Quest for the Ainereg RPG

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion winced as Anduneriel bound up his wounded shoulder. The herbs inside the bandage stung against his raw flesh. He flexed his shoulder experimentally, to see how stiff it was. Stiff. Anduneriel reminded him, rather sharply, to be careful.

Grumbling to himself he retrieved his sword from where he'd laid it earlier. The blood of the wolves was still coating the blade almost to the hilt. Marsilion looked at it with distaste. Grabbing a handful of leaves he wiped the blade as clean as he could. He'd clean it more thoroughly when he could see. The flickering light from the fire made it difficult to see what he'd already cleaned, and what remained.

He moved to slip the sword into the scabbard at his waist, then stopped. The sheath was an heirloom of his family, delicately scrolled with leaves in silver. He didn't want to fill the insides with wolves' blood. He'd better leave it, and clean it thoroughly in the morning.

Marsilion spread his cloak out on the ground and lay down on his uninjured side, throwing a blanket over him. It would soon be morning and Anson would have them on the move again at first light. He lay awake for a few minutes, watching the sparks fly upward from the fire, getting lost among the stars. Then he slept.