Cinnamon
Sugar and Spice
Ariana watched the man reluctantly move to be seated, the realization of what she had done slowly dawning on her. The princess had officially lost her mind. She wanted to help the man leading her to what she expected to be her eminent demise? Maybe the smoke she had inhaled in the burning tower had permanently damaged her mind. She hesitated as long as she dared before tentatively moving towards the stationary warrior, carefully picking her way through the aftermath of the earlier massacre.
Ariana stood awkwardly in front of the mercenary, uncertain how she should proceed. Fortunately he had loosened his armour enough for her to clearly see the still weeping wound, but she was wary of how he would react were she to touch it. Glancing subtly at the man's face, Ariana watched for any sign of emotion she couldn't detect from his aura as she forced herself to dab at the blood marring the injury, using the cleanest section of her sleeve. She frowned as the wound was revealed, trying to judge the extent of the damage. The wound was narrow, luckily as even if they had the proper tools Ariana wouldn't have known how to stitch an open gash, but judging by the amount of blood leaking down the warrior's arm it had to be fairly deep. She considered the possibility of damage to the muscles beneath the skin, but dismissed the thought to deal with the blood. Were the muscle damaged even The Slayer wouldn't have been able to ignore the pain.
Making sure she was constantly aware of his emotions in case the mercenary lost patience with humouring her, Ariana searched the immediate area for something to clean the injury with. She carried nothing on her person that could be considered useful, and worried she was pushing her luck demanding things from the warrior, the princess reluctantly turned her attention to the bodies littering the area.
Gingerly she approached the nearest corpse, attempting to locate what she needed without actually coming into contact with it. Something to clean, something to bind, she repeated like a mantra in her mind. Something to clean, something to bind, she concentrated on what she was looking for instead of where she was looking, repulsed with herself that she would desecrate the memory of the dead by rummaging through their belongs. Snatching a flask and a loose rag from the body, Ariana hurried back to the warrior's side before she could be physically ill.
The princess was used to living in a peaceful kingdom, where people helped each other when in need, no questions asked. She had never needed to consider her actions so carefully before, scrutinizing whom she helped and when. That had to be it, she reasoned with herself. She was far from home, Ariana told herself as she poored the contents of the flask over the warrior's wound in the hopes of killing any festering bacteria. Far from home and trapped in an unfamiliar world.
Silently, Ariana finished binding the warrior's wound.
Ariana stood awkwardly in front of the mercenary, uncertain how she should proceed. Fortunately he had loosened his armour enough for her to clearly see the still weeping wound, but she was wary of how he would react were she to touch it. Glancing subtly at the man's face, Ariana watched for any sign of emotion she couldn't detect from his aura as she forced herself to dab at the blood marring the injury, using the cleanest section of her sleeve. She frowned as the wound was revealed, trying to judge the extent of the damage. The wound was narrow, luckily as even if they had the proper tools Ariana wouldn't have known how to stitch an open gash, but judging by the amount of blood leaking down the warrior's arm it had to be fairly deep. She considered the possibility of damage to the muscles beneath the skin, but dismissed the thought to deal with the blood. Were the muscle damaged even The Slayer wouldn't have been able to ignore the pain.
Making sure she was constantly aware of his emotions in case the mercenary lost patience with humouring her, Ariana searched the immediate area for something to clean the injury with. She carried nothing on her person that could be considered useful, and worried she was pushing her luck demanding things from the warrior, the princess reluctantly turned her attention to the bodies littering the area.
Gingerly she approached the nearest corpse, attempting to locate what she needed without actually coming into contact with it. Something to clean, something to bind, she repeated like a mantra in her mind. Something to clean, something to bind, she concentrated on what she was looking for instead of where she was looking, repulsed with herself that she would desecrate the memory of the dead by rummaging through their belongs. Snatching a flask and a loose rag from the body, Ariana hurried back to the warrior's side before she could be physically ill.
The princess was used to living in a peaceful kingdom, where people helped each other when in need, no questions asked. She had never needed to consider her actions so carefully before, scrutinizing whom she helped and when. That had to be it, she reasoned with herself. She was far from home, Ariana told herself as she poored the contents of the flask over the warrior's wound in the hopes of killing any festering bacteria. Far from home and trapped in an unfamiliar world.
Silently, Ariana finished binding the warrior's wound.