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Friday, 22 June 2012

Kysharok - Part 4


   Varai groaned as he slowly sat upright. His side stung, and his hand instinctively went to grasp his sword, but when he found nothing behind him and instead realised he was in a bed, and indoors, he began to consciously recall the most recent events. Though they had seemed to be a terrible nightmare, he could not deny even the slightest that they were true, and he certainly had the wounds to prove it should he try.
   His head swam, and he hunched over forwards and grasped it in his hands to steady himself. A moment later, after the dizziness had passed, he looked down at himself. He wasn't wearing his Vankar - in fact all he was clad in was clean bandaging. He grunted and looked around himself. 'I must be in Sashir's new place,' he thought to himself as he noted the cloths and metal tools hanging from the edge of the shelf above his bed, and the jars of leaves and herbs stood upon it. 'I'm surprised I made it.'
   He turned and dropped his feet to the floor, and as he glanced to the table beside him, he found bread and water. He lifted the bread immediately, his stomach was growling like a wild animal and as he gradually remembered what happened to him in better detail, he knew he needed the energy more than he ever had before.
   There was little in the room with him, he noticed: a few chairs, a couple of small tables, and a wardrobe. Still eating the bread, he slowly rose to his feet and started towards the latter. Being Sashir's home, there would surely be a suitably-fitting Vankar hanging up inside, and he was sure that they had disposed of his own. It was likely too torn up to be wearable anyway.
   He opened the door - noticing as he did so the strong purple bruising all up his arm - and found his assumption was correct. He placed the small loaf down on a nearby chair and removed the garment which appeared closest to his size. He struggled into it in his current state, despite the standard loose fit, but it didn't take him too long or cause him much pain, and once it was tied about his waist and clasped at his chest, he felt no lingering discomfort.
   He looked into the wardrobe again, this time searching for his belongings, but as he noticed that there was nothing in there but more black clothing, the door opened.
   "You're up!" The young girl, Kari, grinned up at him.
   He smiled warmly back, as he was ever fond of the child, and nodded. "I am, thanks to you, I bet."
   Her cheeks flushed gently. "I didn't do much. Miss Sashir was the one that did the work." Her face dropped to one of concern. "There was so much blood, Mister Varai...what happened?"
   His face fell as he began to search for words. His eyes moved away from the girl's sad face to better focus his mind, but fortunately, before he had the chance to put a sentence together, another figure appeared behind her.
   "How do you feel?" The healer asked.
   He grinned thankfully. "Fine, now," he replied, but quickly noting no good humour in the woman's aged face, his own became guilty. He knew what she wanted to know.
   "What happened?” She asked, her eyes narrowing slightly, though in concerned interest rather than anger as she folded her arms.
   He sighed heavily in defeat and looked away from her in shame, giving in immediately. “I got caught up in a civilian fight,” he began, his voice having grown thicker. “I was trying to break it up, though I don't know what it was about, but I got caught by one of their blades and couldn’t react fast enough. They killed many before I got there – I managed to save most of them by becoming a distraction as they ran away, but they still killed managed to kill others who weren’t fast enough.”
   Sashir watched him for a long moment with no change in her posture or expression. She stared steadily as his frown deepened, eyes closed and fist clenched. She spoke plainly: “You’re lying.”







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