A Tale of Two Mercenaries

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Perhaps she has said too much, but there is no time to take back her words. Instead, she finds herself distracted suddenly by how close she has brought them without trying. This had been the distance where she'd wanted to flee and escape his embrace, but this time, she does not. As his hand wraps around hers, her fingers tense, but she doesn't pull away. Her glove presses to his armor, the cold penetrating the cloth. However, his hand is warm, far warmer than she remembers it being before. He promises that he would not tell another soul about her past, and, for some reason, it makes her smile. It's the slight curve of lips from before, but it's still there. His pledge means he believes her, though she has not lied.

She feels his fingers tighten over her own, but she does not stop the pressure. It's... welcome, in a way, she realizes, and it's startling. How one man could do so much to her in so little time is astonishing, but then again, the way she presented herself, it was almost a challenge, one that he'd accepted. He has not defeated her, but defeat is not his purpose, and that is something she knows now. As he finally makes eye contact with her, her hand twists and actually grips his, fingers folding over the back of his hand. He repeats her words and her motion, leaving her to hold the stick one handed. One end thumps into the dirt, shaking the peaceful serenity from their closeness. The noise brings her back and she blinks, finding her cheeks redden as she looks down at the stick. "We... We should practice now," she says, hefting the stick up so he can take it. Carefully, she extracts her hand from his, remembering that his armor is still on. "Do you still need help to take this off and hide it? I could show you some ways to obscure it even from people who might be looking nearby."

Why is she so bothered by him now? No, it's not bothersome to have him around. She finds herself flustered when normally she was composed. However, much has changed between them, and what has passed cannot be forgotten. It's strange, being so close to someone, particularly a man. Then again, she was never close to any women either. She has kept her personal relationships to an absolute minimum, a necessity after the bandit attack that robbed her of her mother, the mages that let her father die, and the other generally despicable people that have treated her horribly. But Arean is like none of those people, and she doesn't mind it. She makes a silent decision then, and it's to let their partnership bud into a friendship, for it's nothing like she's had before.
 
Her fingers wrap around his, accepting him because he has given her an oath that cannot be broken. Well, of course it can be by word of mouth but she should know that Arean would never do such a thing so willingly. Not even in the face of a certain death will he reveal anything about his allies or the King that he used to pay with his life in return for a large sum of gold. But now this woman is worth more to him than the sum that they both have been offered. He is drawn to her in an inescapable way, his eyes moving from their clasped hands to not just her eyes but her lips too. There is a quick thought of kissing her that he cannot deny. She is so close to him, her invisible power reeling him in on an invisible line. He knows that its just his lack of history with a woman that makes him have this need, this desire, deep down in his stomach. But that doesn't mean he still feels it. A man is, after all, just a man like a woman is a woman. She smiles again so there is something he is doing right. Then she blushes. Doesn't that mean something? He used to know the signs, the signals that could help him decipher a woman's mind. But time has made him worry about other matters, not just a woman's heart or her mind no matter how brilliant.

He inhales, eyes finally taking in enough of her smile so that he is satisfied. Looking up and blinking, he too turns a gentle shade of red when she mentions that they should get back to training. Snapping out of his other worldly dream state, Arean blinks and blinks until he releases her hand as if it were a hot ember. I have done something wrong. He immediately scolds himself, swallowing and stepping back. His mind is fuzzy, a whirl of unknowns circling his crown of why he had such urges. Remembering when he saw her bathing in the stream, the image never failing to flash before his eyes, he knows he cannot keep letting this happen. Nothing is admitted in his heart for it's still trying to catch a hold of the situation as much as his mind is. These tingling bursts of warmth that spread over his chest don't stop and even start to intensify when she suggests taking off his armor to hide it.

In one motion, he clears his throat and nods. "Of course, that's most wise. Sooner than later." Together they strip him of his armor and move to this brush, digging a hole, or that tree, climbing the limbs and hiding them between the leaves. After stumbling around in the dark for a handful of minutes, they finally return to camp. Both of them take a second to mentally remember where they put what. The only piece of armor that is left on his body is his belt because it holds his weapon. "Well," he can't help but smirk a little, remembering their closeness as if it were the aftertaste of a sweet, "pick up that stick and I'll show you the proper way to hold it." Stepping closer to her, he starts to explain what he calls the 'defensive stance' where the legs are apart, bent slightly, and the weight is distributed on the balls of the feet. Assisting her in any way he can, his warm hands wondering wherever they deem fit, for the sake of education, she proves to be a quick learner. She uses a similar stance when drawing back the bow so she can keep her balance in check.

"Okay, now let's work on getting the blade out of a foe's hands. I'll show you first and then you can give me the stick and try and disarm me. Don't worry," he chuckles a bit, "We can go step by step." And so as the fire draws down to a simmer, Arean carefully instructs her on the proper way to grab the enemies wrist so that the blade cannot hurt her. "You can dodge all you can but that takes time and energy. The best tactic is to remove the blade from their hand." He readies himself with legs parted and hands out in front of him. "Now strike me and I'll show you what you do. Put all your might into it. I can take it."
 
Zaira almost wants to take her time removing his armor, and it's strange to her, someone who prefers speed and efficiency. She tries not to think about how removing his armor is something a lover might do to him, focusing instead on where each piece is coming from so she can remember how to help him put it back on. Once everything is gone, she hopes up into the trees with the litheness of a cat, hiding his gloves and helmet in the bushy tree branches. The larger pieces like his shoulder guards and chest plate go into a shallow hole in the ground, and his boots are buried under a set a thick tree roots. When everything is properly hidden, Zaira swipes her hands on her pants only to pick up the dirt covered stick laying on the ground.

If she wasn't already skilled in some form of combat, Zaira would have found herself distracted by his warm hands on her arms and fingers, showing her how to hold the imaginary sword and instructing her where to place her feet on the ground. The heat is almost overwhelming, and it's only from his hands. Or maybe it's from the occasional moment where he hovers over her and fixes her grip. Finally, after a few moments of testing the weight and understanding where her body needed to be, Zaira gets to move on. She feels the bend of her wrist and the way he pressures the muscles of her elbow into making her release the stick. Dodging would be her primary avoidance of choice, but she knows he has a point. She would be long tired before her opponent would be.

And so, by the dying light of their fire, Zaira takes up the stance, her feet falling into formation as though she had her bow. She adjusts her boots slightly until she is properly settled, looking out to her partner. The darkness does not impede her ability to see every inch of his unarmored body, or the way his hair settles on his shoulders and swipes his forehead, or how his lips have curved into an ever so slight smirk. She doesn't know why she notices these things in great detail, but whatever thoughts she may have detract when he speaks. He assures her that he can handle whatever blow she throws at him, and she takes that to heart. She slides her foot forward and swings the stick down. It's not an entirely graceful swing, but there is power behind it. Her muscles protest the new motion, but she ignores it. She has to be ready for this new style of fighting.
 
By the time Zaria is set up, Arean is hardly thinking whether or not he positions himself too close to her or where his hands roam. They do what his master had done to him, showing him all the weak points of the body. The back of his mind whispers at him not to tell her such techniques for she will only use it against him once the mission is over. But that part of his mind, he knows, is hardly rational. It's the small tinge of fear that still coils around his stomach that will never let go. Arean, like Zaria, has learned not to trust people yet he tries to find good in everyone. The woman before him, no matter how stubborn she might be, has a good heart. She told him about the poison and, after some lapsed time, informed him that she will not use it on him. He knows that she can still break her word but at least it will haunt her for the rest of her life if she does.

When she lunges forward, a clunky blow soaring down at his head as if she wanted to split his skull in two, Arean's fingers twitch. Within seconds, he is holding up his own hand and catching her by the wrist. The blade, or rather in this case the stick, stops in mid air. His arm is belt at a ninety degree angle but stopping the blow is not all that he accomplishes. Swinging his leg to the side, Arean readjusts his grip gently, not giving her time to pull back or pull away. Before she knows it, he is standing over her shoulder, pressing her knuckles into her back with the stick in her hand. A chuckle fills the air, a small, "oops," playing on his lips. "It seems I have gone too far. That one's for later. Here. Try it again."

He gives her time to reset, his body feeling oddly light due to the lack of armor. A gentle bounce of his knees causes his hair to move as he readies himself. "Another blow to the head." She strikes at his command, her body involuntarily wanting to stop before she hits him. "It's natural," he assures her, hand coming to clasp around her wrist once more. "See how I control your wrist now," he pushes this way and that on the joint, directing the stick away from his body as much as it can. "And now if you want to disarm them, look at all this empty, open, space. His free hand comes up in a fist and presses to the side of her body that holds the stick. "Whenever you strike, you open yourself up for a counter attack."

"Now if you want to get the weapon out of their grip, simply twist," he does as he tells her, moving her arm until her muscles grow tense and she doesn't find the strength to hold the stick any longer. "Or you can break their arm over your knee." He pulls her forward so that he is right up against her shoulder, showing her how to twist their arm so that the elbow is facing down to crack over her thigh." Removing the stick from her hands, Arean moves back to his defensive stance before slowly bringing the stick down over Zaria once she has rinsed and repeated his steps as he showed them to her.
 
As Zaira falls into a learning, more business-like mode, she understands his heat as a guide rather than a distraction. She notes the placement of his hands, but they never 'accidentally' slide or shift to a more compromising position. He is in every way capable of taking advantage of what they're doing, but he doesn't. She's not sure why he hasn't, but she appreciates it. That thought settles in the back of her mind as she learns what to do. And then it's entirely removed when his hand finds her wrist halfway through her swing. The motions are quick, and soon, her arm is against her back with her fingers nearly relinquishing their hold on the stick. It's not one of the moves he taught her, something she realizes as he laughs and releases her. Those few seconds of touching whisk away the stern mode of learning to be replaced with warmth spreading across her face like fire on dry wood.

She shakes her head, mentally affirming that it's simply because her hair wavers in her face, before she takes up her stance again. However, this time, she doesn't follow through with the blow. Is it from fear of hurting him? She's not sure, but he begins to give more instruction, pressing on her wrist and twisting the joint so the lethal end of the stick is away from his face and body. His hand brushes her side and she nearly flinches, stopping the instinctual reaction before it happens. It's not for any motive that he does so outside of telling her where to place her fist. Pain makes her come back to her senses as her arm bends and goes the opposite way until she simply wants to drop the stick and reclaim her limb. Then her elbow is manipulated and she sees how to break her assailant's arm should it come to that. It's not a move she can use on Arean, but she understands its usefulness.

Now that she is on the receiving end of the stick, she goes over in her mind what to do. His swing is slower, but she still needs to react quickly, given that her attacker would not be moving so sluggishly. Taking Arean's wrist, she pushes back so the stick is away from her face, her other hand pushing against his side. It's not a punch, but it's hard enough to move him back ever so slightly. Her foot slides forward and around his ankle before snapping back, breaking his stance with a hard jerk. However, at this point, she is supposed to let go so he falls and she can escape, but it does not work that way.

Whump! She, Arean, and the stick fall into a heap on the ground, her disarming technique completed, though ungracefully. She has landed on top of him, the wind rushing out of her as her chest collides with his. Panting to catch her breath, she places one hand on his shoulder to push herself up before realizing that's probably not the best way to do so. Her hand moves back down to the dirt, bringing her face closer to his again. Her hair hangs from her shoulder, a few strands sticking to her face. It's the closest they've been since their embrace, and she doesn't find it in herself to move. Her dark brown eyes study his face from what she can see, the fire dancing off of his features and the dirty blond locks that are now splayed in the dirt. In this dim light, she sees everything, every line, every flaw, but as a whole, it creates an attractive visage that compliments the rest of his form.
 
It seems that Arean has underestimated his foe, something that he doesn't usually do. But they were practicing and he assumed, as any man would when facing a woman, that his strikes need to be slow, steady, and nothing more. For a moment, he feels her catch his wrist, a smile crossing over his face. That's step one. He adds, his stance soon lessening because he assumes they will refresh and restart another attack. The wide stance that he had when attacking collapses and then Zaria's foot is around his ankle. Arean actually looks down, not expecting such a movement from her. The weight is pulled back, like her drawing an arrow on her bow, and he finds his balance wobbling greatly.

Taking no time, he feels himself falling when she pushes against his rib cage, wanting to knock him down so that she can claim victory over him. His hands fly out to either side, chin digging into his neck and the muscles tensing there so that he doesn't smack his head back on the ground. Its a slow road to the ground but one that is in existence with Zaria for her body follows his within the blink of his eyes. "Zar---" Is all he can mutter before the ground slams into his back and he draws out a long and hard breath so that he doesn't get the wind knocked out of him. The stick has long left his fingers, palms smacking into the dirt as if he were slapping the rear of a horse to make it run. "Ooof!"

In marriage with him on the ground is Zaria's form, her leg wrapped around his still and chests pressing together. When his head stops spinning, the stars in the dark sky above them zooming one direction. The stinging on his palms doesn't go away, his spine not having time to curve in order for minimum impact on his shoulders and spine. He stays perfectly still, the weight of her body against his causing him paralysis. Utter paralysis. Even if he wanted to move, not even the tips of his hair would listen. Who would listen with an attractive woman laying on top of him? The funny thing is that he expects her to clamber off immediately and tell some snarky, yet playful, comment like he imagines she would. But she doesn't. The huntress stays as still as the prey she stalks to kill.

His mouth opens as if to tell her that she should move off of him but then her hand digs into his shoulder. It's not a hurting pain but one that is, at the most, uncomfortable. Even if he wanted to speak, his voice refuses to move from the recesses of his throat. He swears that through her clothing, he can feel her heart beat against his chest. He has thought her attractive before, yes, but now with her big eyes not fearing his own, he feels as though he knows her just a little more. A sensual feeling stirs in his heart but before he can act on his instincts, his head involuntarily drawing up from the dirt so that their noses linger close together, he stares blankly at her, unsure of what she wants. Or, in that matter, what he wants too.

"A-are," he manages to squeak out, clearing his throat before continuing, "Are you going to get off me?"
 
Why hasn't she moved? Her elbows are locked, unmoving as her hands rest on the sides of his head. He hasn't stirred beneath her, for if he had, it might have caused her senses to heighten in a different way than when she hunts. The strange part is that she doesn't mind being in such a position. Normally, she would have sprang away and covered up the embarrassment that was her fall, but she hasn't. The question of why spins through her mind until Arean does move. His head is brought closer to hers, and instinct makes her jerk back. It's not a move to kiss her, only to try and sit up. Her hands release the dirt and she pushes up, finding her leg still caught around his. She shakes her limb, her ankle coming free after a moment. Her movements are slow as she backs off and stands, brushing the dirt from her arms and legs. The fire just barely illuminates their sparring grounds, but she can still make him out. Perhaps she's used to his presence to pick him out even in the dark.

Glancing down, she notices the stick is no longer in his grasp. While it wasn't the best way to disarm him, or anyone else, she has done it. She smiles, a wider grin than before, and then, for seemingly no reason, she laughs. Her normally hard voice softens as her chuckle ripples through the air like subtle rings in a pool. Taking down someone so close is exhilarating to her, for she has not killed anyone, and yet she's made a stand and fought against someone, even if that someone is Arean.

Turning to face him, she holds out her hand to him. After all, sportsmanship often dictates that you assist the other in a spar, right? The smile lingers on her face, the dark eyes not so dark for once. "I'm sorry," she says. "I realize that's not what you showed me, but... I did get it from you, didn't I?" The thought of doing something most women cannot do is something that pleases her. She might have a reputation, but she is also entirely capable when facing her challenges. "I didn't mean to hurt you, if I did." She looks up, finding the stars shine down, and it signifies their departure. They have a small window of time, and they will need every second.
 
"Well, that's one way of bringing down your enemy," Arean reflects as he crunches his stomach to sit up properly. With a small smile, he stays seated on the ground and looks up to Zaria in a reflective, almost pensive, state. There is something that he wants to say but instead of telling what is on his mind, he decides to go a different track and tell her what she has done wrong. "I commend you for your quick thinking, I assure you that I did not expect that. I should have," he shrugs his shoulders, "but I didn't and that is a fault completely of my own. But there is a problem with your method, something that I, now thinking about it, should have shown you."

With that said, Arean stands up and faces Zaria with the help of her helping hand. When his hand grasps hers and he pulls himself up, Arean ponders for a moment if he should bring her down to the ground and show her what he had meant. But alas, the stars are twinkling and they will need enough of it to get far away from the bandit camp if they are successful in reclaiming the horses. "Your flaw is that you were brought down to the ground as well. Never, ever, put yourself in a position when your opponent(s) can," he waves his hand in the air, trying to figure the right words into his small speech, "attack you in more ways than one. While you're squandering on the ground, another bandit can easily come up and stab you. Or the one who you are fighting knows how to use the ground to his or her advantage. You never know what you have until you're in the center of it."

Looking back to the small camp, the dirty blond haired knight tucks his arms underneath one another, the world becoming cold with the lack of sun. He cannot use his cape for it will only serve as a distraction when running, a hint to the enemy of their location. In battle it serves only at a noose and nothing more. It can only be death spelled out in silken threads. "Shouldn't we get moving?" he taps the hilt of his only weapon now, eyes moving in the direction of the camp. "Or do you think we should wait a bit longer for them to settle in and hopefully be asleep?" he licks his lips before openly contemplating, "Do you even think that they will let their guards down so much after you punching Taxis?"
 
"It will take us a little bit of time to get there and even form a plan. Leaving now is in our best interest." Zaira picks up her bow where she left it by the fire, slinging it over one shoulder. She counts five arrows in her spare quiver, knowing it's not enough to kill all the bandits if it came down to a fight. With a sigh, she brushes back stray strands of hair, fixing the high ponytail on her head so her hair does not waver in her eyes. Glancing at the almost-dead fire, she swipes her foot over the dirt and covers the smoldering embers completely, leaving them in the dark. The light from the half moon is enough for her to see their path by, and she hopes Arean can follow her.

She starts moving before she pauses, dwelling on Arean's words. "No," she says. "But, they know my reputation. If they believe I will not return, then their guard should remain the way it is. They don't know me as a thief, only a... man-hater." She has never spoken the words allowed, and they feel heavy as they leave her mouth. She does hate men, except Arean, but admitting it seemed more trouble than it is worth.

"Let's just... go," she continues, acting as if she did not speak before. Her voice has lost the soft undertone from her laugh and her lips are curved into a slight frown. She walks along the path they took before, her footfalls silent. She falls into a huntress mode: quiet and deadly. She does not intend to kill anyone, but she will if it means surviving.

"When we reach the horse pasture, we will jump over the fence and cross through it. The stables are opposite of where we were before we went through the gate. Since the horses have nowhere to go, I doubt there will be any guards watching the inside. They'll likely be guarding the entrance to the stables, and we'll know where they keep our saddles and supplies when we get there. Whatever building that is will have the other guards." She speaks low, just enough for Arean to hear her. It was also entirely possible that Taxis did increase the number of men, but she didn't think he could win over that many men in Capsin in such a short amount of time. Capsin may be a low-life town, but Zaira knows not everyone cares for the horsemaster.
 
"Well, surely they have the wrong image of you, Zaria," Arean comments quietly as they make their way from camp as quietly as they can. ARean's footsteps are indeed heavier than Zaria's own, his skill not as apt as hers. She can skip between the branches without so much as glancing at the ground. Its as if she has danced this way before one million times. But she, Arean guesses, is quick to know the environment that she resides at. He too attempts to see the details of the world but all he can fabricate are a few strands that pull them together. He is not as skilled as she and for once in his life, he doesn't mind not being the top dog. He rather likes the way Zaria takes initiative.

Through the forest they travel and Arean, attempting to step where Zaria steps, finds himself chewing on his lip before long. Each sound of his feet feels like a small earthquake to his core but without his armor, he is doing better than he could be. They fall against that very same fence that rests around the parameter of the bandit camp, Arean's hand gently resting on his hilt. His heart fails to fall silent even though his steps try their very best to. Every sound he hears sparks another engine inside his heart, another worry filing away in the stores of his mind. He licks his dry and cracked lips, sweat already forming on his brow from the taxing concentration he has already gone through.

"I'm not as light with my steps as you are, Zaria." He warns, knowing that it can spell trouble if he were to step where he shouldn't. "And it looks like there are quite a few men up when they shouldn't be." Lifting his hand up, he squints to try and catch the number of shadowed men that dance around in the firelight. "How are we going to distract the guards. I highly doubt that we can train two large horses out of there without someone noticing." Shaking his head, he feels a tinge of hopelessness settle in his chest but he cannot act upon it for fear that it will diminish Zaria's own flame. "How about we use the shallow trees over there to our advantage?" By the lower right quadrant indeed rests the start of another forest. "That can maybe cause a diversion or distraction while one of us graters the horses?" These are all suggestions flying from his mouth. He has, indeed, always been seen as a planner. Nothing should be given up to chance.
 
Zaira almost shakes her head. He's defending her where he ought not to, for she knows what others see in her. To them, she is shallow, caring for no one and no thing except money. She cannot shake that reputation, not even if she traveled the world working with men and showing she too cares about something. And what does she care about other than money? Her eyes glance to the knight behind her, flicking forward just in case he sees. Arean is her friend, she hopes. She wants him to be as such, but after their moment by the stream, she's not sure he cares so much.

His words break her concentration and she hears the thumps of his occasionally misplaced steps. He's trying, something she gives him credit for. However, if it came down to being stealthy the entire time, she would have to leave him behind. She moves to climb up the tree from earlier until Arean walks and points out the sparse treeline on the other side of Taxis's home. He has a point. Neither of them would be able to maneuver the horses without at least one man noticing. A distraction from the trees would provide cover.

"I'll do it. I can climb the trees and distract them," she says, turning to face him in the dark. She can see him, but she's not so sure on his eyesight given how close she is to him. Taking a step back, she turns as if to study her surroundings again. "The stable is the biggest. There will be many horses, and you can't wake any of them except Legs and your horse. If you can, tie leather around their hooves. It'll muffle their steps if someone comes in to check on them. You won't have any light, but if you can find our supplies, throw them on the saddles. If you can't, lead the horses away and I'll try to find out where they are." Dread seeps into her mind as she realizes that during their time, Taxis could have already sifted through their items and taken what he wanted. That would mean the bags would be inside his home, a place she did not want to go.

Steeling her resolve, she continues, "Try not to kill anyone. I don't like these men, but most of them have families here in Capsin, whether or not they want to be here. If they get hired by Taxis, it's because there's nowhere else to go outside of become a guard for a stupid noble." A sigh escapes her nose as she fights back her dislike for rich men and women. "The horses and our supplies are what's important. That's what we need to focus on." She faces him again, dark eyes almost invisible in the night. "Got it?"
 
After a short contemplation, Arean nods his head gently at Zaria's offer to be the distraction. In all honesty, he would rather her go and round up the steeds because her feet are quieter than his but he understands why she chooses to stay behind. Taxis' men know her, they know what she looks like and even a bit of how she works. At least after punching their leader straight in the nose, there will be no compromise. But Arean, on the other hand, might be able to get away with stealing a leather jerkin and wrapping his head in cloth as one of their own. He had, after all, kept his head down and mouth as silent as he could throughout the whole ordeal. Maybe, just maybe, this might work.

"I am a man of honor," Arean reminds Zaria even though he is well aware that she might know that already, "So I too have the same line of duty as you might. I will not kill unless it's absolutely necessary for my own survival. I fight others, yes, but it's all in good sport." He references those fighting rings, or rather holes dug in the ground, that he had made some money on during his trips to the cities. The bigger the city, the larger pool he has of winnings. Shaking his head, he brings his mind back on track, "Alright. And I'm thinking of at least knocking someone out and hiding them away, perhaps stealing a few articles of clothing so that I don't stand out." He looks down to his gray tunic and plucks at the fabric. The men seemed to be wearing the same dark shades of gray, brown, and tan. He will, hopefully, fit in.

Smiling, he nods one last time before his hand moves to his falchion sword, remembering that Taxis and a few men had seen it. "Oh, wait, Zaria, take this." He starts to unbuckle his belt, handing it and the sheathe over to her. "You need it more than I do I am sure. They might recognize it because I had it with me when we went to visit Taxis. I know you don't really know how to use it yet," he squints gently, "but I am happy to give it to you." His heart leaps into his throat, a deep sense of wanting to trust her bending in his mind. She could run right now if she wanted to, sell his sword for a big pile of gold, and then leave. But he knows, deep down, that she won't. They're in this together. Shouldn't he understand that by now? "Yeah, so you don't know how to use it but… it will give you something to defend yourself in close quarter combat."
 
Zaira nods and turns to leave when Arean stops her. The flick of metal and leather confuse her until the hilt of the falchion brushes her. He wants her to take his sword to defend herself with. She does only have five arrows, and the sword would be a comfort on her hip. And on top of that, he is trusting her with his remaining weapon, leaving him mostly defenseless if the men turn on him. For that reason, her hand slides around the hilt, fingers grazing his. "Oh... uh... thanks." The words are a little smoother than before, but it's clear she's never been offered a weapon. "I... I'll try not to put it to use." He's far more proficient with the weapon and they both know it. Still, Zaira buckles the falchion on her hip. She turns to leave again before deciding on something else. Her hand touches his arm and she says, "good luck," before bounding away. Never having a partner, she doesn't know how to treat Arean when she's leaving him with the possibility of being caught and killed by Taxis and his men. She only hopes her small words do something for him.

Clambering up the steep incline, she vaults the fence and darts in between the sleeping horses. These are the older ones, sold as lesser pack creatures or farm animals. The best animals are safe in the stalls of the stable, waiting to be sold for outrageous prices. Or in her case, stolen. She knows how difficult it is to steal a horse, having witnessed some thieves pulling the act off and others failing to do so. What she and Arean are about to do is dangerous, something she knows she and Arean are both quite aware of.

She shakes the thoughts from her head as she leaps over the fence and scrambles up one of the leafier trees to avoid detection. Crawling as close as she can to the edge of the branch, Zaira's position places her hanging over the housing area. The largest and lit house belongs to Taxis, something she realizes as she hears loud giggles. Trust Taxis to find another woman after she so clearly rejected him. She wonders how he managed to find a woman who looked past his almost-broken nose. Rolling her eyes at the prospect, Zaira does her best to narrow down the number of men guarding the stables and the three other buildings. She sees two on each door except one building, and due to the swinging of the door every so often, she judges that building as a place for Taxis's more permanent men to sleep. She counts six guards and five other men wandering around, keeping some sort of scattered patrol.

Sliding an arrow from her quiver, she tries to pinpoint the most concentrated area. It seems to be the stables, which is below her. She presses the arrow against the string, pulling back and letting it fly. It slams into a tree thirty paces away, the shaft quivering as it hits its mark. The impact causes the branches to shake and leaves to flutter to the ground. It's a noisy spectacle for those closest, and a few men peer around before trotting off to check whatever caused the noise. The arrow is high enough that they don't seem to notice, or maybe they do, but Zaira has already dropped to the ground and sidled to the shadows of the back of the stable. There remains only one guard at the front of the building, but Zaira hopes to find a way to sneak inside the stable or find out where their supplies lay. She cannot see Arean, but she can only hope he is holding up his end of the night mission.
 
"I hope you don't have to put it to use," Arean reflects, watching her strap the belt to her hip. The knot in his stomach grows. You are mad, truly mad. His brain thumps to him. Letting her take your only last item that is precious to you. She might not kill you now but who knows what might happen if you strike the wrong chords with this one. His dark amber eyes glint in whatever light they have and are wide like the moon over the seashore. "It's important that you do have it." But by the time those words leave his lips, she is already telling him good luck and he nods, feeling her fingers press to his shoulder. She is willingly touching him. I guess that's a start. The rational part of his brain reflects, a smile revealing itself to Zaria even though she has long left him for the trees. "And good luck to you." He whispers her way, turning to complete his own half of this mission.

His hands suddenly become very cold when he crouches down by the fence and tries to scope out what he can of this small camp. Looks to him like this is some sort of permanent post because houses were built and a sick sort of happiness has been found here. Under the cover of darkness, Arean slips over the fence as stealthily as he can only to practically fall off the rail and onto the ground on the other side. Luckily for him, the fence isn't too close to where the patrols of guards are. Recovering from landing on his back, the sound making him clench his teeth tightly and shut his eyes. Another cold sweat drips down his spine, his heart beating in his head. Stealth missions are not, and will never be, his forte.

"The stables, the stables," he mutters to himself, picking his body off the ground just enough so that the tall grasses surround him. These swaying singers before him wave to him in greeting, Arean having to bite his tongue as he steps forward and eventually makes it to the side of a dimly lit building on the opposite of camp near where the stables are. Closing his eyes, he leans up against the wooden beams and concentrates on his hearing for he knows it will be his best ally as of yet. The chattering of some men by the popping fire catches his attention first, then the groan of a robber who had eaten too much and is sick of stomach. Eventually making it down to the dirt, Arean presses his chest against it and crawls just enough so that he can see around the corner.

As he predicted, most of the men are gathered around the fire, three or so of them, while four other men walk around camp. The rest of Taxis' men are in their tents or cabin's asleep, or at least trying to get to that state of mind. Pulling in a deep breath, Arean takes a rock from the ground and stands with his shoulder to the side of the building. Lobbing it over the men around the fire, he whips his head around to make sure the building across the way isn't being guarded. The rock makes a successful landing on the other side of the small circle of men, their attention immediately turning. Then he runs as fast as his legs will take him on the balls of his feet.

He does this three more times until he reaches the stables where a guard rests with a pike outside the beams of the doorway. Arean will have to get around the back without this guard noticing. Wetting his lips, he retreats back against the closest building, his heart not settling down an inch. His hot breath spills from his lips as quietly as he can muster, a hand moving over his mouth so that no one else hears him. Can't you make some sort of distraction, Zaria? He ponders, looking once again to the leather bound guard before thinking of a strategy.
 
Zaira takes a breath from behind the stables, having noticed that the other men she distracted are returning from their false endeavor. She has to do something quick or they will not be so easily distracted next time. Searching the ground for something suitable to throw, her hand on one part of the stable's wall, she feels a lighter wood under her fingers. The plank is rotting away, and she can use it to her advantage. The nails squeak as they bend before she tears the wide piece of wood away. Situating her grasp, she hurls the plank into the forested area, the wood landing with a solid thump. Only half the group pulls away to check, but she slips in between the small gap she's created with some wiggling of her body.

Inside the stable, seven horses are asleep, including Legs and Arean's steed. No guards sleep in the hay or walk a patrol around the stalls. The only remaining guard is on the outside of the gate, and if he remains, Arean cannot get inside. She looks around in the single torch lit area to see a few small rocks. There is a small gap in between the front gate and the ground, and she slides her foot against the ground and kicks the rocks out. The rustle of leather and a key jangling makes her hide away until the guard peers inside. One hand on his sword, he glances around, searching for the source of the rocks. Zaira pulls her bow from her shoulder, looping the weapon over the man's head and pulling the bow frame against his neck. His air is cut off and he struggles, but she holds on until his limbs cease to flail. After a moment of inspecting, Zaira deduces that the man is still alive, just unconscious.

She glances to the door, looking outside. No one has noticed that the gate remains ajar, and she leaves it that way. However, she finds the keys, unlocking the back gate so Arean can lead the horses out a less conspicuous way. She knows their supplies are not here, only the horses and their empty saddles. Taxis and his other men must have moved them to the second, smaller building, and that's where she needs to be. Sliding from her makeshift entrance, Zaira finds the guards replaced on the other building, and this time, they wouldn't be so easily persuaded to move with an arrow. A quick inspecting of the building reveals that it's better taken care of than the stable, so she cannot enter from behind. Climbing up her tree again, she searches, but her only options for distraction would be to kill a man.

An idea sparks, and she jumps down, searching for the patrolling men. Swiping up more pebbles in her hand, she hefts them straight into the back of one man, who proceeds to blame the man next to him for hitting him. She hears indistinct swear words thrown before they start to brawl. As more men start to jump in, the remaining guards are forced to focus on the fight rather than their posts. Zaira takes that time to sidle into the shadows, opening the door to the smaller building. There, Arean's great two-handed sword glitters, even in the dark. It rests on top of their saddle bags, and her quiver lies on the hilt. She places the quiver on her back and lifts the bags experimentally. Some are heavy, others are not. She sifts through each one, trying to decide which bags are worth more in the end. She slides the sword into her belt, but without a sheath, the cold metal bumps against her leg. However, it holds itself up, so she pays it no mind. There are five bags in total, and she takes the gold from each and moves everything around so most of their supplies rest in two heavier bags. Tying the strings together, she pulls the bags onto her shoulder, the strings digging into her skin and weighing her down. She has to abandon a set of her clothes as well as some packed away food, but the maps and their money, and Arean's things, are ultimately more important than her own. Why she thinks this, she's not sure, but the thought scatters as the sounds of the men brawling die down.

She has to find a way out or be trapped inside waiting for either Arean to get the horses or for someone to find her. She hopes it's not the latter, and in the dark, she finds the small door leading out. As she tries to shove it open, a lock jingles on the outside. She doesn't have the particular set of keys, not to mention the lock rests in a place where she can't get it. With a sigh, she sits, giving her legs a rest while she thinks. Her ears strain to listen for any noise alerting the departure of the guard outside, and she can only hope the brawl disabled the patrols to let Arean acquire the horses.
 
The sound of footsteps makes Arean's heart jump as he tries again and again to gain control of his shaking body. The sweat is cold against the back of his neck, armpits soaked against his skin. He is a knight for heavens sake and is not used to all this deadly sneaking around. Not to mention that he doesn't have a weapon anymore. "Just breathe, Ar," he whispers to himself, pushing his back against the amber planks and closing his eyes. He remember a prayer that he had sworn to the guard when he joined. For whatever reason, it gives him comfort to whisper it underneath his breath. It will give him the strength he had back then. The perseverance to complete this mission with as little fault as possible. Zaria and him will make it out of here alive.

Heckto armon se lega bellsizen. Oracte jal xev quantoro vasti. Arma, arma, arma. Emal iko penasairou cenz vel se iuanke. Iuanke pelzo armon.

While he chants these words, drawing strength from them, he doesn't realize that his body starts to become very, very, warm. It's as if the light itself were being soaked into him, just like the sunlight beating down on his skin on a warm summer day. He can feel it travel through his veins like a warm sip of hot chocolate dripping down the throat. When his amber hues open once more, he sees the world in a different light for he believes, truly believes, that he can take on anyone. Everything has a light blue tint to it but Arean thinks nothing of it but the strange alignment of the moon and his eyes needing adjustment to the light. Sucking in some more breath, he turns the corner, crouching low to the ground and running as fast as he can, bounding over the fence, and coming to a screeching halt by the stable door. Peeking over the wood, he notices the guard is gone.

He bounds over the small gate and starts his attempt at freeing this steed in one of the far stables. The guard will be back any moment and he only has so big of a window. Legs, remembering Arean, only stomps sturdy hooves on the ground, signaling something that Arean doesn't understand. "Sssh, it's okay, I'm here to free you. Zaria is with me," he takes the bridal and starts to place everything, like the saddle and reigns, to this magnificent beast. He swallows and looks to the door, nothing and no one there. When everything is set up, he lifts the beam separating the stall from the rest of the stable and placing it to the side. That's when he hears voices, the men shouting at one another outside the stable. "Stay here," he whispers, moving to a dark corner of the stables before saddling his own steed. It isn't for another five minutes that he crawls his way out of the stables, seeing the patrols gone, his window open.

"Good, good," he whispers to himself, grabbing both sets of reigns and quickly leading the horses from the stable in a sprint. The clattering of the hooves are drowned out by the shouting by the fire, the shadows clinging to Arean and his two steeds. "Keep going, going," he whispers, looking back over the shoulder as he runs. That's when his body lurches forward, the ground kissing his chest. "Uugh." he gasps out, his body bouncing on the dirt floor as the horses keep charging towards the tree line. "No, no, no." Whispers Arean, getting up and coming face to face with one of the men on patrol.

His heart drops into his stomach, eyes going wide as he screams at himself to move. The man, luckily whistling to himself, stinks of rum and hardly realizes the two horses bounding in the other direction. Arean, stationary, looks right into a pair of blue eyes. But they, for some reason, don't register him. The guard walks right up to him, Arean moving to the side, and walks right past as if Arean were invisible. The knight's jaw drops, watching this drunken man, who would have most likely made a hoot of a row by seeing him, walk away. He immediately looks down to his hands, that same small blue glow radiating from them.

"Magic?" Is his first inclination, looking up and around once more before his fear makes him run after the horses and away from this place.
 
Zaira listens, but she hears nothing. Silence is worse than noise on this sort of mission, and it makes Zaira stand. She braces one foot against the door before slamming her heel into the weakest part: the hinges. The door lurches and groans, and she pauses. She waits a few seconds, but no one rushes to the door. Why? She pounds her boot on the door until she hears a splinter. It means progress, and that spurs Zaira to kick to the point of excess until the wood caves under her foot. As the door shoves away from its hold, the shouting about something becomes loud. They pay no attention to Zaira, as they've noticed the lack of two of their newest horses. Taxis has been pulled from his romping, but Zaira slithers away. The men claim to have seen something that isn't there, and there is conflict. However, Zaira takes no chances and sprints as fast as she can to the fence. She leaps over with one hand, crouching in the tall grass and startling one of the horses. As he snorts and paws the ground, Zaira dashes for the other side, forgetting about the steep incline. Her boots catch the dirt toe first and she flies forward into a heap, the belt nearly tearing from her hip as the two handed sword catches in the ground.

She groans as she sits up, rubbing her head and brushing her arms off. She still has everything, though she notices a few of her arrows have spilled from their spot in her quiver. Gathering them up, she replaces them before pulling herself upright. She sees no sign of hoof prints, meaning Arean has gone a different way. Strange, considering this was the only path leading to their camp. Perhaps he had to go around if he went through the back of the stable as she had. With a sigh, she shifts the bags on her shoulder and trudges back to their camp.

The night grows dim as the moon dips and the sun rises by the time Zaira returns. She has exhausted herself, and her tumble has caused bruises to form on her stomach and arms. However, she is more concerned with Arean's absence than anything else. Pulling the two handed sword from her belt, she sits down by their fire pit to examine the weapon. There is no light but the blade glistens as if covered in an invisible liquid. She runs her hand along the flat of the sword to find nothing on it. She lays the sword across her legs to pull out the falchion, her fingers running over the inscriptions Arean had promised to tell her about. She finds herself flipping the blade over and even scrubbing dirt from the lettering near the bottom. However, the calm and repeating motion makes her tired, adding on to her exhausted state already.

No, she cannot fall asleep. Once Arean arrives, they are to leave and not return. "Where is he?" she asks herself out loud, putting the great sword by her bow and keeping the falchion on her hip. She paces to keep herself awake, even traveling to the stream to swipe water across her face. But minutes pass and she cannot hear or see him. Busying herself with finding his armor, she cleans the dirt from the steel, though she wonders why she cares what he and his weapons look like. Grumbling to herself, she goes back to pacing, ears alert for any unwanted sounds.
 
((From my phone))

While running after the horses, Arean comes to a skidding stop, his weight making him wave his arms around as if he were a lunatic. Looking back at his hands, he finds that they still have that strange blue glow to them. He snaps his fingers, shaking them as if they were trees in the wind. Grunting, he looks back towards the flickering yellow lights inside the homes of the bandits then back to the path the horses ran on. "Shit," he whispers, knowing that he shouldn't leave Zaria to her own devices but they are nothing without their horses. Swinging his shoulders back around, he quickly finds ground and starts to sprint after these two trouble-making horses.

He loses track of time, moving with the sound of running hooves. Do they know when they can stop? The moon crawls its way up the sky and then dips back down. But Arean stops way before the moon makes its arch in the sky. With his lungs burning, legs throbbing to the point where he can't even walk anymore. "Just a rest," he pants out, chest heaving and his stomach daring him to heave his dinner up. "I'm so out of shape," he mutters to himself, hand moving across his heart to feel it thump against his chest. "So out of shape." Little does he know, he has been running for miles. The horses eventually stop, he can see them mingling by a pool of water, stopping for a drink.

"Must… keep… going…" he pants out, using the trees as support so that he can make his way over to the two steeds. Sweet sweat drips from his nose, forehead, and chin, stinging his eyes and causing his shirt to become drenched. "I have been looking all over the place for you two," he breathes, coming up to his steed and petting the muzzle. "I love you, you great bastard you." Kissing between his eyes, the horse nearly smiles, giving a gentle nudge back to his master for safety. The two of them are tied to a nearby tree after they are allowed a long, soothing drink of water in the small springs. "This might be a good space for later adventures." Then as the moon stays strong in the sky, Arean decides to get some rest before moving back to camp.

It isn't until sunrise where he comes through the trees to where Zaria is. "Zaria?" He shouts, his face covered with dirt and caked with old sweat.
 
Zaira had fallen asleep sometime during the night, but it was after a long time of pacing and cleaning. She is curled up in the center of their camp, her head resting on Arean's chest plate, which has been polished to near-perfect shininess. Her pony tail is disheveled, strands of dark hair billowing about her face in the slight morning breeze. Her own shoulder armor is missing, revealing bruised biceps and forearms from her fall as well as a reddened gouge from the bag's strings. Her gloves are also gone, displaying nicks and scars on her hands and wrists. Her face, in sleep, is calm, but as she hears Arean shout her name, her eyes snap open. She is immediately on her feet, snapping her bow from its resting place beside her. The quiver slips over her shoulder and she pulls an arrow and glances around. It isn't until he comes closer that she hears hoof beats on the ground and Arean's equally clomping steps.

As she spots him, she is simultaneously relieved and angry. He has not one but both horses, and she has almost all of their supplies. Still, he was gone for the entire night, something she cannot forgive. Her dark eyes glare as she steps forward into his path, stopping his arrival into the camp. Taking her horse's reins in one hand, her bare fingers brush his chest as her hand coils around the collar of his shirt and she pulls his head down so they are at eye level, though it's not much of a bend on his end.

"Where have you been?" she hisses, noting his appearance. He's been through a lot, which would explain his absence, but she's not thinking about that right now. "I have been worried about you and the horses! I was trapped getting our supplies, and while you distracted them, you disappeared. You left me there! I only escaped because I broke down a door. You could have been killed, I could have been killed, or we could have lost everything!" Her grip tightens on his shirt, but she sighs and lets him stand up straight, her head bowing. "I was worried," she repeats, "a-about the horses, I mean. A...and you, too. I couldn't go looking for you." It seems like she doesn't want to relinquish her hold on him now that he's back. Legs nudges her arm, making her wince in pain. "No, I don't have anything for you," she whispers to the horse halfheartedly.
 
Arean can't believe he made it back to camp alright, his chest puffing out with admiration that Zaria is still loyal. She did not run with their supplies like his mind might have predicted at some point. He could have taken off too, sold both the horses to at least gather a bit of gold and make a name for himself elsewhere. But that is not the honor bound thing to do. Until his dying breath, he will stand by her. No matter if she will try and kill him at the end of their mission, at least his conscious will be clear. His conscious is always clear. At least, that's what he wants people to think of him as. He is the man who doesn't show fear, his mind decided and true. But he is a human after all.

"Zaria," he breathes, an arm leaning on his steed for the extra support, his breath hardly being pushed from his lungs. "I'm so glad to…" he starts but he doesn't get another breath out before she is speaking. Shaking his head, he tries and explain before she brings too many false assumptions to the table. What he wasn't expecting is for her to tell him that she was worried about him. More likely worried about the horse. His mind tells him and Arean sighs at such a prospect. Zaria cares for him. No matter how much she may deny it, she is still here, isn't she? She promised, swore, that she wouldn't use the poison against him. She has hugged him and he has sworn to her.

He is pulled down towards her, eyes wide with his worry to what she might do next. Opening his mouth, for a split second, he swears that she is going to kiss him. Now that next notion makes his neck crane back a little bit away from her. Why do I keep having these thoughts? But before he can ponder upon that, perhaps at a quieter time by the fire, he listens to her words. But it isn't until her fingers uncurl from his shirt that he finally finds the words he wants to say. His hands willingly move in respond to her grabbing his collar. He is not used to being handled so roughly, hand coming against her wrist and bending her fingers off of him. It shouldn't hurt her but it's just enough to show her that he won't be handled like an animal.

"The horses were spooked!" Arean finds himself yelling back at her, hands tightly gripped on hers, a motion that he doesn't remember doing after releasing her hand from the cloth of his shirt. "Listen, hey, listen," he tries to quiet her down, eyes unwavering from hers so that she can see the truth within their amber pools, "Zaria, listen." When she gives him a chance to speak, he takes it, noting all that she is worried about, the smile unable to be stopped as it plays on her face. "You were worried about me," he whispers, the grin growing as he looks down to their hands. He immediately drops hers, not wanting her to get the wrong idea.

"But here is what happened," Arean looks back up to her, not noticing his horse trot over to the river to take a drink. "It was wrong of me to leave you, I know, I know it was wrong." He swallows, trying to gather the truth. "I took them out of the stables and something spooked them as if they saw a ghost or something. You know how animals have heightened senses. Well, I took them out and they charged away for freedom and I just knew that right at that moment you were fine, having faith in you to get out of any situation you come to. It's because you are a proud and talented warrior and I know you are capable of doing anything you put your mind to. So I went after the horses. Something that I shouldn't have done. I regret doing. I should have stayed with you and protected you. I should have been your shadow but…" he trails off, waiting for her response.
 
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