Open Chronicles The Wolf and The Bat

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He shook his head. "Lets find some cover."

The effort was of course appreciated, but they were out in the open, completely exposed.

"We need somewhere safer." Ishar pointed out, glancing through the open snow plains around them and towards the cliffs near a mile away. "We can't have made it far from the cave, not in the blizzard."

If with how they moved.

"Those Ogres could still find us." Best not to test that idea.
 
Rose dropped a pile of wood at her feet, deflating at once as she finally noticed what he meant. ...how did she survive before him?

“Right. Yeah. Of course. Let’s go— are you gonna be alright?” She watched him in clear concern. While she had not faired well, the cold had not touched her and she had managed a few fevered bouts of sleep. He on the other hand...

“Want me to carry you? Bet I could. “
 
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"I'll be alright." Walking wasn't really the problem. It was his fingers, his hands, that presented the issue. The left underside palm burned, the cold having practically dug into his skin there. He couldn't curl his fingers.

That wasn't about to be said outloud though.

"Lets get somewhere safe." Ishar told Rose. "No cave."

No, better to find a plateau or something of the sort. A bit of a hike, sure, exposed, maybe, but at the very least they would be able to see everything around them.

Especially ogres.

Without another word Ishar motioned for the cliff walls, taking the first steps towards them.
 
She obediently followed after, constantly looking over to check on him. What if he exploded. Or keeled over. What if she lost him again. She shimmered, then zipped into his shadow, not leaving his side the rest of the way up.

She fell into their rhythm, setting up the camp once it was established and taking on his parts while she was at it. She sensed something was off, something hadn’t gone right while she was away and he was keeping it from her. She didn’t talk until she had the fire started.

“Can I see it?” She asked, hazarding a guess at an injury.
 
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The plateau would not offer them much shelter, but with the tarps they had purchased in town and the fire going it would be well enough for the night.

As long as no more blizzards came along. "It's my hand."

The werewolf said quietly, frowning as he opened his palm and showed her the deep blackish blue spot that had formed there. It slowly extended to his fingers, marking the frostbitten flesh and reaching out towards his hand.

Cold had taken his hand.

"Likely too late." He said with a frown. "Even with magic."
 
Rose gasped, horror jolting through her senses and locking her down. “Wh-what- oh my god.” Strength crept back into he limbs, allowing her to stumble toward.

“What did this? Are you okay? Oh my god.” She cupped at his hand, undeterred as she gingerly tried to stretch out his fingers.
 
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There was no resistance from him as she moved his fingers, though none of the muscles or tendons in his hands responded to her touch the way that they should have. "The cold."

He told her softly.

"Exposure from the storm." It was not as bad as it could have been. "Lucky it only took my hand."

Even more so that he had learned to fight with the right and not the left.
 
Big fat tears bubbles up along her lashes, wobbling there for a moment before splashing down on his damaged hand. “This is my fault. I made you come. I left you there, I did this to you.”

Her voice caught and wavered, grief threatening to spill over as she sat bowed over in her horror.
 
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"It's alright." He told her softly.

In truth, he didn't mind this so much. It was the best of the worst things that could have happened. There was no pain from this, no hurt or agony. A part of him wondered if that was normal, or if perhaps he had somehow just steeled himself from such things.

It seemed silly, thinking himself above pain. He knew better than that. "It doesn't hurt."

He thought that might make her feel better.

"Plus." Ishar motioned to his right hand. "This is my sword hand."
 
She was none the less reassured, exhaustion, grief and dare I say a touch of defeat maring her tone. “No it’s not. Your hand- it’s gone. My fault- my fault. I wasn’t suppose to anymore- I-“ she scooted back from him, expression collapsing. She closed him out, head tucked into her arms as her infallible optimism prove mortal too.

Everyone she touches dies. She thought this was a chance- she thought he would be different. She gave a tired sob before peeling her head up and shouting at him. “Go away!”
 
"It's a hand." Ishar said firmly.

Again, he was hardly the best emotional support mechanism. Feelings had never really been a priority for someone like him. He was a warrior, a Templar, that was all. This... This was entirely and completely different.

He couldn't even remember a time when recruit Templars acted like this.

Not like Rose was any lesser for it of course, this was normal behavior...at least Ishar was pretty sure that it actually was.

"I am not dead." He insisted. "Nor dying."

He was pretty sure anyway.

The frostbite had only taken his hand, and he doubted it would take more. The sun was warm now, and the blizzard seemed to have passed.
 
His steadfast calm was more of a balm than he might know. Still. It could only do so much to deesculate the reveal that his hand was lost.

She gave another tired sob, the storm stripping away that edge of cheeriness that had seemed infallible up until this point. He had warned her the mountains would do this to person.


“Can you ever get it back?” Her voice was small, yet hopeful. Her tears showed signs of freezing on her cheeks.
 
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"I don't know." Ishar said calmly, glancing at the frostbitten appendage with a scowl before he looked back up at her.

Medicine was not exactly his avenue of expertise.

There had been doctors among the Templar, men and women who had studied for years in order to accomplish and be knowledgeable about this sort of thing. Ishar was most certainly not one of them. Those men were clearly beyond his intelligence.

"Magic perhaps." He shrugged. "But such things are beyond me."
 
Rose rubbed snot off her nose with the back of her hand, perking. “You mean like the mages were going to see, right?” It was clear he had sparked another idea inside of her.

“They could do it. They could fix this too.” It was no longer a question, conviction entering her tone.
 
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"Possibly." Ishar said, countering the firmness of her tone.

The truth was he didn't want to get his own hopes up, and...there was another reason. His hand was injured.

It meant that he would never be at full strength again, never be able to fight like he wanted, but the same could be said for the wolf. It would be more vulnerable, slower, easier to avoid.

A small mark of hope in such gloom.
 
So... yes.

Rose was well use to his measured tones with her. Maybes were yeses as far as she was concerned. Rose nodded once, the decision sealed into their mind.

“Right. Food then.” He must be hungry. She stood up, dropping her pack at her feet and move to step ou—

“Oh. The fire.” She sat back down in a flop, abruptly building that for him. She paused only to toss him her blanket, the instructions unspoken but unclear.
 
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He nodded quietly, though in truth he wasn't much in the mood for fire or anything else. It was necessary, especially after a night of cold and danger, but...he just wanted to get off of these mountains.

Staying here pained him.

The cold hurt his bones, and every day it felt as though they were making half the progress that they should have been. That feeling alone bothered him more than he could have said. Perhaps it was just because their journey was so long.

Then again the spine did that to people, or so he'd heard. "At least the ogres didn't find us."

Ishar muttered to himself as he sat himself down.
 
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