When Lashan is sure the danger has passed she allows herself to sag, allows some of her borrowed strength to ebb. Immediately, her body presents her with an impressive list of expenses for the past few minutes. Most pressingly, that knife cut down to the bone, and her nose is broken, but there's not a joint or muscle that's not complaining about something. Moving like she did in her youth is harder and harder these days.
It would be fantastic if she could pass out herself now. She cannot do that. The second-oldest Sister here is seventeen and while technically that counts as an adult, she's not up to taking charge of this whole thing. Lashan drags in a deep breath and pries her hands open. The girls help her disentangle from their opponent and get her on her feet, though she leans heavily on several for support. Vena among them reaches up to press a wadded cloth to the big cut up her neck and jaw and they both pretend that the girl isn't crying. A few others are teary too, comforted by other Sisters. No one seems to be too in shock, they've all seen violence before. The comedown from adrenaline just takes some people that way.
"Who's hurt?" she croaks, and gets an accounting of a handful of mostly bruises, minor lacerations, and some rat bites. As she'd hoped, Lashan had got the worst of it. She sits on the bed of the wagon with one of her swords laid across her lap. Marda re-aligns her heavy nose for her - she turns a scream into a low keening moan. The Healing charm she built into the sword burns out the chance of infection and slows the bleeding as flesh knits. "Ilse. The birds worked out all right, but no more rats."
Now there's the question of what to do with their attacker. He's still breathing with a regularity that suggests he's not about to stop. Some of the girls want to kill him right now and she's not really against the idea. But at this point he's at their mercy, and after all they are all part of a religious order that yearns for a world less cruel than the one around them. Lashan tells them, "At least get his helmet off first. See his face."
Once they do it's evident that he's terribly young. This doesn't strike the girls as strongly as it does her. She fought at that age, fifty or so years ago. Not alone, though. She'd been with her mother and brothers. Still, there's no shortage of hurting, angry young men out here and she has dispatched them before, when they see her Sisters as easy prey. This one didn't see them as prey, exactly, but he wasn't peaceable either. Lashan's not sure what makes her pause now. Only that she's learned to trust her instincts, and that they're usually excellent.
She gets her Sisters to bring him closer. They watch closely, ready to perform the last grace if he starts to rouse. Vena backs her up, having a trace of mind-gift herself. Lashan puts a cramping hand over his forehead, closes her eyes, and looks inside.
no subject
It would be fantastic if she could pass out herself now. She cannot do that. The second-oldest Sister here is seventeen and while technically that counts as an adult, she's not up to taking charge of this whole thing. Lashan drags in a deep breath and pries her hands open. The girls help her disentangle from their opponent and get her on her feet, though she leans heavily on several for support. Vena among them reaches up to press a wadded cloth to the big cut up her neck and jaw and they both pretend that the girl isn't crying. A few others are teary too, comforted by other Sisters. No one seems to be too in shock, they've all seen violence before. The comedown from adrenaline just takes some people that way.
"Who's hurt?" she croaks, and gets an accounting of a handful of mostly bruises, minor lacerations, and some rat bites. As she'd hoped, Lashan had got the worst of it. She sits on the bed of the wagon with one of her swords laid across her lap. Marda re-aligns her heavy nose for her - she turns a scream into a low keening moan. The Healing charm she built into the sword burns out the chance of infection and slows the bleeding as flesh knits. "Ilse. The birds worked out all right, but no more rats."
Now there's the question of what to do with their attacker. He's still breathing with a regularity that suggests he's not about to stop. Some of the girls want to kill him right now and she's not really against the idea. But at this point he's at their mercy, and after all they are all part of a religious order that yearns for a world less cruel than the one around them. Lashan tells them, "At least get his helmet off first. See his face."
Once they do it's evident that he's terribly young. This doesn't strike the girls as strongly as it does her. She fought at that age, fifty or so years ago. Not alone, though. She'd been with her mother and brothers. Still, there's no shortage of hurting, angry young men out here and she has dispatched them before, when they see her Sisters as easy prey. This one didn't see them as prey, exactly, but he wasn't peaceable either. Lashan's not sure what makes her pause now. Only that she's learned to trust her instincts, and that they're usually excellent.
She gets her Sisters to bring him closer. They watch closely, ready to perform the last grace if he starts to rouse. Vena backs her up, having a trace of mind-gift herself. Lashan puts a cramping hand over his forehead, closes her eyes, and looks inside.