A New Beginning

I Shot Him!

"What now? Are we going to that Brandywine Drop place?" you ask with a mouthful of meat that is surprisingly savory albeit a tad smoked after several minutes over an open flame.

"As good a place to start as any."

Arthur's filet is gone in three bites, upon which he starts devouring the contents of an open can.

"You think he might be hiding there?"

"Maybe." Content downed sans cutlery or crockery, he tosses the empty canister aside and proceeds to swipe his glossy chin with the back of his hand. No need for napkins either, apparently.

"You know where it is?"

The previous responses, although brief and monotone, seem heartily verbose compared to the rather ambiguous grunt your last question is met with, not to mention three hours on horseback in more or less uncomfortable silence. You suspect he's been camping here before. This place isn't visible from the road, and yet he'd steered off the path with steadfast resolute.

You try again. "You seem to know your way around this land."

"This part of the land, yeah. Stayed in the area with my old gang for a while last year. Before everything..."

The way his voice fades alludes to a story behind that drawn out, enigmatic everything, and you imagine, it is quite the story. You pluck at your dinner, tearing off a slice that finds its way to your mouth. You are curious of this gang of his, but judging by his prevaricate, stump responses you doubt he'd tell you much, and you resolve to ask him when he is in a more loquacious mood.

After the meal, Arthur sharpens projectiles with his knife, and you put your education to good use by crafting tonics from herbs you'd gathered while your companion had been securing dinner. You'd set up camp on a meadow lush with flora and wildlife. Arthur had spent a good ten minutes setting up his tent only to offer it, and his bedroll, to you, unrolling a tattered, old blanket close to the campfire which you are sitting on now. You'd placed your travel bag inside the tent, both out of keenness of benefit from the newfound privacy, and because you know from experience that it doubles as a decent pillow. You pour the newly made remedies into tiny glass bottles you had brought with you, then you start on a batch of horse medicine.

"You sure you know what you're doing there?"

The rasping momentarily stops as he points the knife at the small pot in your hands. A flare of hurt has a scoff dwelling on your tongue, though you hold it back. In all fairness, you haven't exactly proven yourself as an outdoorsperson.

"I study herbalism. At the university. Or, I used to, up until a fortnight ago." Arthur knits his brows in puzzlement. "Botany and herbal medicine," you clarify. "I wanted to study medicine. I tried for a bit but," you let out a disenchanted sigh at the remembrance of many a derogatory comment and haughty stare. "I guess society's not quite ready for lady doctors yet, so I figured I'd make things easier on myself and switch to plant medicine."

After muttering something inaudible, the rasping resumes. You fill another set. The total of herb-based concoctions is now counting eight. Maybe you could pass this escapade off as field-relevant excursion.

Several minutes pass without the sound of his voice, or yours. You curl up by the campfire, lulled by the rhythmic rasps of steel against lead. Ambient sounds and mood are gradually changing as day turns to dusk. Creatures of the sun go to rest, and nocturnal hunters awakens. Your first night out in the wild is fast approaching.

You throw the occasional glance or two at the source of the wush-wush sound. His attention remains glued to the task at hand, his mind at a place unknown to you though one thing is clear. He has not fallen for the temptation, which had you sweep up your eyes.