Private Tales Shallow Graves

[Leoric Stormcrowned]

The Shallows, Alliria. A moonless night.


The house stank of wet rot and cheap lamp-oil. Rain drummed on the sagging roof while water dripped through the holes and hissed against the stones in front of the fire.

Four men from the Knife-Eels gang lounged around a warped table littered with empty bottles and the fat leather purse that was supposed to be everyone's cut.

Leoric “Ash-Hand” Stormcrowned stood by the back wall, arms folded, greatcoat hanging open, warhammer hanging from one hip.

The broken sword Mercy was gone, traded months ago for food. The hammer suited the work he did now. Ugly work. Leoric had earned that sword. He didn't deserve to use a sword since he broke his vows. He would never use a weapon of finesse and honour again.

He didn't understand why he was here with a couple of hired thugs. The job was done.

The boss - a pock-marked half-orc named Gav - stopped before the table and pointed to the purse.

“Job went smooth, little bird,” Gav said, grinning with too many gold teeth. “But the buyer paid half what he promised. Times are hard. You understand.”

Althea stood in the doorway, soaked from the rain, white-blonde hair plastered to her face.

She looked small in the flickering light, almost fragile, until you noticed the way her pale eyes caught the glow like a cat’s. Two throwing knives glinted at her belt.

Suddenly Leoric understood. She was being cut out. If she didn't walk away, then Gav would have them slit her throat and sink her into the marshes.

Fuck.

The men laughed, nervous, eager, cruel.

"You understand?" Gav asked.


Althea

 

[Althea]

Althea didn’t flinch when Gav grinned at her. She understood perfectly. The rage that unfurled in her chest was hot enough to scorch straight through the wet cold clinging to her bones.

“Are you fucking serious?”

Her boot squelched as she shifted her weight forward, rainwater pattering from her clothes and onto the crooked floorboards. She let her eyes sweep slowly across the four men. Ugly, all of them. Ugly in the way men got when they thought they had something helpless in front of them.

“What was all that shite about loyalty?” she asked, voice sharpening. "I almost died twice for you. Nearly ended up in shackles more times than I can count. And now you want to cut me out?”

She raised a hand, dripping and shaking slightly, not with fear, but hunger, exhaustion, and fury. She pointed straight at the purse on the table.

“You'd never have gotten that at all if it weren't for me and you know it. I want. My. Cut.”

Her stomach twisted, a hollow, aching knot. She hadn’t eaten in two days, or maybe three, it was hard to keep track when nights bled together. But she held their gazes steady, chin lifting.

 

[Leoric Stormcrowned]

Leoric Stormcrowned stood against the damp back wall. The weight of the hammer at his belt was a dull reminder of everything he’d traded away. He didn't meet her gaze as she looked to each of them in turn.

He watched Althea square up to Gav, watched the purse stay stubbornly on the table, watched the half-orc’s gold-toothed grin widen into something cruel.

Gav leaned back, spreading thick hands.

“Loyalty? That’s cute, coming from a wingless sky-rat. Times are tight. You’ll get paid when I say you get paid.”

The two thugs shifted closer to her.

Leoric’s wrapped right hand fell closer to the haft of his hammer. Heat crawled up his forearm, embers glowing faintly between the bandages. He felt the old shame coil in his gut, the same one that had kept him silent in a hundred rooms like this one.

He stayed where he was.

For now.

 

[Althea]

Wingless sky rat?

Thea’s brow knit just a flicker, just enough to show she heard it, but she forced it smooth again and swallowed the retort burning in her throat. She knew how brutal these men were, and how breakable she was. The joys of hollow bones.. But, they did have their advantages, and she was particularly light on her feet.

She lifted both hands slowly, palms out, as though calming a skittish animal. “Fine…” she huffed, “I get it. I’m going.”

Another step back. The floor creaked under her heel. Her gaze flicked to the door. Her shoulders lowered. She looked like she was about to turn and slink off back into the rain.

Then she moved. Fast.

Two light strides forward, almost a blur, and she sprang, leaping atop the table, sending the empty bottles rattling. Her fingers closed around the heavy purse.

Before they could grab her, she was already off again, weightless as breath. She bounded to the next table and then the next, boots clattering across splintered wood. As she went, she kicked bottles hard at their faces, glass crashing, lamp-oil spilling and catching fire, men cursing and reeling as she went for the back door.

 

[Leoric Stormcrowned]

Leoric’s back stayed pressed to the damp wall, warhammer hanging heavy from his belt, left hand clenched at his side.

Shame tasted like ash on his tongue. He’d stood silent in rooms like this too many times. He'd watched smaller people get ground down while he collected his cut. Old habits. Old cowardice.

Then she moved.

Althea sprang like something wild and weightless, a flash of white-blonde hair and lace across the table. Bottles scattered, the purse vanished into her grip, and for one stunned heartbeat Leoric could only watch. She bounded from tabletop to tabletop, light as a bird.

Leoric grinned.



Gav roared. One of the thugs, a big bastard named Torv, lunged sideways and kicked a table hard. The whole thing toppled just as Althea leaped for it.

Time slowed.

Leoric saw her eyes widen, saw her body twist mid-air trying to adjust, saw that there was no way she could keep her momentum.

"Bring her down!" Grav cried. The back door slammed shut. "I'm gonna slit her fucking throat myself."

 

[Althea]

Close.. so close. Just a few more strides and she would’ve been through the door and into the rain.

Instead, the table wasn’t there. Her boot found only air.

She yelped as she crashed down, clattering through a mess of chairs. Her shoulder slammed into the floor first, pain detonating through the joint in a burst that stole her breath. The purse tore from her fingers, coins skittering away like fleeing insects.

“No, no, no-” she hissed, scrambling for them when a shadow fell over her.

Large hands clamped down on her and lifted her high as though she weighed nothing at all. Hollow bones, hollow luck.

She barely drew breath to scream before he slammed her down onto the nearest table. The wood cracked beneath her, broken glass driving into her back. Air blasted from her lungs in a choked gasp, and stars burst behind her eyes.

Her legs kicked wildly, blindly, she felt a foot connect with something soft, heard a grunt, but she was held down too easily, pinned by a weight far heavier than she could ever throw off.

“Hold her!” someone barked, but her hand shot up and clamped onto the thug’s wrist, skin to skin. He snarled in shock as her gift surged through her fingertips, a lance of sudden, blinding pain. His grip faltered, just enough.

“Fuck!” He yanked back from her touch like she’d burned him, raising his fist to break her face instead. She twisted her head just in time, his fist cratering the table beside her ear, splintering the wood. She could hear the thud of heavy boots, knew Gav was on his way with his promise, and all she could do was fight.

 

[Leoric Stormcrowned]

Leoric watched it happen like it was someone else’s life.

The sound she made hitting the table, just a choked gasp, went straight through Leoric’s ribs and lodged beside the burning brand.

He didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

The old shame rooted him in place. He’d stood by before. Watched smaller people break while he collected his coin. It was easier to stay dead inside.

Torv fought her. Her hand snapped up, fingers finding skin, and the thug jerked with a howl. Good. She still had fight.

Torv hadn't needed to win the fight. He'd just needed to slow her long enough.

"Get in there!" Gav hissed. This time it was right at Leo.

Gav had his knife out, gold teeth bared in a grin that promised worse than a beating.

"Gonna cut that pretty head off real slow!" he promised, but he kept his distance as more thugs surrounded her. They wanted to get enough of a grip to hold her for the boss to finish the job.

Leoric’s heart thudded hard. His inaction had been noticed. Heat flooded his left palm, embers glowing bright between the blackened wrappings. The pain in his chest sharpened. It was almost like some wraith of the old oath was trying to claw its way back up his throat.

He still hadn’t moved.

He pulled the hammer from his belt.

 

[Althea]

She fought and writhed like a feral cat. Her boots lashed out, striking whatever came close, stomachs, ribs, a jaw, anything she could reach. Her back slipped on the blood soaking through her shirt, the glass digging deeper with every thrash. Each movement sent a sharp wet sting across her shoulders, but she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Only survive.

A sob tore loose as her strength wained, silent at first, then breaking into sound as panicked tears welled and streamed down the sides of her face.

Another thug lunged to pin her, grabbing for her arm.

“No, no!”

She arched her back in a desperate, animal spasm, boots scrambling for purchase. One struck the man full in the face with a crack that split his lip and knocked him sideways, swearing.

But it wouldn’t matter. They kept coming. Rough hands seized her, pressing her arms and legs down into the table.. She writhed frantically, but the weight was too much, their strength overwhelming.

“No! Get the fuck off me!” she screamed, voice breaking, choking mid-breath as panic flooded too fast.

“Stop moving, you stupid bitch!” one snarled.

She couldn’t reach. Couldn’t touch them. Couldn’t escape. Her chest heaved too fast, too tight. She was helplless and she knew it.

And she was about to die.

 

[Leoric Stormcrowned]

The scream cracked something inside Leoric’s chest that had been welded shut for four years.

He saw the hands on her wrists, saw her arch and thrash and still get forced flat, saw the tears cutting clean tracks through the blood and grime on her face.

"Oh I'm gonna cut slow," Gav promised, waving the knife where she could see it.

Leoric's left hand ignited.

He moved.

One step, two. The warhammer came up in a short, brutal arc. The weighted flat head caught the nearest thug under the jaw with a wet crunch and sent him sprawling backward in a spray of teeth.

It wasn't an elegant weapon, a warhammer. It was brutally effective. The narrow flat head on one side and the pointed claw on the other would not be stopped by mail, plate or bone.

He took one step and swung the pointed claw around. It stopped against the side of Gav's neck. The boss had a hand on Althea's head and had been about to work out where to start sawing to draw it out.

"Drop it."

"Oh this is some fucking mistaken you're making now..." went Gav. He dropped the knife and it landed in the floorboard, point down and pommel up.

“Touch her again,” he said, voice quiet and shaking, “and I burn this whole fucking house down with all of you in it.”

The fire in his palm hissed and spat, hungry.

For the first time in years, Leoric Stormcrowned had chosen a side.

One thug released Althea and went for him. He stepped into a wave of fire and screamed as they engulfed his face.

"Run!" Leoric shouted at Althea. The next swing came around. A dull thunk as it struck a skull and suddenly she had both hands free.

 

[Althea]

She grimaced as Gav yanked a fistful of her hair, forcing her head back. The blade hovered above her face, reflecting her own terrified eyes back at her. Her chest heaved, lungs screaming, and she squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable.

Then, a blur, a gust of wind. Blood sprayed across her cheek, teeth clattered to the floor, and a body hit the ground with a sickening thud. Half of her was freed, but she didn’t dare move, not with the knife still so close to her throat.

The hammer swung again, stopping with precision at Gav’s neck. She forced herself to stare up at him, heart hammering. The blade wavered, slipped from his fingers, and his grip on her hair loosened. Her gaze flicked to Leo, before snapping back to Gav, his fury palpable.

Everything else was a blur. There were flames, screams, the man told her to run and the hold on her released. For a moment, she didn't move, and then she rolled from the table. Pain lanced through her shoulder, but she ignored it. Fingers closed around the purse on the floor, a little lighter but more than half at least. She bolted for the door, and she didn't look back.

 

[Leoric Stormcrowned]

Leoric brought the warhammer down in a short, controlled arc. The head caught Gav square in the temple with a dull thud that dropped the half-orc like a sack of grain.

A single gold tooth went rolling across the floorboards as Gav crumpled.

The room went still for a heartbeat.

Then the remaining two thugs froze, eyes wide, hands half-raised. One clutched a bleeding jaw; the other stared at the blue-white fire dancing across Leoric's bare left palm, the bandages burnt away, skin beneath cracked and glowing like cooling lava.

Leoric stood over Gav's unconscious bulk, chest heaving, brand searing beneath his shirt. He swept his gaze across the pair slowly, hammer still gripped in his right hand.

"Anyone else?" he asked, voice low and flat.

Neither man moved. The fire in his palm crackled louder than the rain on the roof.

Good enough.

Leoric backed toward the open door, hammer raised, eyes never leaving them until the mist swallowed him. Then he turned and ran.

Cold rain lashed his face the instant he hit the alley. Mud sucked at his boots. He caught sight of her ahead: a pale, frantic shape darting between sagging shacks, white-blonde hair plastered dark against her back.

He followed, coat flapping heavy, warhammer still in hand, left palm burning bright enough to light the narrow way.

He did not look back.

"Hey!" he called out. It wouldn't be long before they gave chase. They knew where he lived.

Leoric hadn't thought this part through.

 

[Althea]

She heard him shout, but she didn't stop. She ran hard through the twisting, labyrinthine streets, boots slipping on slick stone, lungs burning as the rain battered her face. Left, right, over a sagging boardwalk, between shacks so narrow she scraped her shoulders. She didn’t slow until the alley ended in a brick wall.

"Shit." Dead end.

She spun, hair whipping across her face, and there he was. Still following.

Blood had bloomed across the back of her white shirt, turning it crimson, the fabric torn where glass still bit into her skin. Each step sent sharp stings lancing through hers shoulders, but she barely felt it. Adrenaline drowned everything.

The coin purse was crushed to her chest, heaving with every ragged breath she took.

Rain hammered down, and she squinted through it at the broad shape of him approaching. That ridiculous hammer in one hand whilst fire burned in his other. Of course he'd want the full cut.

Her fingers snapped out, drawing a small throwing blade. She lifted it just enough to be seen, point steady despite the shake in her hand.

“Just stay there,” she warned.. “Come any closer and I’ll bury this in your eye. Don’t think I won’t.”

 

[Leoric Stormcrowned]

Leoric slowed to a walk as the alley narrowed and spat him out into the dead end. Rain hammered down in sheets, turning the brick walls black and slick. He saw her spin to face him, saw the blood soaking through her shirt like spilled ink, saw the small blade appear in her trembling hand.

He stopped ten paces away.

The fire in his left palm lowered. The flames shrank until only a dull red glow remained between cracked skin and falling rain. Steam hissed where drops struck the heat. He set the warhammer back in his belt.

“I’m not here for the purse,” he said.

Water streamed down his face, tracing the lightning scars. He kept both hands visible.

“I left them breathing back there. Won’t stay that way long once Gav wakes up.”

He took one careful step closer, then stopped again when the blade twitched.

“You’re bleeding hard. Glass in your back. You keep running like that, you’ll drop before you reach the docks.”

He did not move any nearer. Just stood in the downpour, waiting, the glow in his ruined hand the only light between them.

“Your throw,” he said quietly. “But after pulling that stunt I've got nowhere to hide. I'm guessing you have. "

Rain drummed on the bricks around them. He waited.

 

[Althea]

She watched him carefully, every line of her tense with distrust. Silvery green eyes caught the dim glow of his dying flame as he returned the hammer to his hip and let the fire gutter down in his hand. She noted the way he kept his palms open, the careful distance, but it didn’t soften her.

“You let them live?!” The words tore out of her, sharp with incredulity. She shook her head, rain flinging silver from her hair. “Well, that’s it, then. You’ve just confirmed it. You are a complete fucking idiot.” Her laugh was short and brittle, more breath than sound.

“Thank you,” she went on with more bite in her tone, “for extending my life for what’s likely to be a very short time. And you’ve just forfeited your own while you were at it, why?” She took a step toward him despite herself, blade still lifted. “For what?”

She studied his face, searching for the angle, the hook, the lie.

“If it wasn’t for the purse, then what?” Her lip curled. “Seeing a girl pinned down and squirming do it for you, does it? Thought you’d fancy a go?”

Her jaw clenched hard enough to ache. There had to be a reason. Men didn’t do things like that for nothing.

 

[Leoric Stormcrowned]

Leoric stood there in the hammering rain, water streaming down his scarred face, and felt the words hit him.

He blinked, genuinely shocked. The accusation hung between them. For a moment he looked almost boyish under the grime and scars, as though no one had ever spoken to him quite so plainly before.

“I...” He stopped, mouth half open, then closed it again. The glow in his ruined palm faded to almost nothing, leaving only the faint red lines of old burns.

He had no ready answer. Not the kind she was hunting for. In the Order they had taught him oaths and duties and righteous causes, not the currency of the Shallows. Her accusation caught him completely off guard. He suddenly noticed that she was female and the rain was making her tunic cling to her in all kinds of wicked ways.

“I didn’t think about after,” he admitted quietly, voice rough but honest. “I saw them hurting you and... I couldn’t stand there and watch it happen. Not again.”

He glanced down at his open hands as if surprised they were empty of anything but rain.

“I just... thought you shouldn’t have to pay for their greed with your life. That’s all.”

He shifted his weight awkwardly. He was a man who had spent years reciting vows and suddenly found himself without a single one that fit.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he added, almost too soft under the rain. “Not the purse. Just somewhere to hide.”

 

[Althea]

She had been braced for anger. For excuses. For the sort of greasy justification men usually reached for when they were caught out. Not this. Not the way his fire dimmed further and they way he seemed so lost for words. The look on his face, like she’d knocked the wind out of him with words alone. It caught her just as off guard.

Her hard stare faltered with confusion. She didn’t lower the blade, but the point wavered a fraction.

“Well,” she said slowly, rain dripping from her face, “if that’s true… then your chivalry was...incredibly stupid.”

Still, he hadn’t moved. Hadn’t lunged. Hadn’t tried to take anything from her, even now, with her bleeding and cornered and shaking under the downpour. Either way, she didn’t have time to dissect motives. Gav would wake, and he and his cronies would be hunting for blood.

She growled under her breath and rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

The word was sharp, reluctant. She kept the blade in her hand as she stepped closer, flicking it in a short gesture. “Back up,” she ordered. “Slow.”

Once the space was hers again, she turned and slipped down another alley, boots splashing through filthy runoff. The Shallows twisted and narrowed around them, leaning buildings like broken ribs, ropes and laundry sagging overhead, the stench stronger with every turn. She moved with the certainty of someone who knew every shadow, every place the light didn’t reach.

They reached the docks where the rain blurred the world into grey and black. She slowed, then stopped, scanning the slick boards and empty moorings. Only when she was satisfied did she turn, prying loose two weathered planks of an abandoned boathouse. She slipped through the gap and waved him inside.

"In," she said quietly, then slid the planks back into place, sealing them in as the rain continued to hammer uselessly outside.

Inside, the boathouse was dim but dry, save for a few steady leaks dripping into waiting buckets. The smell of old wood and salt hung in the air. An old rowboat had been dragged up and padded with blankets and mismatched cushions, clearly serving as a bed. Spent candles dotted crates and beams. Crates served as tables, laden with wine bottles and many trinkets and treasures she'd acquired form the houses of wealthier people who would not miss them.

The coin purse thudded down beside them, and she turned to him. "If you tell anyone about this place.." she frowned, leaving the rest unsaid.

 

[Leoric Stormcrowned]

Leoric backed up exactly as she told him, slow steps through the muck, hands still open and visible.

"I could have done nothing," he said. It was little more than a muttered protest.

The warhammer stayed at his belt; the glow in his left palm had faded to nothing Rain kept falling, cold and relentless.

He followed her through the twisting alleys without a word. He knew these streets took well. Once upon a time it would have been the outskirts of a city he barely glanced at as he passed through.

Now his eyes flicking to every shadow she checked for danger.

When she pried the planks aside and waved him into the boathouse, he ducked through the gap carefully, shoulders brushing rotten wood.

Inside, the air was warmer, thick with old tar. His gaze swept the space once and settled back on her.

The threat hung unfinished between them.

“I won’t tell a soul,” he said. He might have fallen to deep lows, but he didn't like lying.

“Thank you. For not putting the knife in my eye when you had the chance.”

Water dripped from his coat onto the boards. He glanced at the dark bloom across her back, the torn fabric, the blood still seeping slow.

“You’re still bleeding,” he said quietly. "I'd better get the glass out."

He slowly opened the leather satchel at his waist. In his prime he could have healed her with a touch but the gods had forsaken him, leaving him only with corrupting fire. Still, he could read and knew the fundamentals of battlefield medicine. More than any alliria commoner.

 

[Althea]

She watched him closely, every movement measured, weighing truth against instinct. When he promised not to tell, she gave a short, reluctant nod. The tension didn’t leave her shoulders, but it eased just enough.

“Yeah,” she muttered, eyes flicking to the hammer at his hip, the unspoken truth hanging there between them. He could have killed her if he’d wanted to. “You’re welcome.”

She didn’t thank him. Not for pulling her off that table. Not yet. Gratitude was a luxury she couldn’t afford while she was still bleeding and unsure whether she’d simply traded one danger for another.

“No.” she said, the word quick and sharp. “I’ll do it myself.” She gestured toward a couple of stools by a barrel. “You just.. sit over there.”

She grabbed a towel from a crate and tossed it at him. “Dry off. You’re dripping all over the place.” she murmured, a s though she wasn't.

Only then did she turn away, moving stiffly to a large wooden box tucked beneath a shelf. She opened it to reveal a well stocked medical kit, far too fine for the Shallows. Her breath slipped out in a weary sigh as she lifted the tweezers, eyes drifting over the needles and sutures beside them. She swallowed. She was good, but she wasn't sure she was that good.

“Name?” she said, more curiosity than warmth threading her voice now. “Didn’t catch it.”

Her hand rose to start unlace her ruined shirt, but she stopped and shot a glare at him.

“And turn around."

 

[Leoric Stormcrowned]

Leoric caught the towel with his right hand and gave a small nod.

“Fair enough,” he murmured. He moved to the stools she had pointed out. He took off his coat and leaned a plank of wood to set it to dry.

"Who do I need to..."

She started tugging on the hem of her shirt and he turned around sharply.

He turned the towel over his hair first, then down his face and neck, wiping away the rain and the last flecks of blood that were not his own.

He didn't try and steal a glance. He kept broad shoulders squared away from her, eyes fixed on a knot in the weathered wood.

“Leoric,” he said quietly to the wall. “Leoric Stormcrowned. Used to be ‘of the Broken Sword’... but they took that part back.”

His voice carried the faint trace of an older accent, something from the hills near Elbion, softened by years on the road. There was no boast in it, only fact.

A small flame returned to his left hand and he brought it close to his chest.

“Do you need me to get any glass from your back?"

 

[Althea]

She glanced back over her shoulder to be certain he was facing the wall before she tugged her shirt the rest of the way off, hissing as the wet fabric dragged over embedded glass. Another quick look, then she unwound her bindings and let them fall aside.

“That’s quite a name…” she muttered, pain tightening her jaw. “Broken Sword.. that some kind of cult?”

She shifted, settling herself carefully, her bare back now fully exposed. Blood slicked pale skin, the jagged scars where wings had once been standing stark beneath the mess of fresh wounds and glass. She lifted one arm behind her, twisting awkwardly as she brought the tweezers to grab at a shard.

“No,” she snapped when he offered help again, "I'm fine."

Her fingers clenched hard at her side as she tugged the first shard free, and she dropped it into a waiting bowl, clinking softly.

She inhaled shakily, and went after another, only to curse under her breath when it refused to budge.

“Fuck-” She grit her teeth, eyes squeezing shut for a heartbeat.

“How’d you end up…” she asked, voice tight as she tried again, “working for Gav?”

 

[Leoric Stormcrowned]

Leoric kept his gaze locked on the knot in the wood, shoulders still, giving her the space she demanded. The sounds behind him made his jaw tighten, but he did not turn.

“Not a cult,” he said. “A knightly order."

He paused, fingers curling slowly in the towel. The words tasted foul.

“I was proud of it, once.”

His throat worked. When he spoke again it came quieter, rough with old shame.

“I failed to follow orders. I lost my faith."

A long breath.

“I broke my vows. I did something bad. They shattered my sword. Bound me for the burning rite that was meant to cleanse me. Fire took wrong. Left me with this hand instead.”

“Usual story after that. Took whatever coin I could find.”

The confession hung in the dim air. He fell silent, listening to her struggle with the glass, the small sounds of pain she tried to swallow.

“Oh for goodness sake. Will you cover your..womanly-Ness and I will get the glass out.”

He couldn't even bring himself to say breasts.

 

[Althea]

“A knight…?” she murmured, the word catching in her throat as the tweezers slipped and bit into her skin. She hissed softly.

She listened as he spoke, and with every quiet admission something cold and hollow settled in her chest. Proud once. Faith lost. Punishment.

It was uncomfortably familiar.

Her face had gone pale, whether from the blood slowly tracking down her spine, or from the realisation, she couldn’t have said. The steady drip of blood and rain hitting the floorboards sounded far too loud in the small space.

For a moment, she said nothing. Pity stirred, unwanted. She swallowed it down. She didn’t want it for herself, she wouldn’t hand it to him either.

Another shard resisted her, and she let out a low, broken sound of frustration.

Then he spoke again, persisting. She growled irritably, more at the situation than at him. He wasn’t wrong, and she hated that most of all.

“Fine.” She clipped and slammed the tweezers onto the makeshift table with a sharp clatter and grabbed a blanket, wrapping it tightly around herself before sitting back down with rigid care.

She didn’t look at him as she spoke again.

“You keep your eyes on the glass,” she ground out, jaw tight, “and nothing else. Right?” Not at her scars, or her tattoos, or at the bindings on her forearms.

“Just the glass.”

 

[Leoric Stormcrowned]

"Right," he confirmed as he turned about.

“Only the glass,” he said quietly. “Nothing else. You have my word. "

He rose slowly from the stool, movements deliberate so she could track him without turning.

Oh goodness

There was still a lot of skin on show. He might have fallen, but he had never broken those vows.

He picked up the fallen tweezers with his right hand, then took a clean cloth and the small bottle of spirits from her kit, keeping everything in plain sight.

He set his left hand on her shoulder. There was more warmth than natural in the palm.

He made a start on the largest piece of glass.

He did not look up. Not once.

The piece was removed in a smooth motion. He decided to deal with them all before he stitched.

"One of these is under the skin," he apologised. "I will have to cut to remove it."

 

[Althea]

She went rigid the moment his hand touched her shoulder, every instinct screaming at her to pull away. The blanket felt thin, useless. She hated feeling so vulnerable, and the urge to curl in on herself was almost overwhelming.

She swallowed hard, the warmth of his palm sinking into her skin, not painful, but impossible to ignore. Her brows knit and she squeezed her eyes shut, breath shallow as she tried to brace herself, to disappear into the moment and have it done with.

When he mentioned cutting, her stomach turned, nausea rolling over in her stomach at the memory it conjured.

“Just do it,” she sighed, her voice tight as she braced herself the best she could.

 

[Leoric Stormcrowned]

It was bloody work. Nothing had cut deep but the glass was keeping each wound open.

He changed tactic. Starting from the top he gave each cut a sterilising wipe and stitched. He worked exceptionally neat lines.

He was steadier working with wounds than dealing with almost seeing a half-exposed woman.

He took a sharp blade and cleansed it in fire. It was only a small nick but it exposed enough of the glass.

"That's the last piece."

He could only assume that felt relieving. Even though he had to draw it out with a few more stitches.