The Search for Soul in Everything

Chapter 13

It took half the night to find the caravan. When they did, Wyll went to find Halsin. Astarion had laid her in one of the carts, a bed of hay across the length of one side. Halsin did what he could, but it wasn't everything.

"It's not all blood loss and dehydration. She's sick, and I'm not sure what's wrong. I can't heal her if I can't detect what's happened." Halsin said, his eyes heavy. Wyll had woken him up, feeling a little guilty but this was too urgent to wait.

"I also went ahead and killed the parasite. I can hope that's what's making her sick, but I doubt it." Halsin put a hand on the pale elf, sadness washing over his face. "I'm sorry, this is all I can do for now."

"Oh, Halsin. I almost forgot." Wyll said, digging through his pack to reveal the broken horn. Astarion watched with careful eyes, thankful that he picked it up. "Is it possible to put it back?"

Halsin took the horn, inspecting it carefully. He sighed, handing it over to the elf. "Unfortunately I can't. The horn is dead, it's been far too long for me to put it back at this point. I'm sorry."

Astarion looked down at it in his hands. "It's alright. I appreciate everything." He said, carefully crawling into the cart to stay with the tiefling.

Wyll, Gale and Halsin watched silently for a moment. The hurt he felt was heartbreaking to watch. Halsin looked over to both of them. "We should get some sleep. You've had quite a day.

"Not quite like him." Gale said, walking away from the cart.

Wyll sighed, walking away as well. He can only hope he helped enough.

As the night turned to day, Astarion fell victim to sleep. He wanted to be awake, he really did, but he hasn't slept the last couple nights. He slept throughout the day, undisturbed by anyone checking in.

Halsin came over a couple times, giving the girl healing potions to try to fend off the sickness. Whatever was making her sick was already too deep inside her. He gave her water as much as possible, draping wet rags onto her head. He cleaned her face, and her hair as much as he could. There was still blood in her hair and on her shirt, as much as he tried. Later, as the sun rose higher, he pinned a tarp across the top on the wagon to keep the sun out. She was dehydrating too quickly.

Wyll came over once, looking down at the pair in pity. He didn't know how to help exactly. He felt ashamed, not being able to do anything but wait.

Gale was saddened, but he knew he couldn't do anything. He casted a couple healing spells for the girl but it didn't do anything much. As the day turned to night, the caravan kept going. The night was clear enough to see ahead.

Wyll was walking along the caravan, when he spotted something in the distance. A horse, wandering around some structure that was in the middle of the valley. He looked around for a moment, deciding to walk toward it.

The horse was calm when he walked up, he assumed it was tame. There was a small tree in the clearing, its branches bare if any leaves. It was dying, if not already dead. Ropes bound around its trunk, laying strewn on the ground. Some of the ropes were cut.

He walked over, looking at the ropes more closely. Blood, and a lot of it. He knew where he had stumbled, right where Vanora had been. He looked around again, hoping to find more evidence. There was a saddle to the right, tied to a sled that was covered in red. A tent near him caught his curiosity. He walked over, taking caution while he opened the flap.

Blood, absolutely everywhere. A dead corpse laid across the tent, practically staring him in the eyes. His neck was torn open, obvious teeth marks around the divot. Wyll's eyes widened. "Astarion!" He called, racing back to the caravan.