Victory’s Shadow

CW: Depictions of blood, graphic injuries, and themes of severe physical trauma

Blueberries are not supposed to be red. But they can be, if sprinkled with fresh blood.

There were tiny puddles of it on the ground, on the grass, dripping from weapons still stuck in the tree bark. Some of it belonged to the dragon. Some - to those who came to slay it.

Most of it – to those who came to slay it…

Nevertheless, laughter and joyful whoops echoed through the clearing. The beast is dead. Its massive body is lying motionless, never to get up and wreak havoc on nearby settlements again. It will nourish the ground, and the villagers will be able to pick the fruits it will bear. A fraction of atonement for the suffering it brought.

"That son of a plague-rat nearly got my arm off!" Amnon was sitting on the ground, leaning against what was once a mighty oak. Forked tail swished side-to-side, as the Tiefling it was connected to was drained of energy to move any appendages. A deep gash on her shoulder oozed crimson liquid, soaking what was left of a scarf, hastily wrapped around like a makeshift bandage.

"Aye. Tell me 'bout it. I almost left my guts on that damn thing's claws!" huffed Kosef. He sprawled on the ground, one hand on his stomach. His mangled armor was lying nearby. The plates were torn and pierced through – it was a pile of scraps at best.

"It's getting dark. We won't make it back till the night falls." Before turning to her damaged bow, Luth got a bag off her shoulder and handed it back to the owner. It took some hits too, so now the contents were trying to spill out of the holes. Upon closer inspection, some herbs and vials were slightly scorched...

"Wasn't plannin' to." Kosef propped himself up on his elbows. Luth gave a questioning hum from her perch, watching as the half-orc accepted a rag smeared with some herb mush. It probably felt like melted iron on his open wound, but he clenched his teeth to not let any embracing sounds out. Anyway, it wasn't looking like much help… "It snagged everything that wasn’t nailed to the floor. I bet that cave is chock-full o' stuff. We'll take our cut – Ouch, it's fine, don't get your knickers inna twist! - an' give the rest back to the folk."

"We're getting the goods, and I'm hitting the hay right there. Consider me dead till morning." Amnon got up, heavily swaying. She pushed away an offered hand, even if her vision was likely very spotty. If she had any left after getting hit with fireballs spot-on into night-seeing eyes. "What are you, a hell-brood sitting on an egg? I'm good, don't sweat it."

Maybe she is. Tieflings are notoriously good at getting hit with fire. That said, there's not much written on them dealing with acid spit. The boils are still bubbling, edges of the back-wound ink-black. What is left of silver-leaf sage will barely be a remedy for that…

Luth flies – stumbles – down a tree. She limps a few steps and promptly falls down on her companion's shoulder. It's uncanny how heavy a sky-soaring being can feel. With her wings bent to unnatural angles, she has only one leg left to move around.

Kosef staggers over and hoists an injured owlin up on his back, not caring for the wound he just opened. His smile unsheathes a pair of bloody, broken-off tusks. It's the same one he shows to the barmaids giggling behind the bar.

Glorious victory fizzes through the veins, like the spiciest ale poured from the best barrels.

It staves off the pains better than a whisperwillow.

It keeps tired legs on the path.

It raises aching limbs to wave off a vial of salve.

"You're imagining things." It coos.

Victory eats away at the hands holding it.

Trampled undergrowth around the cave had long since withered away, as if not bothering to grow back again. A passing cold draught brought out the stench of rot and stagnant water from its maw of an entrance.

At least it's somewhat better than being eaten by things lurking in the night forest.

Luth chuckles softly. Her feathers puff up in amusement. "I may think that there is not a critter that dares to come near here even after the beast's death-"

She is interrupted by a coughing fit. Fresh blood drops onto Kosef's back. If the last rays of twilight are enough to see her broken wing twitch slightly to lie on top of the dark specks – not a soul speaks a word. Kosef mustered to carry her a few strides further in and set her down onto a patch of moss. His massive body drops nearby with a rumbling groan. Luth reaches to move away some sweat-soaked locks from his forehead, earning a soft kiss on the back of her palm.

Amnon stalks closer, using the wall to guide herself. A bag of flour could drop and still have more grace than whatever she has done to end up on the floor. At least it's a sitting position.

Semi-sitting?

Half-lying?

Whatever contortion allows her back and shoulders to not touch anything solid.

For a few minutes, silence hangs in the cave. Somewhere in the distance, rain starts drumming its rhythm.

"I…don't want to move right now…" Luth mumbles.

"Me neither. Nope. Not happening. Don't even want that gold or whatever right now." Amnon groans. Her tail ignites with a tiny kindle at the very tip. It's not big nor strong enough to come close to a candlelight. A spark, that's it. It takes a few tries to light up a pile of cloth scraps and broken weapon handles for an improvised bonfire, bathing just a fraction of the cave with a warm glow.

Oh.

Oh no.

Kosef takes out a flask and a roll out of his rucksack. Amnon hisses and seizes it from him, fishing out a few blocks of peppery dried soup. Luth nods off, but tries to keep her eyes open.

The firelight illuminates everything, revealing every detail hidden by the dark.

Soon, four bowls are steaming with hot broth.

"Hey, you okay there? You've been fiddlin’ with those herbs for about ten minutes. Plannin’ to brew us a soothin’ potion before we kick the bucket?" Kosef laughs.

Tearing your gaze away from your companions, you shake your head and hide your face behind the bowl.

Because you're lying.