if i stand up, i'll break my bones
and everybody loves to see a fall unfold

Her eyes are narrowed slits cast in shadow, smoldering in the dark as she watches the twins retreat into the thickness of the trees, their bodies running more on adrenaline than true strength as they fight against the pain surely gnawing at fresh wounds. She appears more animal than human as her gaze follows them, her sharp features twisted into a feral smirk that accentuates high cheekbones and a severe mouth. Her nostrils flare as she scents the air, only turning back to Archer when she is satisfied that they are truly alone, out of danger of another sudden attack.

She allows a heavy sigh to leave her, her body relaxing as her taut muscles go soft. She can feel the ache creeping in as the thrill of battle recedes, the sharp sting of split flesh biting at her cheek and at her collarbone. Tomorrow, she will be bruised, it will hurt to breathe where at one point, Ivaine had managed a well-placed strike to her ribcage with the pommel of her sword. Tonight, she is too wired, too angry, too afraid to feel much more than a singing sting. Her eyes rove over Archer in a quick assessment, softening with worry as she once again sees the wound on his side pulsing with fresh blood. Bile rises in her throat, choking words from her mouth and she bites down hard on her lip to stifle the gurgle of a cry that tried to find its way out.

She wouldn't show him this weakness in her.

She wants to go to him but instead she allows him to come to her - as a knight should - and holds steady as he assesses her wounds, his fingers gripping tight to her pointed chin. His worry is a living thing, thickening the air between them, but soon enough he pulls away, obviously satisfied that she will be fine. Still, there's a stitch to his brow that she can't quite read, and she wonders if he regrets having sworn the oath to protect her.

Tonight, that choice could have gotten him killed, and the realization is a knife between her ribs, an unfamiliar pulse of guilt in her heart.

It isn't until his words break the silence between them that she is able to pull her thoughts from that dark place, responding with a solemn nod, a pinched frown of her own. "Archer..." Her voice is hardly a whisper and she closes the space between them with one angled step, her knees folding so that she might kneel before him. How could he be so nonchalant, speaking of missing this feeling when even now, his own blood seeps from his side too quickly to be just a flesh wound? Without another word, she presses her own hands to his bloodied side, testing the severity and scowling down at the ground. Her hand is warm and wet with his blood and her thoughts begin to cloud again with the bitterness of guilt.

Even now, she recognizes the weakness these feelings bring, but try as she might, she cannot harden her heart to her knight and his injuries.

She scowls again, deeper now as she strengthens the pressure of her palm against his wound. It's bleeding freely and soon it'll weaken him if the flow isn't stopped. He'll still recover, but at what cost? How long might they be trapped in the forest waiting on him to heal if the blood loss continued? She glances up at him, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip as they often do when she is contemplating an unpleasant thought.

Curse Vaughan, and curse the twins. Curse her aunt and that whole bloody court, she thinks as she does the only logical thing there is to do - she takes off her overshirt and with the dagger at her side, slices it apart and then again, her hands working at tying the ends together to make a long, narrow strip of cloth. A makeshift bandage, not exactly sterile but long enough to wrap around Archer and keep pressure on his wound. "Hold still. You're bleeding too much," she says when she's satisfied with the bandage, her voice stronger and colder than before as she settles into the darkest corners of her mind, trying to smother the strange new feelings that her knight invoked so easily in her. She snakes the bandage around his waist, knotting it tightly to the side of the wound. She winces as she pulls tight, hoping it doesn't hurt him too badly.

When she finally stands, her cheeks are flushed, her face smeared with her own blood and sweat. Her hands are another story, painted with his blood and chill bumps pepper her arms, left cold by the absence of her shirt. The black tank top she'd worn under it is a stark contrast to her pale skin and the moonlight drifting in through the canopy of the forest lights her up like a bright beacon in the dark. A shiver shakes her but she disregards it, shouldering an arm underneath Archer's wounded side so that she might help support his weight.

"If we make it home, I'll fix you a fat, juicy steak for this, you know," she jokes, desperately ignoring the butterflies that erupt in her stomach as the warmth of him spreads over her. "Maybe even draw you a bath, you smell like a barbarian - all sweat and bad decisions."

She even laughs a bit at that, leaning into his side as they pick their way through the forest. It doesn't take long for them to find the path they'd ventured out from, the dirt worn down by years of foot travel. From here, the journey would be much easier, and she looses a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.