Sometimes a sunset is just the sky bruising from the day's trauma. Some days are hard, and she is excited to sleep simply to end now with the hope that tomorrow is more- is at least not this hard. That tomorrow the sun can drift away without the sorrow and aches of her injuries mirroring the purples and reds of the sunset like a reflection.

Sometimes the night has its own ideas though, and the bruise becomes black and septic. Her mind became conscious of some occurance that was accompanied by  lingering pains as her body adjusted itself in an attempt to find a more comfortable position, before her subconsious adjusted it back when the rest of her body unanimously voted that moving was unacceptable. Her mind though, had stirred enough, despite her best attempts to tether herself to the undertow beneath consiousness, and she could feel a slow floating to the surface.

There was a sound that became audible beneath the waves. A small sound that she fought against at first, and then, an instinctual part of her mind reached deep into the water with pure adrenaline, and ripped her out of it at once without warning. She was on her feet and running before she was even awake. Almost as if her body had moved so fast that her consciousness was left behind. When her mind finally came to her, comprehension eased in, and Aran ran faster.

Wolves.

As she crashed and stumbled through the underbrush blindly, every step fell with uncertainty and fear of whether the ground would catch her, and if it did, whether she would awaken another terror to follow in her wake. As she jolted the forest awake in sound around her, the cacophony was became so great she couldn't tell what she was contributing. She could only hear her heart and movement. She could only feel wind and pain and blood.

Then she couldn't feel and she was falling. Had there been time, she would have felt panic, but there weren't any moments to be had. Before any realization came, she had already been plunged into a deep unconsciousness to a drowning depth, and she didn't fight it.

Now, she finds herself walking into Maribeth. She can not remember walking here, leaving the forest, or the preceeding day- or days. She remembers wolves and stumbling and confusion. She had dreams of people and trolls and ghosts and her child. They were spirals in smoke diffusing from her memory. She missed her husband and son. She was by a fire. Maybe. There was a dream where she couldn't find the bread she baked, and she had too many potatoes. They filled her cabinets and the plates were missing with just more potatoes. But there was a fire. She felt it.

The ghosts. Or people. Or both. Or they were the same. Her cuts were sealed with sap of some sort. She was limping. Her hair was in her face- caked with dirt or blood, and she had a sour taste on her lips. All of this was new and interesting, but first she needed water, or maybe just to sit. Her body decided this was easier and let her weight decide where and how. She let the shadows from the buildings cool her and enter her eyes while ignoring the taste of dust on her lips.

Based on the sun and heat that was beginning to linger in the air, Sam knew it was lunchtime, or close to it. Close enough that he knew to check in with his parents. The morning had been a pretty fun excursion with a few of his friends. They were in the process of fortiying their base- their secret base. Fairly deep in the hollow woods, there was this great little hill where one side had eroded quite a bit, but a few trees had grown up and steadied it. Sam and Tory found it a month ago and with a few more friends, they had been slowly turning the eroded side into a small fortress with walls from branches, steps and ledges dug out, stumps for chairs, some slight coverage from rain and camoflauge by tying branches between trees with some basic knots and weaving. In the middle was a small firepit. It was, in his opinion, amazing.

The shade was adequate to keep them cool enough. The wind was usually steady enough to keep them from being bothered by the heat. As they all headed back though, the increasingly persistent sun pushed on them as the canopy thinned and they approached town. They split up with a plan to resume work tomorrow if parents permitted. Sam was a few blocks from home when he came across her, asleep- or dead, lying against a building. No, asleep, but injured.

The town isn't large enough to sustain beggars and homeless, but it also isn't rich enough to have been spared a fair share of them over the years. As he approached, he tried to steady his breathing and lighten his feet. She had a short sword attached to her belt, and he was wary of being tricked or attacked. She was dirty- covered with deep black spots that could only be a mix of dried blood and dirt. She was clearly not a beggar, but something more akin to a soldier or a vigilante. She was wearing some sort of leather jacket or armor pieces intended for fighting. This was not someone who was supposed to be here. This could only mean trouble for him, so he took off running.

He burst through his front door within a minute yelling for his parents. Dashing through the house from room to room he crashed into his mother coming in from their small garden equally worried and flustered by his screams. They  half-toppled sideways as she cursed and caught herself on the wall. ``What's wrong with you?!'' she yelled in a mix of frustration and concern.

``There's a woman- some kind of soldier or fighter or something- hurt and dying. She's covered in blood and everything. She's unconscious and I didn't know what to do! Should we get the rangers or council?''

There is always a slight distrust of anyone with power, but there is a delicate balance between not wanting to involve the powerful and not getting into trouble with the powers when they should be involved. In such a small town though, the council was merely a group of elderly. You automatically joined the council at 60- if you were fortunate to live that long. The rangers though, they were different. They were the enforcement when it was needed, and certain jobs attract certain types of people. For the most part, they were decent local young men, but Rayna's trust was not given freely- especially to young men with power. Rayna opted for a third approach that her son was too young to really comprehend in its subtley.

``Go get your Father first- we'll need help.''

Sam took off to get his Father, assuming that his Mother wanted him to make the decision, but his Mother was far from indecisive. She was gathering up water, ointments, and clothes.

When Sam and his Father turned down their street home, they were met by Rayna who was carrying a small satchel bag around her shoulders and had obviously been impatiently waiting for them to arrive.

``Where is she, Sam? We need to hurry.''

They weren't far from her, and Sam quickly led them over a few streets where they found her, still unconscious in the shade of a building. Matias was cautious in his approach and addressed her in a soothing voice reserved for hurting children, injured animals, and dangerous situations.

``Hello? Can we help you?''

There was no response as expected, and he continued to talk in the same calm smooth way in which his feet were easing him towards her.

``Are you hurt? Clearly you need some help, and we are happy to be some. My wife has some ointment that should help your wounds and we have water if you are thirsty. I'm going to move you to see how badly you are hurt, so please do not be alarmed.''

He was telling the truth, but before doing anything, he actually unsheathed the dagger and tossed it aside without moving the rest of her. Then he slowly rolled her over. To his surprise, most of her wounds had been addressed already. Her lips were coated with dust and were cracked and bleeding. They brought the water over and dribbled a bit around her mouth to see if she would wake, and Matias continued to speak in his steady low voice that emanated calm and control.

Aran was basking in a depth of release without worry, and letting the hardness drip away from her psyche. There is a fine line between relaxation and death in your mind, and hers was currently playing freely with it. Her subconscious was easily and carelessly walking a blurry path with too much freedom that would allow Aran, with any small tip in the wrong direction, to gracefully fall to the ultimate relaxation of her body. Only a small part of her brain was pushing her mind to stay on the right side of sleep.

This small part of her brain was weary and tiring itself, but a lifeline appeared to give hope. Something tangible to motivate her mind to steer towards waking and to stop relaxing; something her body would want more than any amount of rest: water.

The trickle around her lips mixed with the dust to give a gritty, bitter taste that settled on her tongue, but her mouth had been devoid of any liquid for so long that it was shocking. Aran woke. Again. And she drank frantically and with purpose. She was scared and confused, but she could only drink as if the water might disappear at any moment, and she might again be without. It didn't leave though- not until she had nearly finished the jug and her eyes could focus on the man who had been holding her head, the woman and the boy standing off to the side, and her dagger a good distance away on the ground.

``Thank you. I am not a threat, I was just dehydrated.'' There was a softening of the features on the man's face, despite no change in expression. She knew that money eased most situations, and would separate her from any possible threat she might pose. ``Please let me pay you for your kindness, and could you show me to an inn?'' She reached under her leather bust where she kept her coin purse and began to pull out coins to offer the man.

As expected, but still appreciated, he rested his hand on her elbow while her hand was still in the purse. He would refuse any sort of payment. Instead, he placed his other hand around her shoulder and helped her to her feet. ``Please come eat with us and let us make sure you're healthy before you leave.'' She was again grateful for kind people and complied. As they began to walk back, all four of them were somewhat at a lack for words. Aran thought getting some facts would at least be useful.

``I'm sorry to sound off, but is this Maribeth?''

``Of course, were you lost?''

``No, I just, don't remember. This was the last town I was at though.''

``What do you mean? Were you somewhere else?''

There was a slight bit of worry edging on his words, which would be expected from any story involving a near dead person appearing somewhere. This probably meant bandits or debtors or something nefarious. Aran did not want them to worry, and attempted a more guarded path.

``I've been traveling and ran out of water a day or so again. When I got to town I collapsed. Is it Thursday now?''

She imagined this would ease any fears they had. A weary traveler is acceptable, surely. However, when he spoke it did not seem to have done so.

``I'm afraid you've lost track of the days. It's Sunday.''

Four days. It had been four days. She had buried the boy four days ago. How is this possible? Instinctually, as she panicked internally, externally she excused any concern.

``Ah...well, it's easy to do when traveling by yourself.'' She smiled as best she could given her condition, which was worse than she thought considering the effort required to keep walking, but it did lighten the mood and within a few minutes they had arrived at the small home of Rayna, Matias, and Sam. It was a wonderful home in its cozy familial setting. As much as they surely struggled in semi-poverty, they also clearly made up for in joy. Matias went outside to start preparing some vegetables for dinner, and Rayna offered her help to Aran in whatever her needs were.

There was plenty of water to be had, but Sam found it hard to believe that anyone could even drink the amount he kept bringing her. Several jugfulls now. Sam stayed out of the back area though as Rayna helped Aran get her leather armor pieces off and attend any wounds that might need care.

Rayna came out after a short while, and Sam was bursting with questions and excitement. This is not the kind of thing that usually happens in a small town. Before he could even begin to start asking though, his mother held a finger up to her lips and whispered ``She needs rest. Let's be quiet.'' This seemed beyond unfair, but also beyond argument. Instead of satiating any of his curiosity, he was forced to stew in it longer and the number and nature of his questions steeped in flavor and richness. His imagination filled in all the unknowns with increasingly fanciful details. A soldier who fled the army, a bounty hunter beaten by a notorious outlaw, a mercenary on a mission for treasure, a foreign spy, a hired guard for a famous patron, and so on.

Matias came back in during this daydreaming and was also told not to make noise. They cooked supper as quietly as possible, and Sam was only able to occasionlly hear any discussion between his parents. This was the first time he could remember where they didn't want his help cooking. Clearly, there are topics that are more important than chores.

Dinner was filled with a tense excitement that was exagerrated by the silence it was eaten in. A silence that seemed to be teeming with things to be said, yet Sam, could not pull anything from his parents but whispered chit chat about the food or work. Any attempt to discuss the woman in the back was met with ``Not now.'' and ``Later.''

She did not wake up before he was forced to bed by his parents. They, however, did not go to bed as usual. This made going to sleep obnoxiously difficult, and he found himself intently listening for any noises and whispers, occasionally catching a lone word or noise that drifted into the room from his parents. His intense listening and focus slowly morphed into thoughts of what might have been said, or what this visit might mean- who she was or what she needed. Slowly the day leaked out of his dreams and then poured into his consciousness as sunlight when he woke. In anticipation and excitement, he jumped out of bed only to find that Aran's room was empty. His parents offered little explanation, but assured him that she was fine and needed to get going early this morning.

Sam could tell there was more to the story- there had to be. When he was told to tidy the room, he found four silver coins under the covers. His parents reactions wavered between flustered and excited as neither had ever had money. They earned this much in a good year, and very rarely had good years. Once, they had taken a loan for a single silver that had taken three years to pay off. Rayna began crying, and Matias sat quietly, unnervingly so for Sam, especially given his Mother's state.