Who: Red and Huntsman What: Cuteness turned into injury Where: Fairytale Door Forest When: Today? Warnings/Rating: Injury: Blood and fairly primitive field medicine
Red hadn’t been through the door since her last discussion with Snow had dragged up memories of the past that she had much rather have stayed hidden deep in her own mind. She’d been too far from any door to return to Las Vegas, and had curled up against the base of a huge tree to wait out her time, doing anything she could to force the memories away, alternating sobs and whimpers and (when the memories were too much) desperate screams that scared the birds from the trees. Fur and flesh against bare skin, said the memories, the taste of copper meat on the back of her tongue. For the first time, it had been a relief to slip back into the mind of her Las Vegas man, to allow that strange disconnect to give her her distance back.
As several days passed, he accepted her silence with relief, spending his days in that place. The one filled with strange smells and machines. She knew from his distracted thoughts that he was looking at pieces of people like her - the people through the doors - and it didn’t make her any more prone to liking him. Every night he went home to the woman with goldsilk hair, and Red turned away each time, her own memories still making everything too raw. Once or twice she shouted at him until he stopped, but they had nonetheless (slowly) begun to settle into something approaching an understanding, it seemed. It still left things strained between him and his woman friend (she couldn’t yet grasp how the woman - Evie - how she could even stand some of the things that the two of them did), but it was less sharp with stress.
It all meant that her own time through her door was spent without his interference or influence, his presence the smallest slip in the back of her mind. The door always dropped her someplace different, no real pattern to the barns or sheds that she ended up in. More than once she’d ended up back at her grandmother’s place, but she always fled quickly (especially when there was too much in her stomach and the sight of the kitchen table made her sick) and buried herself in the trees. This was one of those times, and she hurried away from the small cottage, wind at her face and with her hood blown down to pool on her shoulders and back. It left her hair free to move with the wind, though the direction of the breeze meant that she never ended up with hair in her face. As usual, she did her best to keep her footsteps as soft as possible, as silent as she could be, no snapping of twigs to betray her movement. It wasn’t as perfect as others might have been, but she was still young and prone to rushing when she should pause.
The wind at her front brought with it scents of the forest and (sometimes) a sound from between the trees. A birdcall, a flutter of wings. She paid little attention until the sound that carried was a high yip of a bark. Her feet froze then, steps halting as she strained her ears to listen. And yes, that was another bark. Close enough to familiar territory, she knew there was no town near, that those barks didn’t come from any sort of domestic canine. The memories that had been so close in recent days flared again. Glad that the wind was in a direction that wouldn’t betray her by her own scent, she began to move forward again, slowly and carefully. It took long enough that the sun had shifted by degrees in the sky before she came upon a short rise of ground, a clearing in the trees just visible on the other side. She drew her knife from her belt silently and moved forward to lay on her stomach in the leaves, just peering over the rise.
Her eyes went wide and fingers clenched on the handle of her blade at the sight in the clearing. A jut of rocks looked to provide some sort of shelter beneath them, but it was what was outside that shelter that surprised her. She was used to wolves, had killed more than one, but she only ever saw them solitary and usually male. But in the clearing beyond was... she could only describe it as a family. Several adults laid around on the ground to relax and to keep a watchful eye on the other residents of the area: wolf pups.
Red had never seen wolf pups before. She had no idea how they would tumble together, gnaw on each other’s ears, barrel into the warm side of one of the adults until they snapped in annoyance and nosed the little one away. She could not have prepared herself for the way they seemed so much like the few human children she’d known. They were small, more fuzz and fluff than a true wolf, and she felt a hard part of her soften at the sight of them. Though the ground held a damp chill, she didn’t move from her position except to slowly rest her chin on her blade-free hand, keeping her head propped just enough that she could continue to watch them. Nearly foreign on her stern face, the corners of her mouth tipped up just slightly as she continued to watch the pups. They barked and whined and played until they grew tired of it, and then collapsed in a pile for what appeared to be a very necessary nap. Even then Red didn’t move, studying the other wolves, the way they interacted. The ongoing assessment of “family” made her ache in a way she would never want to admit to anyone. It kept her there, as silent a watcher as she could be, smile on her face and surprisingly peaceful.
This forest was one of the final in the old land that knew peace. It was not infected with the Queen's black magic, the trees were not dead, and the animals had not fled from the rot and decay that always followed when the dark army came marching through with their swarm of crows. Lately, he was staying in a nearby village, paying for his room at the inn by trade of what he could catch in the woods by day. While the huntsman would have typically kept from slaying a buck or boar for his own needs - the flesh was too great for one man to sustain - the heavier animals were good for sustaining a village that had been on the brink of starving before he'd come into their path. The matter of Snow White was still something that weighed on him. He may not have been a good man, but he had never sacrificed someone to save himself. Although this was different, he reminded himself. This was to rescue his wife. No cost was too great for that.
Today, the huntsman traveled alone. His companion had wandered off some many miles back and the huntsman had not caught sight of him since. It was not a worrisome thing, animals were free. There were pure and capricious as anything, especially wild wolves. The hunter's haul for this afternoon was a good half dozen rabbits, limp with death and trussed at the feet into one line that he kept slewn over the pelt of his shoulder. He was not quite ready to head back in the direction of the village, and rather continued through the forest where the terrain grew rocky. His boots were steady on the moss and the brush grew thick at the precipice of a boulder's ledge. He too heard the sound of yelping, snarling pups in the midst of play. It made him pause, gently lying the collection of rabbits on the ground beside him as he knelt beside a blackberry bush. Its leaves were thick enough to conceal him, although he had not quite yet noted that he needed concealing at all. The family of wolves were fascinating to him for a whole separate reason than they were to Red. He wished he could remember those days in more than just fragments, what it was like to live among the animals, to be raised as one, cared for by the unexpected gentleness of a predator.
He apparently caught the end of this family's rest because after a couple more minutes, the wolves were roused from their rest and the larger matriarchs nipped the pups by the back of the neck to carry them off. To their den, he imagined. It was only then, in following the movement of the wolves that he glimpsed that bit of Red sprawled out on the cool ground. His higher position on the boulder was the only thing that allowed him to spot her at all, and this was a new observation. A curious thing that she had not drawn her ax nor blade on such animals that she quoted hate upon. Of course, it would have been very unwise for a single, young girl to take on an entire family of wolves. Even one could rip through the chest of more nimble men. And was that actually a.. smile on her face? Perhaps he was still imbibed with the playfulness of the pups he'd grown into childhood alongside, but it was impossible to help himself. Carefully drawing the collection of rabbits back onto his shoulder, the huntsman circled around bushes and thickets until the ground sloped to a lower level, where he could approach her from behind. "Now, this is adorable." Patronizing? Maybe a little. Amused? Plenty, if his grin was anything to go by.
So focused on watching the retreating figures of the four-legged family, Red hadn’t seen the Huntsman, nor heard his approach. The smile hadn’t faded by the time he began to speak, but it fled swiftly enough the second he did. It was replaced by a choked off cry of surprise, and she scrambled back and away. Her knife was still in her hand when she tumbled back over the small rise she’d been hidden behind, somersaulting backwards in a tangle of ungraceful limbs and scarlet lined cloak. The blade in her hand held a sharp glint of its own drippy scarlet when she finally spilled to a stop, managing to rock up onto her toes while in a crouch low to the ground. She was breathing hard, half wrapped in her own clothing and hair, the shock still making her heart race as her eyes scanned the woods around her wildly, finally resting on the huntsman. Her shoulders heaved with her breathing, almost a gasp in reaction to the adrenalin rushing in her veins. “What...” she managed to get out, cut off by her own inhale, whatever else she had been about to say lost in another gasp.
He remained enough paces back that the girl's somersault, even with that killing blade coming out for an unseen attacker, did not startle him into retreat. He adjusted the catch of lifeless hares over his shoulder, not reaching for any blade or bow of his own. The girl seemed startled, as if expecting some great talking bear rather than a man, and the huntsman lifted a brow in continued amusement. Drawing a breath, he took a deep and appreciative taste of the green air. There were not many forests with such a rich, thriving taste of nature still riding the breeze. It reminded him briefly of his thirst, and he knew that after prodding the cloaked one, he would venture East toward the brook he'd seen earlier. "Did nerves get the best of you, gi--" Hesitating, he remembered his agreement with Snow to call this one by her name rather than prickle her ire with girl. The fact that he made an agreement with Snow and intended to keep it was something to keep from thinking about right now, or anytime soon. He was making a great many agreements these days, and the time was closing in when he would have to follow suit. Or all would be lost. "Red? You seemed rather frozen and did not slay a single one of those horrid, monstrous things.."
It took another moment for Red to catch her breath, to register the Huntsman for who he was, and to slowly stand from her crouch. She caught the beginning of the nickname, and looked up at him sharply, but the redirection stilled any harsh words she would have had for him. His relaxed posture brought with it little threat, and with the long space of relaxation still weighing calm on her shoulders, once the adrenaline began to fade, she started to relax once again. Beginning to put her knife away, she frowned at the scarlet drop that fell to the forest floor from the whisper sharp edge of metal, and she cursed under her breath. She knew from experience that the slice of it was often too keen to feel as pain, and she began to run a self-assessment. The last thing she needed was to bleed freely in the woods, when any predator could track her weakness. Or to do so in front of the smug face of the Huntsman. She cursed under her breath and then glared at the man. “They were children,” she nearly growled at him, wiggling the point of her knife into a nearby tree so that it was close at hand but so that she did not have to sheath it before cleaning it. The questing fingers of her right hand finally found a clean slice of fabric on her upper arm near her left elbow, and prodding into the gap of fabric left her fingers scarlet. She cursed again, this one slightly louder, and tried to figure out how to bandage herself without removing her shirt in the middle of the woods. Her attention was only half on the Huntsman once she determined he was a lesser threat at the moment.
"Children that will one day become that which you hate, I'm a little surprised you made the distinction." Surprised was an easy word, when what the Huntsman truly meant was impressed. Not that he could imagine telling her such a thing would bring anything but another growl his way. She seemed more rabid animal than young woman at times, and while he found that alone rather fascinating, it was the way she'd laid out in watch of the wolves with a smile on her face that seemed truly alien to any prior impression he'd had of her. "So the bloodthirsty one has a heart, after all.." Speaking of blood, he noticed the smear of dark pain on her blade, and he watched her bury its metal in the bark of the nearest tree. "You're injured," not that she seemed to need him to tell him that as she was the one cursing and bleeding. Advancing toward her on quick, crunching boots, he reached for her without invitation. "Let me see."
The Huntsman received her silverblue glare in return for his words. “Then I shall go hunt them down, by all means. Slaughter the entire family. Force them to eat each other. It would make me no better than-” Her words tumbled to a stop as gracelessly as she had gone over the hill into the clearing. Her lips pressed together in a thin, pale line, keeping any further words behind her teeth, and she shifted her attention back to her arm. With an insistent spread of her fingers, she popped several threads at the end of the slice in the fabric, trying to get a better look at the wound. She looked up again at his words, about to snap at him that she was well aware of her injury, but her voice caught in her throat at how close he suddenly was. With another gasp that was half air and half no, she took several steps away, forgetting to grab for her knife before she moved. She still had the axe on her back, but forgot it in her attempt to retreat. His legs were longer, his steps quicker, and he had a jump on moving toward her before she realized it, all leaving her within arm’s length when he reached for her.
She should have fought, should have listened to her own instinct to draw a weapon and attack, or even to turn and run away, but no one had touched her in years. She touched others plenty of times, usually right before watching the life drain from them, but never the other way around. It froze her into prey, and her eyes went wide, color seeping from her already pale skin.
"You will do no such thing," he said, calling the girl out on her intentions to go off and slay the small pack. His tone was mild and knowing without being critical, which she undoubtedly would have a problem with. It wasn't simply that she was incapable of tracking the animals by this point - of which he was a firm believer that she could not - but if gathering their hides had ever been her driving motive, the little huntress would not have been daydreaming before them, nor would she have been caught so easily off her guard. While it was true that the Huntsman enjoyed her firehaired bravado, there was no sport to be found in besting a girl. No matter how amusing her temper was.
He had no idea what she was going on with her rambling, her mind somehow still finding topic in the worthwhile death of wolves, or forcing them to eat one another. It was not common practice for wolves to eat the carcasses of their own kind, but it did happen. Particularly these days when food could be scarce in the darker woods. "Do not be so stubborn," he warned with a faint growl of agitation riding the words when he took hold of her arm and drew her closer. "I am not going to hurt you." The promise was soft, as were his eyes when he noticed how pale and suddenly frightened she seemed to be. In a matter of moments the blood drained from her face, and her eyes flooded with fear. Wisely, he released her for a different approach. "Please."
Asking Red to not be so stubborn was almost as useful as asking wind not to blow, and even though her voice was still quiet and unsteady, her arm trembling under the Huntsman’s hand until he released it, she still tried to fight back with words. “I will do what I see fit,” she insisted with a softer voice than she usually used, though she forced her own growl into it in response to his. The blue of her eyes was faded nearly to grey as she tipped her face up to look at him when he pulled her closer. “I do not trust you,” she stated outright, expression defiant but still trying to inch backward, away from a grip that might turn into a trap.
She didn’t know how to handle his please. The only recent times she could remember hearing a please, it was from the bluing lips of a man begging for his worthless life. But his eyes were soft, and his grip disappeared from her arm. The frown was still on her face, and she was still nearly as pale as creamless milk. The fingers of her right hand twitched for a weapon of some sort, not to attack, but to protect herself. She did her best to keep her breath silent, but it wavered slightly between them. “You are too close. ...I can take care of it myself.” Her voice had returned to sharp words, but the tone of them was small and without strength.
Sighing, the Huntsman withdrew a few paces at her announcement that his proximity kept her wary, and perhaps that was what drained her face so pale, and not blood loss at all. The girl was no concern of his, and that was an easy reminder for the Huntsman to reconnect to. Should she refuse his help, it was her right.. as ridiculously prideful as it may have been to do so. "Will you not even show me how bad the cut is before I walk away?" Smiling because he found that her growl reminded him of the wolves, whether she detested their kind or not. What a strange creature she was. "So I may know if I should bring flowers to the gravesite tomorrow if you bleed out here tonight." The tilt of his head said he probably wasn't serious, but that all depended on her arm, didn't it?
Red’s eyes narrowed as she looked at the Huntsman, able to force tension from her shoulders when he moved back. She was about to reclaim her knife and walk away, but the man in her mind, who had no right to influence her on anything, was speaking. Telling her to accept help, even from the Huntsman. Several silent moments of internal debate passed before Red sighed. She circled around to pry her knife from the tree, and then closed the distance again between her and the Huntsman. She still did not clean the blade, did not sheath it, but her approach was more wary than aggressive. Standing before him for another moment, she finally angled her body so that her left arm was closest to him, holding it out from her body. “Look, then.” Her entire frame was stiff, fingers white around the handle of her knife, once again practically trembling with tension.
"Are you going to cut my fingers off if I touch you?" It was a fair question, considering her continued stiff hold on the knife. He attributed her trebles to nerves, and like any wild animal with gleaming teeth (or in her case, knife and ax).. cautionary measures were best. He did not reach out to her, and he did not reach for her arm. His evergreen eyes watched her face in wait for some sign of submission, or at the very least a relenting nod of agreement.
Red had kept her eyes averted when she held out her arm, and had braced herself for the contact. When it didn’t come and was instead replaced by a question, she frowned. Her eyes shifted back to his face, wary and pale, too old for the youth of her face. She remained unused to being so close to someone that was still standing, still invading the space she normally kept around herself even though he was several steps away. It caused her to hesitate before snapping words back at him. “Are you going to trick and trap if I don’t keep a blade in my hand?” She’d forced her tone harsh again, but she was close enough that the thread of true concern was visible in her eyes.
The Huntsman nearly joked again, but the tangible worry in her eyes was like a tidal drag into the abyss of a well that had gone stagnant with years of true fear and many reasons to be wary. In that, his voice found silence and his expression stilled into one of sincere, blatant honesty before he replied. "Keep your knife." For while it might find his gut, and wouldn't that be the true worth of a helpful offer, he imagined that just holding its handle gave her some kind of comfort. "I will do nothing but see how deep you are bleeding," he assured before reaching forward slowly. So slowly. With both hands, his fingers fished for the slice in the arm of her garment and curling inward, he gripped to tear the fabric further so as to give him a full view of the cut, and whether it needed to be tended to now.
Wary eyes tracked his movement toward her, but she neither moved back nor struck out. Her fingers stayed wrapped tight around the knife’s handle, but though it quivered as a tense extension of her hand, it did not move to cause injury. In the moment before his hand touched her, she cleared her throat. “I will not cut off your fingers.” It was quiet, but it was a promise she intended to keep. Her entire body gave a jolt at the touch of his fingers, though, and she nearly pulled away. The sound of the fabric tearing caused her to wince. “This is my only shirt, Huntsman. You might have a care.” As far as her protests went it was mild, especially when she looked down and saw the extent of the cut. She had seen worse, but it was deep enough that the skin was parted and bled freely, especially when she moved her arm. The smell of it suddenly hit her and she swallowed hard. The scent of blood, when she wasn’t caught in a kill, brought back memories that made her gag, and she had to turn her face away and take a breath of forest-laced air. “Can you,” she paused for just a moment, her gaze still averted, “tie something on it? Then I shall take my leave of you.” She was convinced that she could tend to it herself once she was away from him, no matter that she would have to try one-handed.
After eyeing the wound, the Huntsman stepped back several paces with a considering exhale that spent all of the air from his lungs. He knew one way to tend to the bleeding, to cease it entirely, and to promise very little chance for infection. "We will repair the wound here, unless you wish to track blood through a forest that is quickly falling to evening.” Most predators wouldn't go after an animal that could defend itself, even if it was wounded.. but woods these days were strange, and the creatures within them were not always entirely known. He had no idea how far the girl had to venture in order to make it home, and blood loss would make one weary. He'd seen the way she'd had to turn away from the sight of her bloodslick arm, and doubted that she could do anything about it herself without getting queasy. "Sit down before you faint," he sighed before scrounging around for dry brush and long dead twigs to start up a small fire. A lifetime of experience had it burning in a matter of minutes. Then glancing toward her, he extended his hand. "Your knife, Red."
‘Home’ didn’t have much meaning for Red any longer. There was a reason why she only had the one shirt, why her face tended to always have the dirty smudges over pale skin. Since the incident with the Wolf, even before she found herself sharing minds with the man in the desert, she had wandered the woods. The hotel itself often dropped her someplace random (though usually a place she had at least a passing familiarity with). She had no other place to go to take care of her arm other than away from the Huntsman, and he at least seemed to be willing to help without comment or threat. His jab about her fainting earned a scowl and a scoff in reply, though she did find part of the rocky outcropping to perch on. Not to appease him, of course. Simply because a rest seemed to be a good idea while she watched him start his little fire. She could feel the warmth from where she sat, and stared at it with a sigh. Her hand twitched back at his eventual words, her frown returning to a face that had gone blank as she’d stared at the flames. Angling the blade behind her side, she watched him with narrowing eyes. “Why?” she demanded, once again defensive about her weapon, but her answer came from within instead of from the Huntsman. The desert man knew about bodies, enough of medicine that he had an idea of what was to happen. And while he wasn’t pleased about the pain and the scar he would receive as well, he knew that she had nearly half a day left before he would be returned to the hotel. And like the Huntsman, he was worried about both blood loss and infection. The knowledge of what was to come made Red shake her head though, sharply, and stand again, her free hand going to the rock to steady the slight waver once she returned to her feet. “No. You will not.” Though even that denial wasn’t as forceful as it might otherwise have been.
The fire was a pleasant heat as the crest of a nightcrawling wind spread through the forest around them. Dusk was coming soon. He added further tinder while she gave fierce refusal to hand over her knife. Huffing, he lifted his eyes to watch her as the girl staggered and caught herself, barely standing in the frenzy of refusal. The huntsman did not go after her as she did not run, he remained kneeling side the bristle and pop of pine-scented flames while the girl's denial grew erratic. Finally, he stood, an animal's ferocity in the tight tone of his words. "You would rather risk the green to set in?" Infections were strange, and the Huntsman was no medicine man, but he knew that with as much dirt and grime as the girl seemed to be perpetually caked in, infection was likely. "You would risk losing the use of your arm?!" He snapped at her, as if the threat might cower her into compliance.
The scent of the the fire was somehow calming and comforting, and combined with the continued slow loss of blood, took the fight out of her. Her eyes went wide at his tone, baring her teeth as she attempted to hiss back at him. “I will not lose it,” she replied, starting to step closer, but her step wavering enough that she stayed close to the rocks, hand braced there. When he stood, she stumbled back a step, frowning, and her foot hit the outcropping of stone again, forcing her to sit down hard. With a glance at her arm, the sluggish drip of crimson that refused to stop, she scowled and set her knife to the side so she had both hands free for support. “You wish me to allow you-” She stopped, attempted again. “You want to burn me,” she continued, voice softer again, failing to cover the fear laced through it. “Do you not?”
"No, I do not wish to do anything to you, but it must be done." Reaching forward for the leather strap that crossed her shoulder, the one that secured her axe in place, he lifted it toward her scowling, pale mouth. "Bite down on this." Her hesitation and distrust was obvious. "Unless you know a medicine man that lives within these woods, you will do as I say." Although his tone was frustrated enough to suggest he would leave her where she slumped angry yet dazed against the rocks.. he knew that he would not. Even against her will, he would not brand her wound closed, but if she got light headed enough to cease her stubbornness out of instinct for survival, he could at least carry her to town where another might take her off his hands. Reaching for the neglected knife - because although he had his own, it seemed only right to use hers - he wiped its blood off on the knee of his slacks before gingerly pushing the metal tip of the blade into the base of the fire, where ashes were beginning to fall.
“I know no one in this forest save you,” Red scowled in return, too honest in the moment, and gave a weak glare up at him, hair falling back from her face in copper loops and strings. In that moment, reaching in with wide hands, he seemed to loom over her in a way that made her feel every one of the years she didn’t have. She felt as young as the girl that had been tricked by a Wolf, and wondered if it was about to happen again. Wanting to run, to escape, to kick out at him, she simply shifted her shoulders and snatched the bit of leather from the Huntsman’s fingers. She moved enough so that it was loose on her shoulder farther from the fire, so that she would be able to turn away from the man’s too sharp eyes during the pain she knew would come. Her arm had begun to give a slow, cold throb, but not nearly enough to counteract the heat of a fire-laced knife. She watched his actions with her own blade, wanting to protest another’s fingers on it, but it was a complaint that she didn’t voice. “Will you at least be swift about it?” It was meant to be another demand, something harsh and forceful, commanding him to action, but it slipped out instead as a soft request. One that could almost have had a please at the end. One more suited to a young woman than to the nearly-feral child she usually was.
"As swift as possible, young Red," he assured her while stoking the fire with the broad end of a broke sapling. Her knife was good steel, it would take heat well and not become discolored or disfigured in the process like some cheaper-make replica would. He tried to ignore the delicacy and pleading that seemed to pound through the command of her voice. Because it was not a command at all.. not because of its lack of regality, but because of the sensitivity that composed her voice into something softer than intended. He said nothing for many minutes, and the woods around them sang a quiet song of cooling breeze and evening directed birds heading back to their nests. Fawns and does began to emerge from nearby brush with wary eyes, ready to run wild in nightfall but brought to alarmed pause by the presence of humanity. Finally, the knife was ready. Its tip glowed molten orange, and the Huntsman was forced to fish its handle from the fire with the removal of his vest wrapped around his hand like a glove. Turning toward her, he approached slowly. "Do not bite off your tongue," he warned for the girl had to do as he'd instructed and set her teeth into the grip of her leather strap. Then, taking her arm with his free hand, and giving no warning, no count to three.. he pressed the searing metal against the groove of her wound. Smoking the flesh and effectively sealing it closed.
Red alternated between closing her eyes and watching the Huntsman’s progress with the fire and her knife. Her stomach churned and twisted with the knowledge of what was to come. Like any child, she had burned herself at the fire in her mother’s kitchen, and she knew that this was going to be worse than any scald from boiling water or bump against a cast iron pan. His eventual approach with the slip of glowing metal caused her to turn her head away even before his warning, that familiar strap taking up unfamiliar residence between her teeth.
The lack of true warning kept her from tensing or jerking back before contact was made, the firm grip around her arm the only thing keeping her from pulling away once it did come. Teeth gritting down, eyes squeezed shut, the sounds of a dying thing snuck out around the strap in her mouth. She did try to struggle away, to pull her arm from the pain, but then the smell hit her and she could do little more than gag around the leather, her nausea rising swift and strong. It was blood and meat, and a sob rose along with her bile.
As soon as it had begun, it was over, and the Huntsman dropped that scalding blade into the dirt at her feet rather than hand it over to her. Women were clumsy, she was as likely to burn herself on it than to let it cool properly before sheathing it. He retreated quickly was wary eyes, three steps of backpedaling while he watched her. "Head home, little one, and watch that wound for unhealthy blister."
When the Huntsman let her arm go and moved away, Red tipped off the rock she’d been sitting on, slumping to her knees and holding her stomach with her uninjured arm, just managing to miss kneeling on the hot knife. The pain was difficult enough to handle on its own, but it was the smell that caused her to retch against her empty stomach. There was not enough for her to lose on the forest floor, but she spit the bile that rose into her throat and coughed against the burn of it. Breathing through her mouth to try to keep the scent from her nostrils, she shook her head. “I have only half a day remaining,” she replied, head still hanging enough that her face was angled toward the ground. In that moment, she was the perfect vulnerable target, prey to any predator that wandered by. Her shoulders rose with each shaky breath as she tried to breathe past the burning of her arm.
He hesitated while watching her state, kicking dirt onto the fire in order to put it to sleep. Like any fretful child, the fire did not want to succumb to the darkness, and his boot heels were not built for the heat, so he was forced to dig fresh soil up with the toe of his boot and send it onto the embers in a peaceful euthanasia. The girl on the ground was retching and spitting up stomach acid, although he said nothing in regard to it because he'd seen as bad - even worse - from soldiers. The soldering of a fresh wound was not an easy thing to swallow, but the girl also did not seem to be the sort to need coddling while her flesh scabbed and wept the clear fluid of a burn's fresh tears. When she mentioned having a half day to remain, indicating that she planned to remain here until the kick that came with the affairs of the door, the Huntsman turned. Frowning, he approached and dropped to one knee beside where she shuddered on the precipice of what seemed to be a wilting faint. "Come," was all he said as he reached for her, wrapping an arm around her waist and dragging her close to find a hold that would carry her with ease as he simultaneously collected the strung rabbits for a fling over his shoulder, securing their twine against a portion of his cloak.
The sounds of a fire being put to bed were innocent enough that Red allowed herself to focus on breathing yet instead of the Huntsman. She could track his footfalls across the ground, but yet he still (somehow) managed to surprise her by being suddenly there. She reached for her knife with fingers that didn’t quite want to close around the handle, leaving it laying on the ground. “No,” she managed, flinching away, but his arm couldn’t be fought against in her current state. “What do you think you’re doing? Where are you... stop.” She couldn’t hide the way she leaned heavily against him though. Beneath her cloak and clothing she was hardly more than a slip of a person, well hidden by the fabric, but there was no extra flesh to her. Beyond that, she shook with a fine tremor against his hold.
"Quiet," he shushed her as one would a child. Her struggles her hardly more than that, the half flail of a fawn on its way to death, not that her wound was severe.. but she seemed to be slipping into a state of unforeseen shock. How could he have neglected the fact that she was just a girl? A girl of fire and grit teeth, but still a girl.. and his approach with her was careless. Tending to her wound with all the gentleness that he would a soldier, it was not called for. He had been out of line with that, and this was his responsibility to ensure. The girl's blade had long ceased to glow in the leaves, and although it still promised heat, he was determined to collect it. She seemed to cherish it as much as her axe, and so long as she did not put the damn thing in his neck, he would not regret gathering it for her. "Hold on," came the instruction as he teetered with her weight while kneeling to capture the knife's cooled handle. Then, juggling her into position, he stood again. "You are weary, and should sleep.. by the time you wake, you will be on the other side."
There were too many memories slipping through Red’s mind, from the scent to the feel of another body so close to hers. Not even the pain could pull her thoughts from the memories. The Huntsman’s new gentle treatment of her, had she had the presence of mind to think about it, would have seemed strange to her after the harsh words they had exchanged in the past. Instead, she only continued to allow him to support her weight, her uninjured arm coming up without her thinking about it so that she could curl fingers in the front of his own cloak. “If I should sleep,” she finally replied, looking at him from far closer than she had before, abstractly aware of the new details it brought her of his face, “then you should put me down. So I may rest here.”
He did not look down at her when she spoke, her voice a soft and weary thing that he doubted she recognized as her own.. the Huntsman certainly would not have thought the delicate sound capable of coming from the one of so many rabid shouts and teeth-gnashing shrieks. He kept moving through the woods, eyes on the darkening horizon as he sought direction and occasionally hefted her scant weight in his arms to readjust. The axe she carried seemed heavier than she was. She would see his jawline, desperately in need of a shave if those luxuries made sense to men that made their beds with wolves. Eyes going to autumn, losing their green until it survived only at the epicenter, flecks around the pupil before feeding into gold and rust. Hadn't they been much green long before, when the two first crossed paths? "I will find you an inn, and you can sleep your remaining hours there." Finally, his attention dropped to her pale face, the shocked blow of her pupils so black. "Although if the lady insists on being laid to rest on the leaves, as carrion for the passing scavengers, I will of course abide the lady's wish." His smile was all humor even if the words were very sincere. He would lay her down if she asked again.. he'd simply have to keep watch over her for the remaining hours, if her stay was as brief as she said.
The steady rock of his footsteps was surprisingly relaxing, especially with the way everything was taking its toll on her body, though a part of her still bristled with the indignity of being carried along like something helpless. It helped, however, that he smelled of neither blood nor charred flesh himself, but moreso of the forest and something deeper that was unfamiliar to her and undefinable. She found herself fighting to keep her eyes open, her head listing to the side to rest against his shoulder. The unfamiliar scent was stronger there, and she breathed in, trying to place it, only rewarded by long-distant thoughts of her father and the other good men from her former home. The rocking and her even breathing had nearly pulled her into a doze when he spoke again, and while she kept her eyes closed, she pulled her attention back to answer him. “I am no one’s lady, Huntsman” she insisted softly, the fingers she had curled into his cloak tugging at the cloth just once to emphasize her words. Her eyes blinked open for a moment, the normally light blue a darker shade around the black, to peer up at him, searching for the mocking smile she was certain would be there. Yes, there it was, though not nearly as awful as it might have been, as she remembered it being in their previous interactions. “And I have no coin for an inn.” It was an objection in its own way, as she had no coin for anything, much less a night at an inn, but she didn’t actually demand to be set down again. The shiver that had briefly threatened to overtake her after the sealing of her wound had been chased away, and she was distantly convinced that it was due to the sneaking warmth from the man that carried her. She barely noticed when her eyes slipped closed again, her body easing in his arms as she sighed.
Although the girl continued to struggle with her voice, he knew the signs of unconsciousness sinking in. This did not seem to be due to shock or blood loss, but rather extreme exhaustion. It made him wonder how long the girl had pursued these woods, why that seemed to be all she did. She was not a hunter like him, she never seemed to bring with her the capture of bird or doe.. she only prowled the woods night and day. Perhaps hunting, after all, just never quite finding what it was that she was looking for. Or who, he concluded before finally noticing that the girl's speech had lulled into a soft, whimper-like breathing that spoke of sleep. At long last, sleep. In another mile, they would be free of the wood, and his day's catch of rabbit would make an easy trade for the girl's room. Even if she had only a few hours left in this world.