A Summoner's Story of Love and War

Deceiving at its Finest - Chapter 8

Fletcher paced up and down, his face still wet from the salty tears, and clothes still stained with her blood. He was in shock. Othello had already tried to make him eat, or sleep, or anything, really. All Fletcher could think of was her: the last look she gave him. Her falling onto her knees, then to the ground. The thick blood cascading out of her abdomen. Erilite going berserk. The absolute panic that ensued from the rest of the group. Most of all, the memory of her, in his arms, slowly getting colder, and the life leaving her as he held her hand, begging her not to leave him.

Sylva.

The tent's door-flap that he was pacing in front of was opened, and Arcturus and Elaine stepped out, hands and knees drenched in blood. Her blood. The icy silence was deafening in Fletcher's ears. He hated it more than anything. He met Elaine's eyes. Both her and her husband were exhausted, staying up to try and help Sylva survive. She nodded at him, her face showing no emotion. He rushed past them and into the tent.

A single lantern hung from the small support beams. Bags of healing supplies and empty bottles of healing potions littered the floor alongside empty plastic medicine containers and blood soaked bandages. At the far end of the tent, a makeshift bed was raised from the ground, and on it, lay a blood soaked, silver-haired body of an elf.

Fletcher slowly went over to her, and gently took her hand like he did when she was in his arms. She was pale and sickly, eyes closed. He didn't know how she was. Still, not moving.

Silent. Everything was silent.

Fletcher heard someone enter the tent. Elaine came over and stood beside him. She looked over, but Fletcher did not take his gaze off the body in front of him. Elaine cleared her throat and spoke up.

"Those wounds were serious, Fletcher. They nearly got to her heart and lungs. But........ it was manageable. It'll scar a bit, but not too much. Arcto and I made sure of that. I'll leave her to you. Make sure you take care of her." And with that, she left the tent.

Fletcher could hear Sylva's faint breathing from her body.

She was going to be ok. 

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Fletcher helped Sylva into the room, resting most of her weight on him. She was told by everyone that she had to take it easy for the next while, and Fletcher was making sure that she stayed to that. The rest of the group were surrounding a makeshift table, covered with maps, notes and other various documents. Fletcher helped sylva into a chair near the table and stood beside Othello, who gave him a friendly smile. Arcturus looked up at him, nodded, and pointed to a marker on a map splayed on the table.

"That's where an encampment of trolls is. We're going to storm it quickly, and wipe them out neatly and efficiently. It's probably not the only camp, but it's one of the largest." Everyone nodded, digesting the information that Arcturus had given them.

"Good. We'll head out as soon as all of us are ready." He dismissed them, and everyone split off from the table. Othello went to sit by the fire, as did Fletcher and Sylva. He slung her arm around his shoulders to properly support her as they limped over to the logs they had recently fashioned into benches. He sat her down and joined her, linking their hands together. As they sat, and the sky dimmed and shaded, Sylva rested her head on Fletcher's shoulder. He, in turn, rested his head against hers and looked into the fire. Soon, Rowan and Arthur joined them around the fire. Fletcher knocked himself out of his soft daze of peace and looked at Arthur.

"Care to tell me about your demons now?" Fletcher asked quietly, not bothering to raise his voice. He felt content, sitting near the warm fire with Sylva so close to him. Arthur smiled and took off his hat, setting it beside him on the log.

"Sure, if you want. My wendigo is probably different than the ones you've seen because of its diet. I caught him when he was still growing, and fed him raw meat, not rotting carcasses like they would normally eat. It improved his health exponentially, as you've seen." Fletcher nodded. Arthur took his summoning scrolls out and, in a flash of light, summoned his two demons. The wendigo stood for a second, before lying on the ground behind the log, its head resting on the log, observing the collection of people around the fire. The other demon that was summoned was a dull copper Kirin, with heavy traces of scarlet running down its body. Fletcher knew it was a rare demon, and only saw it from a distance in the army. It had a horse-like body, thick and muscled with fine hair. Its snout was similar to a Sobek's, with uniform teeth and long, pink tongue, and it had a single antler atop its head. Its tail looked like an anteater's, and its mane was wild and thick. Its legs were powerful, and crested with plates of bone hidden beneath the fur. Hard hooves pummelled the ground as it stomped in front of the fire before going over to the wendigo and laying next to it.

"My wendigo's name is Vaero, and my Kirin's name is Elluris. They're my battle partners." Arthur said, his eyes observing the group, looking for any hints of amusement or mocking. Fletcher marvelled at the demons, meeting eyes with the wendigo. He wondered if it could beat Zacharias Forsyth's wendigo. He bet it could.

"They're amazing. You keep them quite well." Sylva said, reaching a hand out to the Kirin. It leaned its head forward and sniffed her hand, before leaning in more and letting her pet its soft neck.

"Thank you. How is your wounds holding up?" He asked, petting his wendigo. Sylva muttered a "Well enough" and dropped her head back on Fletcher's shoulder, giving his hand a soft squeeze.

The night grew darker, and eventually, everyone was getting ready to head to sleep. Othello bid them goodnight, as did Rowan, and the two headed for their tents. Sylva sat up, wincing at her wounds. She sighed, and looked at Fletcher.

"Would you mind staying with me tonight? I don't want to be alone, but I won't be able to do much with you." She looked at him hopefully. He smiled softly, and kissed her hand.

"If I can convince Arcturus and Elaine to share a tent, I will. And don't worry, I don't want to do anything while you're not well. I'll go ask now." He stood up and walked over to where Elaine was. Arcturus was standing near, cleaning off his weapons.

"Elaine, I have a favour to ask." Elaine looked up, and gave him a small smile.

"Sure, what is it, Fletcher?" Fletcher swallowed and answered,

"Can you spend the night with Arcturus? I think it would be best for me to stay with Sylva to keep an eye on her. She wants to, if you're alright with it." Elaine looked at Fletcher for a moment, before smiling.

"No, I don't mind at all, Fletcher. Let me grab my things from the tent and I'll stay with Arcto." She got up and started for the tent. Fletcher thanked her and went to get his own things from his and Arcturus' tent. Arcturus, who had overheard their conversation, spoke up,

"Don't do anything too strenuous. Her wounds are close to healing, but don't test it and remember, we'll unfortunately hear." Fletcher choked and turned red, staring at the man.

"I thought you were the man who acted like an embarrassed child when I told you what my and Sylva did." Arcturus chuckled.

"Yes, but I wasn't prepared for that then." Fletcher waved him off and grabbed his things.

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Fletcher opened the flap to Sylva's tent and helped her in, laying her on her bedroll. He helped her take off her jacket and shoes, before taking his own off. He climbed into the opposite bedroll and settled down on his side, facing her. After a while, she waved him closer. He smiled at her, and he dragged himself and his bedroll over to her. Once he was close enough, she threw an arm over his waist and tucked her head under his chin. He pulled himself closer and curled into her more.

They drifted off to sleep, cuddling in each other's arms.