Moving to the forest edge seemed to take hours in Rosaline’s mind. Her form vanished into the tree line with ease, her heart calming from panic of being so exposed in the smoldering village. Once finding herself in cover she crouched down to see to her injury, pushing her tattered skirts up and unwinding the make-shift bandage slowly. The thin fabric clung to her skin like paste over the shallow gash on the side of her left thigh. She carefully inspected the wound, her fingers probing, flinching with each touch. Dark, thick blood spilled onto the tips of her fingers as she grasped the ragged piece of wood embedded into her thigh. She did not think the splinter to be too deep.  Clenching her jaw she made a swift jerk, pulling the shard of wood out, fresh warm blood spilling after and down her leg. She stifled a cry and hoped if anyone heard they would think it an animal in the woods. Her newly bloodied hands fumbled with a longer piece of her skirt, ripping a new piece free. She wrapped the wound quickly, tying the fabric tight on the inside of her thigh, the blood quickly staining the rough wool, but slowing due to the pressure. Thankfully it was not deep and the flow slowed under the cloth.<br/><br/>She pushed off the tree, testing her weight for a moment before moving forward. Her eyes still burned and her throat was dry, but she would survive. She moved slowly, trying her best not to hit fallen branches, though it was unavoidable with the destruction from the armies. She only hoped she would make no more noise than an animal. She passed deeper, the tall black pines like silent sentries watching her in the night. She did not know how much longer until dawn, and the she knew it was deep into the night, but the moon and stars remained blanketed in smoke, what little she could see through the dark pines. As she pushed south she could hear the voices of men, voices she did not know, foreign to her senses. At least it seemed they spoke her tongue. Her gaze moved east as her body paused in a thicket for cover. The hills were still far to her east; that was where she saw the campfires in the horizon. She would be afforded no coverage there, but here in her forest she could sneak closer, maybe find out more about this force and what happened. She did not know which army lay in the woods and which camped on the hills. The battle was too confusing, she only remembered the single banner, deep red with a black raven, Kalderian, the word was strange on her tongue, but she was sure that was what she heard.<br/><br/>She decided, her movements were slow, half crawling her way closer to the scattered camp in the forest. The men did not seem concerned with the east, instead they moved like beetles, scurrying as though the sun had come up, moving from tent to tent.  She pushed her way into a thick bramble of thorns and underbrush, cringing as a branch caught her leg, but pushing on. The earth felt cold against her stomach, occasionally having to shift to make room for her bow. She was careful not to move the bush too much, drawing one dagger to lay against her forearm, just in case. Her green eyes squinted, as though it would help her see better, but she quickly shook her head, forcing her eyes open, she needed her eyes wide to let what little light in that she could. Her vision came slowly, she could make out the figures, hear their words, but she could not tell their faces from here. Perhaps for the best, she dared not get too close.<br/><br/><i>“Gentlemen, our contract has just been terminated. We will be paid for our service, although it will not be the full amount. When you’re dismissed, take a piss because we leave in an hour.” The figure turned towards another man, “Go see the Kalderian treasurer and get our money. Then distribute it amongst the men, to include my share.”</i><br/><br/>Paid for service, a strange concept indeed Rosaline thought to herself. She knew the ones who retreated this way lost…but were they the murderers, the men who slaughtered her people? She could not, try as hard as she might, find the same banner. She doubted they would continue west, no one climbed the mountain; sure they hunted in the lower peaks, but to cross that endless waste of rock…<br/><br/>She backed out the bush as slowly as she could, but still not slow enough for her liking. She knew it moved, too much for a small animal. She let a curse from her lips, though it was quiet as she sat back on her heels. She was far back from the camp, perhaps too far for them to have seen. She continued backing up in a low crouch, moving slowly, testing each step before applying weight so as not to break a branch. Her muscles burned as she pressed against one of the many pines, slowly standing, hoping her clothes so soiled would blend into the bark, she wished she had taken the time to put on her leathers, rather than stuffing them into the small pack on her back. She reminded herself, she could dress once across the White River, free of these men. An hour. No doubt they had horses, perhaps even her horses, the town had few of them, two her own, and all were missing, either killed, stolen or run off she supposed.<br/><br/>What would she even do once she reached Bristol, no family, no coin, and she looked like something birthed from the swamp. She could feel her chest pounding as she waited, waited to see if they had seen the bush move, thump, thump, thump... So loud it almost drowned out the distant headache in her mind. She took slow deep breaths, calming herself, she had kept a far pace, these woods were dense; they would think it just an animal.<br/><br/>She craned her neck, looking around the tree to the east, a long walk, no supplies, no coin, but, yes that man mentioned coin, surely they would not miss a few. She could wait for them to trek out of the camp, trail them till they made for rest and sneak in. She had crept up on rabbits her whole life, surely a few men weary from battle would be no harder. If they had horses she could perhaps take one of those as well. She knew how to ride, and she would need to place distance between them. There was much she did not know about, but she could certainly make a living, maybe another town needed a new hunter, or an animal trainer. It was a bleak thought, the future, but first she had to survive the night.<br/><br/>Her heart pounding but her mind set and slinked down the tree, making herself as small target, hidden in the thin foliage at the base, there she would wait, sweat streaking her soot covered face. Though she wished for nothing more than a dip in the river, she was thankful for the grim, it helped hide her all the better.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">~~~​</div><br/>As Xesyl moved west through the hills towards Morning Dove, his nostrils would be assaulted with the thick smell of burning flesh, the smoke still thick in the air, blotting out the sky. As he would crest the last hill his eyes would see nothing but devastation. What was a village lay in ruins, bodies spilled in the fields of, judging by the smell in the air, wheat and tobacco. At first glance one would recognize the shattered pikes, lances, and pieces of armor from a battle, but on closer inspection he would notice simple farm tools, peasants with no armor ripped and torn asunder. Women, whose dresses were torn, fear in their glazed eyes, their chests still with death. The rapes were obvious by the lay of cloth, though sometimes it appeared as just carnage. Limbs missing, or sometimes just the opposite, a hand with no body to match littered the grounds. Whatever battle that took place here held no compassion for the innocents that once filled those fields with laughter.<br/><br/>A sizable encampment lay spread out across the northeastern hills that Xesyl had skirted around on the southern entrance to the valley. White River lay to his back, while tall ominous pines bore to his front. They shot out of the ground to dizzying heights, or perhaps it was due to their barren trunks that exploded in large boughs of needles at the very tops, some having to be more than 40 feet tall. Mist and smoke swept the wreckage of the town, a few forlorn buildings still in flame, the hot orange flames licking the air, consuming the wood with a devils appetite. If he stilled and focused between those few buildings that refused to be put out, he would see a long figure moving with speed. It was not the frantic movement of a peasant, but timed movements, the fluidity of hunter stalking its prey, or perhaps it was the prey, not wishing to be seen.<br/><br/>The figure was dark against the flame and smoke, male or female unknown, but if he continued to watch its movements he would see the limp in its step. Perhaps the figure thought itself graceful, silent, but as it neared the southern tip of the village that kissed the dark line of pines, it looked like a boar crashing into the brush. Any trained soldier could take in the fields and see the victorious army on high and the cuts and pushing of a retreat into those very woods at the west. Though it could not be known if the lone figure belonged to the army, it was certainly doubtful, perhaps a survivor of the village? Either way, its path led surely to death if its movements into the forest were any indication of its continued stealth under its pines.