Nemaisare — Roleplayer Guild

Oh…

She’d surprised him again. Of course, she had, the poor fellow hadn’t the hope of a babe in high water of noticing much of the world, the way he kept tripping over himself and clinging to the trees. They held him up indifferently, and Herring paused, now and then, to look at their trunks, noting the brush of red across the grey. Watered down though, and he didn’t seem to be leaving any other trail now his clothes had dripped themselves damp instead of waterlogged. So, she couldn’t have said if he was staggering from bloodloss or exhaustion, but she was willing to bet his injuries weren’t small. Knowing what she did of those hungry teeth, if he’d been bitten even once, the wound would be deep. No poison or irritant though, and the water he’d fallen in was generally clean, though there might have been something gotten into the punctures. At least he didn’t seem to have any broken limbs. 

Though, why that mattered… She wasn’t worried about him dying! Only living! He’d be less trouble dead. 

She scowled at his back as he rasped something barely audible, certainly not nearly loud enough to make sense, and straggled off again. Did he think he’d answered her? Or had he even heard the question? Was he only talking to himself now?

Cursed ruin of a man, tottering like he’d grown ancient overnight, and blind and deaf to boot! Well, clearly, he wasn’t so bad off that he couldn’t summon the energy to keep walking, so, since he’d made it this far, she was going to keep following. If he made it all the way out of the forest, she’d be sore impressed, sure, but glad enough to be rid of him. And if he didn’t, well… 

Well, she’d just leave him lie! 

Although… As she watched him, almost hoping he’d fall on his face right there so she could prove her conviction, Herring noticed that he seemed to have gained a second wind. He was still no more coordinated than a drunkard, and she’d seen young Ogden’s father enough to know what one looked like, thank you. Yet he’d somehow gained greater purpose in his movements. He tripped less, though he continued to use the trees for their support, and his head, rather than hanging, seemed to be swinging back and forth. Was he looking for something?

She had her answer shortly after coming up with the question, as he tumbled to his knees. Well, not immediately, she thought it may have been a moment of clarity before the final breath, a surge of wasted energy since he wouldn’t need it anymore, as he swayed there and leaned so far over she was convinced he’d topple in another second. Except, he never did. Instead, he pulled himself back upright, more through some mental force than any true strength, she thought, and began plucking at the ground. He lacked the coordination to call it anything else, and Herring wasn’t feeling generous enough to call it anything more than luck whenever he actually managed to grab some leaves. 

Still, it was clear enough that he had been looking for something. And found it, too. Though, he’d have found it all the faster if he’d only looked the first time he was standing. Herring was near certain there’d been some marrenwort where she’d found him that morning. Well, no matter, either way, he was managing more random devastation than experienced selection, and after about the twentieth time she saw him dropping what he’d gathered from clumsy fingers and continue his attempt—like carrying water in a sieve, it was—she couldn’t stand it anymore. Not only was it a waste of energy, but a waste of resources, too. And that poor patch of weed, hardy though the plant was, looked as though it had been host to pigs trying to toss a salad. 

With a huff, the woman stalked over and swatted his hands away from the next plant he was so set on stripping bare and ruining. “Doan jest pluck th’poor lot like yehr makin’ ready a bird. What use t’ye’s a bundle ifen yeh keep droppin’ it?”

Scowling, she spoke harshly, without minding whether there was any chance of upsetting the man. It was her forest, not his, and if he’d anything to object to, well, that’d be his waste of energy, not hers. She’d decided, a spur of the moment decision and never mind her early convictions, that if she’d followed him this far, wasting some small part of her day, then she might as well waste the rest of it and see about getting him out of the forest before she got back to her chores. A proper man, she might have quietly cursed to be sat there caught pulling leaves until exhaustion overcame him. Though, honestly, magic didn’t seem necessary to accomplish such a feat. This, though… This one wasn’t human. 

He was worse, and hardly acting it. She hadn’t the patience to sit about watching him until he keeled over. Not now he was sat and making some useless gesture at saving himself. It had always frustrated her to see a task done clumsily, the same rough actions repeated over and over with no better result. So, it was either leave him to it or help. And after seeing him failing so well, she couldn’t manage the leaving. Something else to frustrate her, and she didn’t bother holding in her irritation at herself, him, or circumstance. 

“Jest ye set yehrself still there an’ breathe. S’all th’good yehr worth, that state.” So saying, she got to work herself, gathering what he’d dropped, and handing him a few petals to chew in the meantime. Batting his hands aside if he tried to continue. Of course, as they were, the leaves weren’t much use. They needed crushing up and grinding into a paste with maybe a few other bits and pieces added. Nothing she had to hand, and she wasn’t about to go chewing and spitting anything for him when she had a perfectly functional mortar and pestle at her home. The problem, obviously, was that they weren’t at her home, and she had no desire to invite him there, either. So, did she gather the lot for him, hand it to him and walk away? 

Now here was a sorry mess she’d stuck her nose into. Why hadn’t she gone gathering acorns like she’d set out to?
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