No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood


"Halt! Please, let me thro- Halt!"

Halt twisted in the sentry's supportive grip at the voice of his young apprentice, swaying slightly at the movement while unsuccessfully trying to blink away the dizziness. He just needed the world to stop spinning so he could find and reassure his apprentice before spending some quality time with the infirmary... a feat that would be made much easier if his knees weren't trying to buckle-

"Take Halt inside to the infirmary; and someone, alert Baron Arald!"

That would be Rodney, Halt thought dimly, recognizing the authoritative tone as he was pulled across the courtyard. His awareness frantically slipping, the last coherent, salty thought that crossed the Ranger's mind before he blacked out was I hate blood loss.


"Wait! No, please!"

It was Rodney who caught Gilan's thin shoulders, holding the boy back as Halt disappeared into the castle. "Just calm down a moment. It's Gilan, right?" The Battlemaster asked, and the boy gave a small nod. Rodney continued, trying his hardest to sound reassuring. "Halt's shoulder needs to examined. Now, his horse came in with a bad limp. You'll be helping most by looking after it. Can you do that?"

Gilan turned to look at where Abelard stood quietly, unmoving from where Halt had been pulled off his back. Brownish stains marred the grey of his mane and neck, and one front foot was held at a rest off the ground. "Yes, sir," was Gilan's hoarse response, and Rodney responded with a clap on the shoulder that almost made the boy stagger.

"Good man," the Battlemaster answered approvingly, before striding purposely toward the castle doors, barking orders in his wake.

...As if he hadn't just left a scared, shaking fourteen-year-old standing lost on the courtyard cobblestones.

It was with a shuddering breath that Gilan shuffled over to collect Abelard. The small, shaggy horse lifted his head slightly at the familiar figure, and Gilan felt tears well as he took in the bloodstains -Halt's blood- and the horse's dull, tired, pained eyes. "It's all right, Abelard," Gilan crooned thickly as he straightened the animal's forelock. "He'll be all right."

It was slow going that the trio made their way back to the cabin. Blaze kept her pace measured with Abelard's, even on the long rein Gilan had her on from where he sat bareback. Abelard hobbled alongside without a lead rope, his faltering shuffle making Gilan wince with every step.

"Hang on, Abelard. Almost there, friend."

By the time they entered the cabin's clearing, Abelard wasn't bearing weight on the left front at all. Gilan swung off of his mare in a fluid movement and pulled the bridle off her ears before turning his attention to his mentor's horse. Blaze immediately entered her stall and turned around so her head hung through the open door - out of the way, but still attentive on her rider and companion.

Gilan had pulled off Abelard's saddle and bridle, the horse giving a low groan of relief. Gilan gave the horse a pat before crouching to inspect his hoof. A deep bruise on Abelard's hoof sole greeted him, and Gilan hissed through his teeth. "Well, that's no good, is it, boy?" Gilan said as he set the hoof back down and patted Abelard's neck. A sole bruise certainly was painful; however, it also could have been much worse.

Gilan set out generous piles of hay in both stalls before scouting out two spare buckets, filling both with water. In one, he prepared a herb soak for Abelard's bruise. The other bucket he left alone, instead grabbing a clean rag from the grooming tools.

As Abelard's foot soaked, Gilan scrubbed the crusted blood from the horse's coat. The water was dark by the time he had finished. After dumping the water from both buckets, Gilan removed five apples from the barrel - two for Blaze, three for Abelard. At Blaze's glare, Gilan tapped her nose gently as he fed the mare her treats.

"Don't be jealous, Blaze. Abelard's had a rough day," he scolded her. Abelard's ears perked, and Gilan gave the barest trace smile at the stallion's low whicker.

"Here, Abe. We won't tell Halt," the apprentice said, his voice catching on the last word. Now that he was no longer distracted by caring for Abelard, fear and worry were coursing through Gilan's body.

There had been so much blood. Gilan might be young, but he knew all too well there was only so much blood a human body could stand to lose before it was too much. Halt could be dead.

Halt could be dead, and Abelard was hurt, and Gilan was alone.

Tears welled yet again in the apprentice Ranger's eyes, and he heavily sank to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself. He couldn't recall ever feeling this afraid before. Halt had been attacked by someone - and someone skilled, because Halt was no easy foe. They had to know that Halt was a Ranger, and it would be simple enough to learn where the fief's Ranger resided.

They could be coming right now.

Gilan's heart pounded faster, a dry sob tearing out of his throat. He was alone.

He couldn't leave the cabin. Abelard was in no state to be moved or to defend himself, and Gilan wouldn't leave him. Who knew what might happen to the horse should Halt's attacker show.

Heaving himself to his feet, Gilan stood and moved to drag the stable doors closed before turning and settling on the straw between the two stalls, keeping his eyes trained on the opening. His sword was drawn and resting across his knees. Gilan wasn't yet comfortable with Ranger weapons; they were strange and unfamiliar. The sword, however, was a comforting weight in his hands. Gilan could defend himself with a sword.

Gilan sat there for a long time - far longer then he'd ever sat still before, flighty and impatient as he was. The sky darkened, and the boy barely noticed his eyes slipping shut, fingers never leaving the sword hilt.


"Are you sure you want to go back to the cabin already, Halt? Only yesterday you were dead on your feet."

The Ranger shrugged at Arald's concern. "I'm up now. There's nothing the infirmary can do for me that I can't do in my own home. I'll just collect Gilan and be on my way."

Arald tilted his head in confusion. "Collect Gilan? He should be at the cabin, shouldn't he, Rodney?" The Baron asked, turning to his Battlemaster.

Rodney nodded. "I told him to look after your horse, Halt. The boy wanted to see you, but you were unconscious and needed to be examined; he'd have only been in the way. I thought it best to give him something to do to take his mind off it."

"And it didn't once cross your mind to perhaps offer him a room to wait in until I was able to be seen?"

Rodney shifted uncomfortably, realizing his mistake. "Gilan didn't seem to mind taking the horse," he tried, and Halt gave a low scoff.

"I'm sure he didn't."

Gilan had long been trained in a rigorous school. Though Halt knew the boy had a history of somewhat resisting the rigid conformities of Battleschool, strict training died hard. In Gilan's current state, the boy would never talk back to or disrespect a Battlemaster over something that was likely interpreted as a direct order.

There was an awkward silence between the three men, and Halt sighed. "I take it that at least news about my condition and a plate of food were sent over to him last night?"

Arald withered under Halt's questioning stare. "Well... erm..." The Baron coughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Halt's face tightened. "I see. I'll be leaving now - I have an apprentice to check on, you see. Though, why would we even bother checking on apprentices? I mean, they're only children."

With that, Halt swept out on a spin of his heel.

Both the Baron and his Battlemaster gave sighs of relief at not being the center of attention of the Corps most intimidating Ranger, before turning to look at each other, wearing twin expressions of self-reproach.


Halt slowly made his way up the path to his cabin, grimacing as the stitches in his collarbone pulled. A talkative stable boy had accompanied him to the base of the cabin's path, before cheerfully bidding him farewell and retreating back up the trail to the castle, ponying behind him the borrowed horse Halt had ridden.

On approach, the cabin was dark and quiet. Halt frowned... then Abelard's greeting whinny split the air from inside the stables. Halt felt his lips twitch upwards at the sound, and he shifted course towards the small barn, intent on giving his faithful horse a quick once-over; and maybe just one apple.

As the Ranger approached, the barn doors hesitantly creaked open, ever so slightly... before suddenly being flung wide.

The next moment, Halt found himself staggering back under the weight of his apprentice barreling into him.

"Halt! I was so worried, no one would tell me anything and I didn't know what to do, and I was so scared, are you okay-"

"Stitches," Halt reminded the boy, wincing slightly at the tight grip. "And take a breath." Halt may not have known Gilan for long, but he'd known him long enough to be familiar with his tendency to vomit words when he was overly excited or nervous.

Gilan took a shuddering breath, but relaxed his hold only fractionally. Halt frowned at Gilan's red, puffy eyes and salt stained cheeks. "Were you out here all night?" The Ranger questioned, and raised an eyebrow at Gilan's nod. "Why on earth didn't you go into the cabin? Or back to the castle, for that matter?"

"I, I thought you were dead, and there was so much blood, and I was so scared, I thought, I thought they were coming and I didn't know what to do, and-" Gilan gulped for air, his wide eyes shiny. "And I couldn't leave Abelard. He's lame, he couldn't have gotten away, and I, I couldn't leave him."

Halt was silent for a moment, feeling a powerful surge of affection for the apprentice still clutching his middle. Halt had initially been hesitant and even a little apprehensive about taking on an apprentice - however, as the Ranger considered the completely too tall, too thin, and too cheerful boy before him... Well, Halt knew he'd picked a good one.

Halt roughly cleared his throat, and Gilan finally relaxed his grasp and stepped back.

"I think it's time you learned how to make oatmeal."


Brush your teeth, everyone, because that was some tooth-rotting sweet FLUFF. Not my favorite thing I've ever written by a long shot, but again, I'm a bit tired of looking and thinking about it. XD

Hope everyone has a lovely day!

-TrustTheCloak