"How do you feel?" Shadowheart asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and concern, as she settled onto one of the fallen logs near the campfire. The smoke drifted lazily across the clearing where they had set up camp for the night.
It carried with it tiny floating embers that glowed like fireflies in the darkness, before vanishing forever.
Ishta turned from her task of stirring a pot full of fish soup hanging over the crackling fire to look at the Cleric. Her brows furrowed slightly as she internally assessed her own state. "Fine. Much better than I thought I would, given the circumstances," she replied cautiously, "How about you?"
"I feel the same," Shadowheart said with an uneasy shrug, her eyes reflecting the flickering flames. "Other than the occasional mental exchange, it's almost as if we're not infected at all."
Her expression turned thoughtful as she continued to stare into the dancing fire. The silence between them stretched, filled only by the sounds of the night and the gentle bubbling of the soup.
"It's so strange... do you remember the voice? Aboard the ship?" Shadowheart's voice was softer now, almost as if she were speaking to herself.
"Hard to forget it," Ishta responded, her tone laced with a hint of bitterness.
"The voice said I'd become a 'beautiful weapon'. What do you think that means?" Shadowheart's question hung in the air, heavy with implication.
Ishta chuckled lightly, attempting to dispel the tension. "Maybe it was a compliment."
"Hah! Adorable. But your timing is awful." Shadowheart's laughter was short, a mere exhale of breath, her eyes still focused on the fire.
"My timing-Oh! Gods, sorry, that wasn't meant as a pass at you," Ishta quickly clarified, her cheeks reddening.
"I know. I was only teasing. Trying to lighten the mood like you did on the beach," Shadowheart said, a small smile playing on her lips.
"If you learn anything from me while we travel together, please don't let it be my penchant for ill-timed humour," Ishta replied, shaking her head with a wry grin.
Shadowheart's expression sobered. "Whatever the Mindflayers' plans were, those Dragons spoiled them. That doesn't make our situation less dangerous."
"Either way, we can't take the lack of symptoms for granted. We have to find this Nettie as soon as we reach the grove tomorrow," Ishta said firmly, her eyes meeting Shadowheart's with determination.
Shadowheart nodded. "Agreed. Well, I've said my piece-Get some rest. Goodnight, Ishta."
"Wait, one more thing before you go," Ishta called after her, her voice carrying through the still night air. "What's the story behind that little box you carry? It looked like an artifact of some kind."
Shadowheart's demeanour shifted instantly, her face closing off as if a door had slammed shut. Her eyes, previously warm in the firelight, turned cold. "There's no story. Not one that you're entitled to hear anyway," she replied curtly, her tone brooking no argument.
"Sorry I asked," Ishta muttered, her voice barely audible over the crackling flames as she watched the Cleric's retreating form disappear into the darkness.
Turning back to the soup, Ishta carefully slid the pot off the stick holding it above the fire, the metal sizzling slightly as it met the cool air. She placed it down on a flat rock nearby, its surface smooth from years of weathering.
Ladling a spoonful of the hot, savoury liquid into a wooden bowl, Ishta stood up, feeling the strain of the days travel in her limbs. She walked over to the log Shadowheart had just vacated, the wood still warm from her presence, and sat down with a tired sigh. The log creaked softly under her weight and she glanced over at Gale's tent.
YOU ARE READING
Ishta: Blood Huntress of Baldur's Gate
FanfictionUPDATED WEEKLY: Ishta Dawnstar was once a renowned Monster Hunter and Vampire Slayer from the enigmatic Xindite race in the Aglarond region of Faerûn. Her skills with sword and bow were as terrifying as her ferocity in battle, and Undead up and down...
