount of laziness brought on by a painful arm.

Verissa's night passed without fit, crying and the exhaustion from the event of the day had worn her out completely. Asher's movement through the pavilion wasn't what woke Verissa, nor was it the rattling cookware. It was the sharp, but pleasant scent of the spices cooking with the bacon. Her nose had wriggled at the scent, and she awoke slowly, unmoving, hoping she'd be free of the nightmare of the events from before. But she wasn't so lucky. She could tell she wasn't in her bed, staring at the hide walls of her owner's pavilion. Her ears listened at what was going on, she could tell someone was cooking, she assumed it to be Asher. She immediately felt a moment of dread, was she supposed to be awake before him, to make breakfast? Was he going to punish her for not doing that?

She heard him step close, his voice in that foreign tongue. She wasn't sure what he was saying, but it didn't seem to be directed at her. She swallowed and moved to roll over, when pain streaked through her body. Not from the wounds on her back, those were sore, but not near as painful as her hips, thighs, and back. A gasp had escaped her lips, her eyes squeezed shut in pain. When it finally subsided, she realized she was looking at Asher crouched before her, her pups staring daggers at him, daring him to try anything in the form of aggression toward her, completely ignore the bacon he offered. When she saw the meat hanging from his grasp, she knew now what it was he was trying. But she knew her pups wouldn't eat without her permission, not from a stranger. Plus they had a routine in their old life.

And that required her to get up.

She clenched her teeth, not meeting Asher's eyes as she struggled to push herself up. The pain that wracked her body was immense, her arms struggled weakly beneath her to raise her up. With one final gasp she managed to get a leg beneath her, and finally stood up. She looked at her pups, who looked up at her obediently. "Eat," accompanied by a nod. Each pup took a piece of bacon from Asher, and scooted over at Verissa's feet, to eat, eyes now locked on the man. She swallowed deeply, looking down, not wanting to meet his eyes, "I'm sorry I wasn't awake to make you food. I will get it right tomorrow. And Remus and Remilia are used to relieving themselves before they eat. They won't go on their own, they wait on me."

She tried to make herself smaller before the man, eyes ever downcast, hoping he wouldn't punish her for slacking in her slave duties and for speaking without being spoken to. She really didn't know the rules for slaves. The only slaves in Ruby Banks worked on the farms and were rarely seen in the public, and when they were, they were treated well, in accordance to village law. "What... What would you like me to do...?"

It didn't escape Asher's notice that Verissa struggled to rise, but he didn't stare at her openly. Verissa would find that in a crowded Kvaren camp where the language was partly visual, staring wasn't just rude, it could be considered eaves-dropping as well, so the people had an indirect way of observing each other that relied on subtlety and averted eyes. Unfortunately it could come across as deliberately ignoring her.

"There, good!" he praised the dogs when Verissa finally released them to eat, wiping the grease from his fingers to his pants, watching them scarf down the fresh bacon as their Mistress heaved herself up off her bedroll. The more Asher watched them, the more impressed he became by their stoic loyalty to Verissa, especially because they seemed younger than he had first thought.

Asher was resting on one knee to attempt bribing the ridgebacks, but now rose and looked down as he considered Verissa thoughtfully. "Give me your hands," he requested firmly, and lifted his own to take them if she didn't offer them readily. He said it in Kvaren first, and then repeated himself in accented Common. It was habit he fell into from then on, letting his slave learn the words and the signs.

"I am used to cooking my own breakfast, Verissa, there is no need to say sorry. If I want something from you, I will ask," he promised solemnly, unlocking her manacles one at a time and letting them fall back to the post with a metallic clatter. "And if there is something you need..."

"You said last night that my dressings will need to be changed. When that is done, you will go to the Healer's Tent to learn from Shenzi. It is good that you are skilled with medicine, for both of us." He smiled briefly, but it was gone in an instant as though he wasn't sure he was doing the expression correctly.

"And then tonight you will help me with supper to save time. The Thunderfang camp is going to be moving in a few days so we have to pack." He lifted his hand to his chin, scratching his fingers through his long stubble, the thought of all the work he had to do making him feel exhausted already, especially with the deep ache in his neck and shoulder.

"But first, breakfast. Go, take your dogs out. Just..." he held his breath for a moment, steeling himself for unpleasant words, "I'll only warn you one time. Do not try to run away. You are too far from Ebonfort lands to make it back without getting caught." His tone was stern, but rather than threatening he seemed almost...pleading. He lifted his hand again, wanting to cup Verissa's chin with his thumb and forefinger to lift her face so that he could see her eyes, but he faltered at the last moment and settled for running the backs of his fingers down a lock of golden hair framing her face.

Asher turned back to the stove to tend the pancakes, flipping the first three onto a plate with his spatula and pouring batter for several more, sprinkling them with cinnamon while they cooked.

Verissa stuck her locked hands out, nodding as he told her that he'd ask if he needed anything from her. When her wrists were freed, she stretched and rubbed them. They weren't sore or hurting, it was just habit after having been confined. She wasn't sure what she'd need, but it was... comforting to know that she might be able to ask. It was weird having next to nothing. Especially since she would no longer be able to earn anything more. What she had would have to last her, unless Asher decided to give her more.

She listened as he told her she needed to change his dressings, then work at the healer's tent. She might've smiled had she still not felt like a prisoner. But at least her captor didn't seem to be cruel. He'd even complimented her. But all she heard was the chance to get out. She just had to bandage him up and she could get out of this pavilion, to throw herself into her slave work. It would be good to get her mind off things.

She continued listening to his commands, nodding, that he wanted her to help him with dinner in the evening. But then he said they were moving camp soon. And any possible hope of rescue was gone. She knew Scream Watch would send out raiding parties and the like after the raid. And sometimes they came back with people who'd been taken. But if their camp would be moving, she wouldn't be there to be rescued. She heard his unnecessary words about not running. Where would she go? She was surrounded by savages in a land of monsters and dangers, with no practical skills for getting home. Healing was well and good, but did no good when lost in the grasslands.

When he reached out and touched her, she shuddered at the gentle caress, "Yes. I won't run." She quickly turned away from him to the tent flap, her chest tightening, as she stepped into the air, her pups following her. The air was crisp, the sun brightening everything, as she took in the already busy camp. People were busy, and Verissa knew that back in her village, she'd be waking up, and checking her apothecary. Her pups would be doing their normal perimeter check of her yard, she'd be taking in the aroma of her many dried plants. She'd cook up some food for her and them, then set out for her morning walk, before getting the shop ready for the day.

But now, she was just watching people move back and forth, some glancing at her before looking away, going about their business. It was like no one wanted their eyes to stay too long on her. She moved around the back of the pavilion, between it and another, finding some privacy as she relieved herself, her pups having already done so. Her stomach growled as she stood, but she didn't want to go back in, not yet. She felt tears trying to well up once again, but she stifled them, remembering her self promise. She took a deep breath, then walked back in.

There were pancakes hot and ready, she smelled cinnamon. It reminded her of when she'd made the mulled wine, before these heathens slaughtered her people. She was hungry, as she sat at the table, the plate before her smelling delicious, her stomach grumbling loudly. She silently began eating, knowing that it tasted good, but still felt like she was eating chalk. She gave some to her pups, wishing she had more meat to give them. They were growing, and would need more. Maybe she could find some later.

When she was finished, she pushed her plate aside, not sure how to go about cleaning up. But it was time to dress his wounds. "Can you sit please? I'll change your dressings now." She put a pot of water on the stove to boil, tossing in some salt, and reaching for her kit. She looked down and saw both her pups staring at her, "Go relax loves. We'll go outside soon."

Remus laid down at her feet, while Remilia moved over next to Asher and just stared at him. She didn't seem to want pet or anything, just content to stare at him. Verissa put her kit on the table, and began getting ready as she waited on the water to boil. She was now thinking about how he said to ask for anything she might need, "I'm... I'm going to need more clothes, I was only able to bring what I wore and one other outfit."

Verissa ducked out of the tent and Asher tensed, staring at the bright triangle of the tent flap as he resisted the urge to go after her. Part of it was the concern that she might truly try to run, which would be bad for both of them. He didn't want her to get hurt in a moment of foolish panic, and he didn't want any misbehaviour reflecting poorly on himself. It wouldn't look good for a Swordmaster to be known as "that guy whose slave girl ran off". Removing her chains had been a gamble already, but as Asher shook the stern frown from his features and moved back to the cinnamon and sugared pancakes he decided that Verissa seemed to be made of stronger stuff than he would have expected.

Breakfast was a cruelly inadequate term for the variety of foods Asher managed to whip up as the sun started to climb. Chicken and duck eggs over-easy and scrambled, pancakes with only a tiny bit of honey, bacon and salted pork, and a handful of sliced apples. The reason for the smorgasboard had already been explained, though not directly. Moving camp often meant leaving things behind, especially things that were hard to transport. It also meant gorging on food that was harder to prepare on the road.

As was his habit, Asher hadn't bothered to sit, and was eating directly out of the skillet after serving whopping portions onto Verissa's plate. He now leaned casually against the edge of the table. It took a lot of calories to fuel a sword-fighter, apparently. Storm-gray eyes followed Verissa until she began to eat, and the meal progressed wordlessly until they both had empty dishes to put in a wooden handled tub near the flap. Later, Asher would show her where to go to wash them, pointing out big community troughs kept full and heated with simmering coals by slaves like her.

Asher had wandered over to take a look at his breastplate, nudging it around with his booted foot to scowl at the huge dent in the front, one of his hands rubbing a spot across his heart where he would have been split in two if not for the hammered steel. "Shit. I'll have to go see Gault to get this fixed. Again."

Glancing up again. "Of course." he moved to one of the simple chairs and sat in the backwards so that he could lean against the back and give Verissa better access to treat his wound. The bandage had shifted while he slept and while it was still doing its job, he knew it would feel better than it was fresh. He wasn't looking forward to the unpleasantness of being scrubbed and slathered with salve or whatever, but he felt a flicker of satisfaction when he felt her hands against his skin, though what exactly he was happy about was a vague and fleeting mystery.

"Tell me about your dogs," he requested, watching Remilia's eyes. "They are not like Valley Dogs. Are they a hunting breed? I know they don't like me." He didn't sound particularly upset about it. In fact, he was almost amused by it, though his good humour wouldn't last if one of them bit him.

"Yes. Just let me know what you need. Or tell Shenzi if it's...women's things. She is much easier to talk to than me." He turned so that he could watch her out of the corner of his eye. "I will try to find out today if Jenny has already packed up. She's the best seamstress in the camp."

He was still, wanting to say something more, something comforting, but ultimately sighed and pretended it was just a reaction to Verissa messing with his injury.

Verissa listened as he spoke, making a mental note to remember that someone named Gault, a man she assumed, fixed armor. She might have to know that later on and it would be good for a slave to do things before they are asked. Seeing the dent in the breastplate made her wonder where she'd be had it not stopped the blow. Raped and probably left to die in her burning home. So there was some thanks to that. She couldn't be too upset with him she supposed. Her people raided theirs after all, a constant tug of war that was full of casualties and loss on both sides. And he'd kept her from the fate that Jasper had had in mind. He took her in, even if it was against her will, even let her keep the most precious things in the world to her; Remus and Remilia.

Once he was seated and the water boiling, she bowled out some of it, and let it cool briefly before washing her hands and setting a couple of rags in it. She then untucked the bandage from itself and slowly unwrapped Asher. The wound on his neck came into view, much of the old salve peeled off. She scrutinized it close, seeing the skin around the sutures wasn't red and swollen. This pleased her, because it likely meant that the wound wasn't infected. She gently poked and prodded, trying to feel if anything was out of sorts, but was happy with it. She grabbed one of the rags, and as usual, gave no warning before she began cleaning the sutures, albeit much more gently than when she'd scrubbed out the wound. When he asked about her dogs, she smiled lightly, if only because he couldn't see it. "They are a guard breed, Mountain Ridgebacks. Remus is the boy, and Remilia is the girl. And no, they don't like you." There was a bit of snark on that comment, some pride from her to her pups.

She began applying some more of the salve, and she decided to continue, her hands everworking. "I bought them from a breeder in Green Fall, a..." she paused, realizing what she was about to say, and how she'd never see her again, "Friend helped me pick them out. They've been terribly loyal since day one, and haven't been difficult to train at all. They are very protective of me and mine. They..." She was about to say how they were almost killed by Jasper, how she'd almost given up herself to protect them, but couldn't bear to say the words. She began wrapping him up now, now listening to his other words. She nodded as he told her to go to Shenzi for anything, and remembered the name of Jenny as the seamstress.

She patted Asher's powerful shoulders gently, feeling the hardness and warmth under her palms, "All done. You still need to take it easy. No fighting or heavy lifting, no drinking." She heard him sigh, wondering if it was at relief to be done with her for the moment. She quickly cleaned up, then stood there, as if awaiting her next command, not sure if she was excused to go to the healer's tent yet.

"I will," Asher promised, "Though I hope I've healed enough to drink by the time we reach the Gathering. All the tribes will be there. I will be expected to test myself against the Swordmasters from other tribes, and to train this season's new fighters and help them pick their weapons. There will be ceremonies and marriages, baby naming and last rites," his face darkened a little, "and the Sash Burning." And his grim scowl became even more troubled. He had killed the un-named Sergeant and still had the orange sash. Technically he had earned the right to start his own tribe, though he had never seriously considered doing such a thing until now.

"It will probably seem very frantic to you, but a Gathering can be a lot of fun." He was clearly looking forward to it, though he was trying his best to be informative and think about things from an outsider's perception. "The Summer Gathering is the biggest, but still, these times are the best for trading with other tribes and sharing information."

With that, Asher flexed his chest and arm, rolling his shoulder to test the bandage, nodding his appreciation as he stood up and went to find a clean shirt in a trunk he kept behind the partition in his pavilion tent.

A short time later, Asher was leading Verissa out into the Camp, pointing out people and tents to best help her learn her way around. It would quickly become apparent that landmarks were useless in a camp that was about to move, but the layout was based on a fine balance between practicality and preference. Some tents and setups would always be near each other, some would always be nearest the closest clean water supply, some would be arranged by status around the Warlord's Great Tent. The Swordmaster showed her where to find the latrines, and since it was on the way, he stopped by the blacksmith Gault's to drop off his breastplate. The weapon-maker's little shop was perhaps the most permanent-looking structure in the place owing to his need for heavy tools and equipment to work his craft. Strangely, he could have easily passed for a native of Green Falls, including his dress and accent when he said 'Hello' in Common. Asher tended to walk to the side and slightly behind Verissa, occasionally putting his palm at the small of her back.

Asher's instruction wasn't helped by all the people who stopped him on the way, most of them speaking fast and fluent in the musical and calming Kvaren. He had responsibilities to his fighters, and some of those who approached definitely seemed to be his fellow warriors, giving him reports of some kind. Others seemed to be Asher's friends, though the only one he bothered to introduce her to was a sandy-haired human named Sedrik who grinned knowingly as he looked between Asher and Verissa until the Swordmaster punched him in the arm and told him to fuck off.

Plenty of people watched curiously as they passed, the normal interest in a new slave amplified slightly by who was walking at Verissa's side. Eventually they reached the big open-sided pavilian that was the Healer's Tent, and the Aaenshi was under the shady canvas with a group of what must have been her students. Most were women and human, though there were a few men as well, and some individuals who must have been weres or something else entirely.

"Good Morning, Shenzi," Asher nodded to the Aaenshi, who grinned in a way that could only be described as fox-like. "I will be back for you later today, Verissa."

Verissa nodded as he spoke, frowning as he explained what this Gathering was. It was a cruel irony. She was kidnapped during festivities, ripped from her life, and now, she was going to have to celebrate amongst her kidnappers. He never said how long it would take to reach this Gathering, but she figured that while he wouldn't be fully healed, he'd be able to participate in all but truly fatal combat. In proper sparring and combat, he'd probably find some stiffness there, and if he pushed himself to the extreme, likely would tear his wound open. But if he took it easy until then, she figured he'd be fine.

Then he led her out of his pavilion, and began showing her around. She tried to memorize faces to what he pointed out, noticing that people looked at her in a strange manner, and only briefly, before glancing away. She wondered if it had anything to do with what Shenzi had said previously, about her new master. Her pups followed her loyally, growling at any bigger dogs that came over to sniff. They clearly hadn't forgotten last nights antics as they'd entered the camp.

As Asher introduced her to Gault, her mind immediately thinking of how normal the man appeared, she startled silently. Asher had placed his hand on her back and she hadn't expected it. It wasn't coercion or commanding, but it wasn't kind and loving either. It felt... neutral. It was strange. He continued this off and on as he spoke to many people, Verissa quickly learning just how important he was. He even seemed jovial around one particularly grinning man, named Sedrik.

Verissa wasn't sure how to feel about all of this attention. Much of it seemed curiosity, and some of it genuine surprise. In a weird way, she felt as if she was a bit important by extension, even as a slave. Her heart lightened as he brought her to one of the only structures she recognized, the Healer's tent. She smiled lightly at Shenzi, remembering to thank her once Asher had gone.

She nodded as he said he was leaving, and as he departed, "Wait." She turned to face him, her eyes slowly rising to meet his, only for a moment "Thank you for this." Quickly her eyes darted back away, as she turned to Shenzi, smiling. If there was anyone here she could find herself liking, it was this woman and her foxy grin.

Once her master was finally gone, Verissa spoke, "And thank you for helping convince him to let me work here." Her eyes looked around the large pavilion, seeing the many patients. Being many hours after the raid, most were resting and in recovery. Without instruction from the fox woman, Verissa began moving amongst them, examining them, just as she'd done when he father would take her to Scream Watch to aid there, as a younger woman. Most of the injuries had already been treated, but Verissa could see signs of infection, reddened, sensitive skin around treated wounds. Her face was quizzical, wondering why this was the case, she knew that Shenzi had the knowledge of herbs and medicine to combat simple infection. The woman continued to study the man in front of her, covered in slashes all over his torso and arms, all bandaged up but running a massive fever. Speaking aloud, to no one in particular, "Why's his infection not yet been treated?"

The Swordmaster was glad to see Verissa's spirit seem to brighten when they arrived at the Healer's tent, and he noticed that the new slave already forming a friendship with Shenzi. It was slaves who found a place, a niche, that tended to do well, and Asher decided that he wanted Verissa to stick around.

He had already turned away before she asked him to wait, but he paused and turned to face her, searching her face curiously with his stormy eyes. Being thanked was not what he expected, but it was nice to hear, even if it made his brows twitch together in a frown. Thank you for what? For bringing her to the Healer's Tent? He wasn't sure what she meant, but didn't press. He disappeared into the crowd and went off to do whatever Swordmasters did.

Shenzi looked up at Verissa and nodded in acknowledgment. "Of course. Not that it was difficult, mind you. Asher is not a complete fool. Healing is a craft always in high demand and your skill will reflect well on him. Just as his position reflects on you. Don't forget that."

After that little tidbit, the aesenshi let Verissa wander among the patients, though the vixen didn't let her out of her sight. Neither did the other slaves and kvaren Healers, mostly women, who had clearly been living among the tribespeople for a while. Not only because of their clothing, but they were all speaking the Kvaren language, watching Verissa out of the corner of their eyes to see if she was following as they gossiped about her.

Most of the patients in the tent were unconscious, as those who could move around preferred to go back to their own tents to be treated there. Now and then some of the more established healers returned to the tent to drop off or pick up supplies and check in with Shenzi before heading off to their next assignment. The fox-woman was giving a lecture on suturing, explaining the different patterns of stitching and when to use them, as well as naming different materials other than thread that could be used in a pinch. Most of her speech was in Kvaren, though she tended to go back and repeat herself in Common for those who benefited from the switch.

When Verissa asked about the feverish slash-victim, Shenzi wandered over, forcing the gossiping women to come with her and learn.

"Ah yes. This is Fergus." An impish grin spread across her canine features. "Alright ladies, and Zazzik," she added with a nod to an olive-scaled reptilian youth whose gender and race was anyone's guess, "Let's start with the basics. We have a victim covered in many shallow slashes. What kind of weapon do we think caused this?"

One of the girls answered quickly in Kvaren, and Shenzi translated smoothly. "A sword, yes. I think that was pretty obvious, can we be more specific?"

"A rapier," Zazzik said, and the creature's voice didn't give a clue to their gender either.

Shenzi translated 'rapier' into Kvaren for the others. "Yes, most likely a rapier. Now what will our main concerns be after we address blood loss?"

Another of the girls answered, and this one appeared somewhat more haughty than the rest and kept glancing at Verissa with a sneer.

"Yes, Briea, keeping the wounds covered and preventing infection is the secondary goal. Now, tell me what substances you would use to prevent infection. Let's let Verissa answer this time."

She repeated herself and then group turned to look at their newest member expectantly. Even the patient, who was still unconscious and unaware of himself being used as a training tool, seemed to breathe lighter as they waited. Shenzi hadn't actually answered Verissa's question, but a twinkle of knowing glittered in her eyes.

--

Asher made his way through the busy campsite, moving much more swiftly without being encumbered by Verissa at his side. His wounded shoulder ached even at the slightest jostle and he gritted his teeth against the discomfort, but didn't realize he was doing it until his jaw started to ache.

Before he could even think about sorting out his own belongings, it was his duty to assist with organizing the packing and shipping of the weapons and raid gear shared by the tribe as a whole. Everything from keen-edged blades and masterwork bows down to the simplest wooden training staffs would have to be accounted for. As Asher met up with his fellow Swordmasters, he remembered a time when he was the one doing the grunt work, but as they delegated to the younger fighters Asher was glad for the reprieve.

The hours slipped by as Asher helped with bundling up weapons and armour, loaded into carts, and helped break down the light fencing that outlined the training pits. The flat expanse of dirt remained when they were done, with a small stack of more worn bo staffs laying discarded in the grass.

It was only then that Asher was free enough from obligation to take care of his own business. He meandered through the communal cooking area towards the far side of the camp where the livestock were kept. Creatures like goats and pigs were kept in pens, and the riding raptors were secured even further with chains. Only the horses were allowed to roam free in a herd, their wranglers posted among them to keep watch.

It was to one of the wranglers that Asher approached, lifting his good arm in greeting.

"Torrik, hello!" He had to wait until the mounted man trotted his painted horse over to him. Torrik looked down, shielding his face against the sun. He had dark, weathered skin and a white muttonchop beard.

"Ash, my lad. What can I do for you?" The wrangler was polite enough, but obviously had little time to chat, which suited Asher fine.

"I need a horse for the move tomorrow," Asher started, but Torrik's snort interrupted him.

"Yeah? You and everyone else. You shoulda been here yesterday, I mighta been able to help you out."

"Don't give me that shit, Torrik. There's still plenty of good beasts out there and you know I can pay. I just need something that can pull a cart."

Torrik scratched his thick fingers through his messy beard, considering the young Swordmaster. "Well, I might have something. I'd be happy to trade. I heard you brought home something really pretty last night. Fancy a swap?"

"Like hell," Asher growled, his face turning stony. "No woman is worth a single horse."

"No slave, you mean?"

Asher hesitated but remained silent, glaring openly at the Wrangler, who eventually smirked.

"Alright, alright. I don't have any cart horses yet but I have a nice draft mule that will do just fine, and a cart to go with him."

Asher nodded and the two men haggled about the price for a while, mostly as an exercise. Eventually, Torrik agreed on an amount. "Hang out here and I'll get him hitched up for you to take back to your tent."

The man turned his splotch-coloured horse and trotted off. Ash had gotten what he wanted, but couldn't help feel that he had come out of the conversation a bit worse off.

Verissa listened to the bustling Kvaren language around her, still not used to it. She occasionally heard familiar words, but couldn't quite put them to meaning. She'd heard Shenzi speaking in Kvaren, then switching back to Common. She picked out several words that her mind specifically made a note of. The words for suture, clean, needle, wound, heal. She kept at this until the woman came over to her, accompanied by a crowd of wide eyed youth. Verissa listened close, finding it increasingly worrying that this man had yet to be treated.

She found it terribly interesting that she was teaching how to identify a weapon by the wounds they caused. It wasn't something Verissa had ever focused on before. It seemed to make sense that a sword had caused the wounds, though she didn't find it as obbious as Shenzi. Perhaps because she wasn't as accustomed to combat. When they said rapier, she tried to picture what one looked like, cursing her lack of knowledge in this area. She guessed from the wounds that it was thin and sharp pointed, but aside from that she had no clue.

Verissa saw the girl sneering at her, and for a brief moment, her mind told her to look down and away submissively. But she wasn't this woman's slave, she was Asher's slave. And Shenzi made it clear that she needed to make Asher look good through her own efforts. As all eyes were on her, she felt the anxiety of one being judged and facing intense scrutiny. She knew the answer easily, but also remembered what SHenzi had taught her just the day before. Looking straight at the sneering girl, "Feverfew and plaintain leaves, marigold petals made into a poultice with honey to be applied to the wound. I've found that honey, coneflower, feverfew, made into a tea also fights infection. It also helps give strength back into those that have lost a good deal of blood as this man has. Treating the wound with boiled brine also helps prevent infection by ensuring it to be cleaned."

It was stated very matter of factly, and Verissa immediately began feeling sheepish, as Shenzi translated. That's when she knew what the old woman was doing. This woman was using this man and his injuries to teach further, since his life wasn't in immediate danger. This made her smile, this woman was very intelligent indeed.

Shenzi put her to work making poultices and tea, while showing some of the youth watched on. The watched her hands move deftly as she cut the leaves, ground them with mortar and pestle, as she boiled them down just right. She wasn't used to working with plantain and a few other plants, such as orange root, but the methods still rang true. The sneering girl and others were charged with treating the man. She was scrubbing the man's wounds, but seemed to be doing so gingerly. Verissa walked over, grabbing a fresh rag, moving the woman's hands aside. She spoke in Common, unsure if the woman would understand, "You're doing him no favors being ginger with your cleansing. You need to remove any dead flesh and outside materials, otherwise infection is inevitable and will lead to blood poisoning." She coupled this statement with vigorous, deep scrubbing, showing how the raw flesh was now pristine, before heading back to her own work, receiving a proper scowl from the girl.

After many long stretches of work, Shenzi came up to Verissa, "You've done well today, take some time to yourself, before having to return to Asher." For her sake, the woman said it in Kvaren first, then Common. Verissa thanked her in Kvaren, remembering how Asher had said it the night before.

Her pups had been resting outside the healer's tent, were immediately active as she stepped out. She pet them, and decided to simply go wandering around camp. She watched as everyone prepared for departure, tearing down tents, packing things into saddlebags, carts, and crates. She found someone had left a wooden pole near a camp that was already packed. She picked it up, smiling. It reminded her of the strange events that happened on her way to Azure Strand, of the woman she called Strawberry. She'd tried to use a stick then as a weapon and had failed miraculously. But she knew of people who could use them, and something about it appealed to her.

She moved to open space, hands clutching far too low, at one end, as her pups looked on curiously. She tried a downward swing, finding it immediately threw her off balance, and forced her to recover awkwardly. Stubbornly, she kept just swinging and swinging, now more of a cathartic exercise to vent her frustration than any true weapons training.

The wheels of the empty cart rumbled faintly across the beaten dirt path through the camp as Asher lead the tall draft mule back towards the Healer's tent. It was still light out, but the shadows were lengthening as the sun dipped towards the horizon. The change in the campsite was more than obvious. Carts and packed bundles littered the area, many of the tents and pavilions already uprooted and turned into rolls of leather and canvas with support polls bundled in the centers. Children and dogs ran screaming with laughter through the walkways that seemed wider than usual.

Verissa wasn't at the Healer's tent, but Shenzi pointed him in the right direction after spending some time complimenting the woman not only on her skill, but her confidence in spite of her tragic change in circumstances.

The grey-eyed Swordmaster nodded, glad to hear Shenzi report a good first day for Verissa, and then offered to stay and help pack the Healer's Tent with the other young men and women. But Shenzie waved him off, her canine teeth glinting with her foxy grin.

"I'm sure you have your own tent to pack, Ash. Verissa should help you with it."

As he passed by a group of Shenzi's unofficial acolytes, he couldn't help but hear a wave of whispers and turned to look. His scar-bisected eyebrow twitched up and apparently the woman named Briea took his attention as an invitation. While the others watched, she wandered over from where she and her friends were organizing something for Shenzi and she smiled warmly.

"Hello Ash," Briea greeted him, moving in front of him so that he was forced to either stop walking or knock her down. When she spoke, her fluid hand motions were accompanied by a saucily-cocked hip, and he couldn't help but notice that the pretty dyed wrap accentuated her shape.

"What do you want, Briea?" he asked, grumpy and even slightly suspicious. He knew that she was interested in him, but something about her seemed ingenuine, though he'd never been able to put his finger on it. As a sly grin spread across her face while she contemplated the answer to his question, Asher felt his brow scrunch with a frown.

"I can think of a few things," she replied thoughtfully, her white-blonde hair falling perfectly straight over her shoulder as she tilted her head to regard him. He had to admit, she was very pretty. "But I was wondering if you wanted to share a tent with me once we all reach the Gathering? A handsome man like you shouldn't sleep alone."

Normally such a suggestion would have instantly made him think about Wren, but while he did think of her, the jab of outrage in his gut had less to do with his dead wife and more to do with Briea's assumption that he would be alone. Squaring his shoulders a bit, the young Swordmaster tightened his grip on the mule's lead rope.

"I won't be alone. In case you hadn't heard, my tent is a bit crowded now after the raid last night." His words were stoney, but Briea either didn't get the hint or refused to give up so easily. She pressed closer and even lifted an arm to rest her palm on his shoulder, her hip nudging against his. She was warm and smelled good.

"Haha, you know as well as I do that slaves can just sleep outside with the dogs," Briea giggled hatefully, and Asher decided he had had enough.

"I don't have time for this," he growled, pushing roughly past the woman, not noticing the daggers in her eyes as she stared after him, the look fueled by the wicked giggling of her friends.

When Asher finally found Verissa on what was left of the training pits, he paused to watch for a while, crossing his arms over his muscled chest and leaning against the massive shoulder of the mule, who busied himself cropping at the dry grass. He didn't smile a lot, but an amused smirk loitered on his lips as he watched the woman attack the ground and the air with the weathered stick. He had spent enough time training to know when someone was genuinely training or just getting out their anger, and Verissa definitely appeared to be doing the latter.

Eventually he decided to speak up, leaving the mule and cart to wander around a bit while approaching Verissa with his hands lifted in a peaceful gesture. His boots crunched on the cracked sandy dirt.

"You have a lot of power behind your swings, but you're too stiff. If you actually did hit someone holding a staff like that it would jolt it right out of your hands." He kept his distance, waiting to see how she responded to his presence before getting close enough for a good hit. Asher wasn't ignorant of the possibility that she blamed her kidnapping entirely on him and might wish to punish him for it in a very direct and skull-cracking way.

"I could show you, if you'll let me." He watched her eyes the way he would watch a startled cat or a sketchy camp dog, not making any motion to take the staff from her, his eyes stormy and soulful at the same time.

The more she swung, the more she found it making her feel better. Her legs, her back, everything was sore, from being thrown around by Jasper, from the longest ride of her life, taking her from her home. But she didn't care. She fought through the pain. Gripping one end of the stick, she swung it heavily, wishing it were into Jasper's dark, grinning face. Every time she did, the weight of it, and her poor stance, pulled her forward and off balance.

Swing after swing, careless step after step, and she was huffing and puffing, hunched over, resting on the stick, laid across her thighs. She half heard Asher's words, but needed one last thing. She let out a feral, loud yell, just to vent her raw frustration and pain. When it was over, she closed her eyes, took three deep breaths. Then she opened them and looked over at her new master, feeling a bit better. She considered his words, wiping the sweat from her brow.

He was a Swordmaster after all, he probably knew what he was talking about. Part of her, a defiant part, wanted to spit in his face and say horrid things to him, for ripping her from her life, for killing those she loved, for destroying her home. She just wanted to hit him with the damn stick, and it was probably obvious as her eyes hardened toward him, her grip tightening on her stick.

But she didn't.

She may not have had much interaction with him, but she could tell he was trying to do right. He could've left her to the horrors Jasper and that other man had planned for her. He could've joined in. Or just left her in the ruin of her burnt home. But he took her in, and even though she's a slave, he'd treated her well so far.

She relaxed her aggressive posture, at first just nodding at his request, holding her staff defensively. "Yes, please."

It felt like a step in the right direction as Asher watched Verissa relax and invite him to teach her something. She could have refused and then they would have gone back to his tent together. Learning how to weild a staff wasn't crucial, not like learning to how simply live as a slave in the camp. Asher couldn't put his finger on why, but this was important. Perhaps that's why he looked so serious when he approached her. He reached for the staff, but didn't take it from her. Rather, he corrected her hold on the staff, moving her fists to cut the length of wood into thirds, both palms down.

"There. From this position you can get to any other type of hold fairly quickly. Both hands on one end like a sword can give you a powerful strike, but the beauty of the staff is how versatile it is. From this hold you can bring your hands out and use the staff to block a sword or axe..."

He slid her hands out, increasing the gap between them and then brought the staff up towards him until it bumped his chest.

"...or, you can bring them closer together and turn the staff into a weapon on both ends."

He brought her hands in closer with only a fist-length between them and then rotated the staff slowly, doing figure-eights so that the ends of the staff swept around beside her shoulders. He never looked away from her face, even if she looked down to see what he was doing with his hands.

"From here you can strike down at the knees or up at the ribs or even the head." Asher held both ends of the staff, twisting it up or down to show Verissa how she could use both hands to manipulate the staff to jab either one end or the other at a specific target.

"The position you hold your body in can help you control your strikes or blocks. You have to move so you can move the staff around you." The swordmaster moved, keeping one hand on the staff as he stepped around behind his slave, reaching for the other end until Verissa was between the wooden weapon and Asher's chest. His voice was in her ear.

"You were using your lower back too much, which throws you off balance and leaves you open to attacks. Until you have learned the basics, focus on keeping your back straight and moving your legs instead. Now, step forward with your right leg and I will move the staff, but keep your hands on it."

When she did so, Asher moved the staff, swinging the right end out and the left end back, showing Verissa how the momentum put power behind the strike and how natural the motion could feel. They practiced the move and a couple more. Asher had taught this lesson many times before. The staff was usually the first weapon children started with, graduating to other things when their talents and interests emerged. But somehow this lesson was special, more personal. Now and then the wind brushed through Verissa's hair, and Asher could still smell the herbs from her shop. He kept close to her, and it occured to him that he should enjoy the feeling of her back against him, but he tried to ignore it, resolving that he didn't want to be like Jasper.

"I hope you'll let me teach you more. It will make me feel better to know you can protect yourself." His words caught a little and Asher fell silent, trying to clamp down on a jab of grief.

"Anyways, if you someday wanted to go on the Hunt, it's never too early to learn how to wield a weapon."

She felt his hands cup hers, and guide them along the wood, her grip relaxed to let him do his work. Verissa noticed that the staff felt more balanced and light now. She listened intently at his words, wanting to learn how to not be so helpless the next time someone decided to rip her life from her. She felt him guide her hands out, into a blocking pose. She held it here, already feeling her weak arms beginning to burn and strain at the outstretched weight.

Verissa was relieved as he brought the staff in, her hands closer as the weight easier to manage. He spun the staff in her hands, and she struggled to keep her hands from stumbling over one another. How did people do this so fast? Her mind told her the obvious answer. Practice. Perhaps she could make this a daily routine, if her new slave master would let her. Her eyes were busy watching their hands spin and spin the staff, her own constantly bumping and having to grab again. She could feel his gaze one her, proving his skill as someone experienced in combat.

She listened as he told her about places to strike with this. Suddenly, she felt him behind her, his breath hot in her ear, as he spoke again. It made her nervous. Prior to the night of the attack, and their horse ride back, she'd never been so close to a man. And even though she was nervous, especially after what Jasper had wanted to do, there was something comforting in Asher's strength. He could crush her, kill her, take her if he wanted. And yet, he didn't. It was nice knowing her master was someone strong, yet... gentle.

At his direction, she straightened her back, tightening her weak stomach muscles. She stepped forward with her right leg, trying to remember to keep a firm but relaxed grip on the staff. She felt Asher swing the staff, and she could actually feel the power behind the blow, how... normal and natural it felt. She felt as if she could never wield a bladed weapon, but this, this she could do. She repeated the motion with him, until she was adding her own meager amount of power to the swing. Her timings were always a bit off, but she kept at it, over and over, until she had forgotten Asher was even there.

Suddenly his words snapped her back to reality. Turning to face him, her face flush from exertion, she slowly moved her eyes up his muscular form, to find his own. She couldn't hold the gaze for long, but she managed to say, "Yes, please... Asher." She wasn't sure if she should call him master or sir or anything like that.

Her eyes quickly cast away again, "Could you please keep speaking in Kvaren too? I need to learn it quickly." Her boldness surprised her, and she hoped he didn't take it badly. In for a copper, in for a gold, "What's the Hunt? I've never hunted anything before."

The Swordmaster followed Verissa with his eyes when she stepped away from him, wondering if he'd said something she found offensive, his scarred brow arched slightly over a stormy eye as he watched her gaze travel up to his face. She was so nervous, scared, and it reminded her of the yales that ran in huge herds on the grassland. They were graceful, but prone to bounding away at the slightest noise.

And he didn't correct her when she used his name. Any title other than Swordmaster would have made him feel soulless.

"I will," he promised, falling even more solidly into the habit of saying everything in Kvaren first and then translating it into Common for her. It was tedious, but he wanted her to trust him. Even if her urgency to adapt to life here was purely in the interest of self-preservation, he couldn't help but hope that perhaps one day it would lead to something more. "If it had been up to me, Verissa, I would have simply left you in your home. But now that you're here I'll...I'll do what I can to make you happy."

He held his hand out for the staff and took it, but rather than toss it back into the grass where Verissa had found it, he turned and heaved his arm back, throwing it like a spear until it clattered into the empty bed of the wooden cart. The mule attatched to it pinned his ears back and looked up, chewing on a mouthful of grass and glaring disdainfully at the fighter.

"It's a little bit too tall for you, but I'll shorten it and clean it up so you can keep practicing. Now, let's head back to the tent. We have some packing to do tonight."

Asher motioned for her to walk at his side and led her back to his tent, the huge mule and rough cart rumbling beside them.

"There are only a few ways a slave can become a free member of the Thunderfang tribe," he began, taking his time before answering her question. He eyed her at length, hesitating. "The first way is to marry your Master," he started, though there was something in his tone that discounted that possibility immediately. "Luckily for you I am not the kind of man who would consider taking a second wife. The second way would be to have my child, whether I married you or not." To Asher, becoming a free member of the tribe seemed poor consolation for women captured and raped by his fellows, but he supposed it was better than nothing. He glanced down at Verissa again, "I hope I made it clear last night that I don't intend to do that to you, Verissa."

They were coming up on his pavillion tent now, and Asher tied the mule to a post and beckoned for Verissa to help him start loading much of the stuff from inside his tent into the back.

"The third way is the Hunt. Not every tribe allows slaves to take it, and they still need their Master's permission, but it's the same Hunt that children go on to become adults. The Kerawac, what you call "The Valley of the Screamers," and he grinned somewhat amusedly at that, "is full of many deadly animals. Knowing them, hunting them, defending ourselves against them, that's how we survive. A young Kvaren will take a weapon and a small pack of supplies and go out into the grass to kill something. Upon bringing proof back, they are accepted into the tribe as an adult. Or in the case of a slave, free."

He lifted the coppery and black wolf hide down from the wall and ran his hand through the soft fur as he rolled it up. "This is the maned wolf I killed to earn my place in the Tribe. This is his fang too." He pulled the heavy fang pendant from his neck and handed it to her to look at. "Maned wolves aren't especially large or dangerous compared to other things, but they are not very common."

When they had finished, the mule (as well as Phantom) were hitched outside, munching muffledly in their leather nosebags and snoozing before the start of their long journey in the morning. Asher was sweating, his dark hair plastered to his forehead and his cheeks hot from lifting heavy crates into the back of the cart. He had pulled off his shirt, the resulting effect somewhat spoiled by the bandages around his shoulder. There was strikethrough on the white linen, proof that he'd overdone himself.

-

She nodded at his agreement to speak the language, trying to keep her resolve strong at this entirely new life. So many new things to learn, so many things to forget and leave behind. She was grateful that he took the time to do this for her, and she almost smiled, for even though she was a slave, at least she got the pick of the litter when it came to masters it seemed. She was so focused on trying to translate his latest words that their meaning hit her a bit later. Nodding again now, she knew they were both quite reluctant in this situation. He had to take her, or risk losing face and rank in his tribe. But trying to make her happy? That was entirely unexpected.

Verissa gently handed over the staff, and frowned when she saw him setting to throw it. It was just a stick, but it felt like it was hers, if only for a brief moment. When it landed in his, no, their cart though, she actually did smile momentarily. Especially at the words that followed. He really was putting forth a lot of effort to make her comfortable and welcomed. She needed to repay him, not just in word, but in action. He stepped away to leave, and she smiled from behind him. She'd always heard the saying about clouds and silver linings, but had never really experienced it until now.

She followed quickly, catching up, her smile fading to a more neutral expression, listening intently. She noticed that he had a different manner of speaking when he was teaching rather than just conversing. When he said marry, and then translated it, she felt her stomach tighten. But she relaxed after hearing him continue. Then her heart broke a little for the man. He'd lost his first wife. She wondered how, and how long ago. When he told her of the second method, she nodded again, "Yes, you did. Thank you." She tried to sound less cold and more sincere this time when she spoke. She knew that he must still be hurting, no matter how long ago his wife's death had been.

When he explained the Hunt to her, she knew that this would have to be her way out. She'd never killed anything before, but that was Trix. Verissa would have to learn, and learn well. That meant embracing the lifestyle, learning her weapon, finding an edge. She had years of inexperience to make up for. She needed to throw herself into everything, into all the valuable traits. Into her most valuable, and secret trait. She needed to practice her magic. If one thing could shore up her disadvantage, it was that.

She was picking up some of the smaller boxes and bags alongside Asher, watching him closely. She was concerned about the weight of what he was lifting. Helping to organize the cart was easy, as it seemed Asher had a premeditated system, having traveled many times before. When he pulled off his shirt, she could see the seepage on his bandages and stood there arms crossed. Her gaze was stern, her hips cocked to one side.

She didn't care in the moment if she struggled with the language, she'd plucked out two words she was fairly confident she knew. "No. Happy."

She moved up to him, trying to not stair at the glistening skin that was exposed, taking a firm hold of his hand, clearly to not be deterred. She pulled him into his mostly bare tent, not noticing a couple men outside staring as Asher was manhandled by his newest female slave. She pulled him to a crate, the chairs and table packed away, pushing him gently to a sitting position. She was tutting, grabbing her unpacked kit, her pace clearly agitated. Once she had the remaining salve and clean bandages ready, she realized she didn't know the words she needed to convey. "How do you say, 'Arms up.'?" Once he told her, she would repeat it back, then untuck the bandage from itself, gently peeling it from his skin. Once his stitches were exposed she eyed them, prodding and gently tugging at them, ignoring any discomfort it might have caused. Satisfied that they were holding just fine, she smoothed some salve over them, and rebandaged him.

She cleaned up, keeping a stern eye on him, not ready to let him up yet. She filled a pot with water and set it to boiling on the unpacked oven. She asked what each item was called in Kvaren as she worked. She cut the potatoes into chunks, sliced the onion in half, sliced the carrots, tossing them all in. She ripped chunks of the leftover meat and tossed them in, then got into her herb bag, and dropped in sprinklings of thyme, rosemary, and some red wine. It wouldn't be great, but it would be a halfway decent stew. She asked him how to say everything she asked him in Kvaren, then repeated it back to him. "Let's finish what we can. If it's too heavy, I will help, and you will ask me to. You need to be strong for the Gathering. Can't be strong if not healed. Then we eat."

A part of her liked this taking charge side of her. She'd never dared done that before, and was wondering what brought it about now. A few times during the additional packing she stirred the stew, but once the spoon slipped into the water depths. She didn't have any other utensils on hand and looked around to see if she was being watched. Fairly certain she wasn't, she pushed her magic out of her left hand, and applied it like a cream to her her right, temporarily glowing lavender, her thoughts asking to not be burned. Once her entire hand was covered, she finished the magic, and it Shield disappeared from sight. She put her hand over the pot, in the steam, not feeling the heat whatsoever. Smiling, she gingerly touched the boiling water at the surface. She could feel the water, but it was as if it were simply room temperature. She slipped her hand into the depths, until she felt the spoon. she plucked it out and went back to stirring, as if nothing had happened.

Working through the discomfort of the sword slash on his shoulder was just another part of life on the grassland to Asher. His people didn't have the luxury of laying up to heal. So when Verissa crossed her arms and glared at him, her cross expression was met with a confused lift of Asher's scarred eyebrow as he followed her gaze to his shoulder, uncertain what he'd done to earn her displeasure. He was injured. Of course it would bleed...

When Verissa took his hand in hers, Asher's mouth opened as if he was going to speak, but his expression darkened and he followed the blonde wordlessly into the bare interior of the tent. Not much was left inside, only what they would need before the entire tribe became a caravan moving through the dry winter grass of the plains. He noticed a couple of other tribesmen watching, grinning at the way he was letting himself be manhandled by his slave, but he was not bothered. Perhaps having a woman in his life before kept him from being rankled by such things anymore, and the sooner his friends saw him accepting Verissa, the sooner they would follow suit.

Dark eyes watching, trying only partially succesfully to stifle a grin as Verissa cluck-clucked around at him like a mother hen, Asher sat down and let the healer work on his wound. It was hard to see the laceration without the use of a mirror, which was now packed, so he flexed a little and looked at it out of the corner of his eye, worried that he'd somehow made it worse by working too hard. In the end he watched Verissa's face, his nose scrunched against the aching jabs as her fingers prodded the rent in his skin, comforted by the fact that she didn't seem too distraught by what she saw. How funny that he was already content to trust her...

Asher grinned amusedly as she made him stay put instead of helping with dinner, though he was curious about what she was making and fidgeted. Years of being his own cook were not easy to set aside. Settling down to be her translator helped, naming everything she picked up for her to learn. "The rest wont take long in the morning. The hardest part will be folding the tent. The only heavy piece left is the stove. I usually let the fire die on the night before a move so that it's not hot in the morning." It meant her bedroll would be far more chill tonight than it had been the night before, but there was no doubt in Asher's mind that offering to share his would be met with those frightened eyes.

He wished Wren were still alive. She was so much better at dealing with people than he was. "You're right. It wont be very much fun for me if my arm rots off before we get there."

"Just leave some water aside so I can clean up after we eat," Asher asked, eventually getting up in spite of her pointed looks. There was a metal clanking as he fiddled with the chains attached to the pole in the center of the tent, disconnecting them completely before carrying them out into the darkness, and a second clatter as he threw them into the bottom of the wagon.

When Asher returned, his footsteps were quiet on the leather floor, intending to sneak up on Verissa to see what she was adding to the soup next. The scent of rosemary had filled the tent and he was planning to tell her that it was one of his favourites. But his words failed when he watched the woman plunge her hand into the seething surface of the water.

"Verissa, no!" he shouted, shocked, reaching around her waist with one mighty arm to pull her from the stove, the other darting swiftly for her wrist. Undeniably strong fingers trained for gripping swords closed around her wrist as he brought it up, a strangled noise of dismay working out of his throat as his heart leaped to his throat. "What did you do?!"

Confusion swept over his face as he brought his other hand to her palm, carefully spreading her fingers open to inspect them. Asher had seen burns before, and expected the mixed blotched red with pale blisters already bubbling...to find her skin scaled and painful. His distress at the idea of her being hurt was pure and genuine, not hidden by the dark broody mask he normally wore. But instead of finding her maimed, Verissa's hand was as pale and flawless as before, and she would be able to watch the realization dawn in his steely eyes as they panned slowly from her hand to her face.

"You're a mage."

Verissa suddenly found herself being swept all about, hearing the rough, loud, scared voice of Asher. The iron grip on her wrist, along with being pulled so hard bodily made her gasp in pain. For the briefest of moments, she was lost in a world of complete confusion, not realizing that her sneaky bit of Shielding might've actually been seen. She found herself looking at his face as he was inspecting her hand, and she could see the genuine fear there. He actually cared about her well-being.

Then she saw it. The look she'd always been afraid of seeing back in Ebonfort. He knew what she was. Despite what that captain had said on that day she'd found the massacred company, she still lived in fear of people discovering what she was. Her wrist was still in his iron grip, but that mild pain wasn't what brought tears to her eyes. It was fear of what would happen next. Her mind knew that she would be attacked, tortured, killed, at the very least, ripped away from this new world of hers.

Her chest began rising and falling rapidly, her panic taking over her breath. Her eyes began darting around for an escape, despite Asher still holding onto her. In full fledged panic, she used her other hand and brought forth an instant shield between them, focusing on protecting herself from as much as possible, just as she'd done during the raid. She attempted to yank her hand free, her voice coming in frightened gasps. The shield hovered momentarily, the light lavender that always seemed to be the color of her magic, before fading into invisibility. She could still see it though. It was small, about neck height on Asher, roughly the size of a buckler. She doubt it would stop him but she had no choice. She needed to run, to flee, to hide, anything so that these people wouldn't hunt and kill her.

Asher didn't move until the pale purple glow of Verissa's magic shield blossomed up between them, his fretful grip around her wrist broken by the Swordmaster's sense of self-preservation as he stepped back to watch it warily as it glowed and then gradually disappeared.

Up until that moment he had worn a wondous and thoughtful expression as he looked into her pale face, his shocked concern fading once he realized Verissa wasn't hurt. He quickly came to grips with the power she had kept hidden, and was not terribly surprised that she hadn't been up front about it. He naturally paused to consider the repercussions, what this meant for his Tribe, what it meant for Verissa's life among them, what it meant for him, what it meant for them, together. His mouth formed a small circle and his breath came out in a silent whoosh.

"That's amazing," he breathed, watching the patch of invisibility with the fascination of someone who appreciated magic but the caution of someone who clearly had never and would never weild it himself. But after a moment he noticed Verissa's panic. Her pale face and wide eyes, her tense and defensive posture, her rapid, shallow breathing.

"Verissa, what's wrong? Are you hurt? What are you afraid of?" He resisted the urge to step forward to comfort her, stopped by both the recent presence of the violet apparition as well as some subconscious suspicion that it was him she was afraid of. He had no way to know that the shield was still between them even if it was invisible, but fortunately did not sweep forward and crash into it.

The fighter noticed when her pretty but terrified eyes darted to the door like a frightened animal and Asher moved back, crossing his arms across his bare chest as he smoothly blocked her path, his expression growing stonier. "Don't do it, Verissa," he warned. "Please, what's wrong?"

He didn't bother translating into Kvaren right now, the situation far more tense for the trouble.