What sharp teeth you have!

River's arm drops; her gaze, which was scanning the trees, cuts sharply to Galadan's face.

She doesn't nod, because she doesn't need to.

Galadan gets to take the lead in his own jurisdiction, for one thing; he knows the dangers and factors here far better, for another; his shields are loosened, for a third, and she comprehends. There's no need to force a fight that could be easily sidestepped.

She breathes in, turns her head (more slowly) towards Simon, and smiles at him, just a little. It's small, distracted but real, and meant to be reassuring. "Gonna be okay here," she says to him softly.

Milliways isn't, but -- well. Anyway.

"Call it a tactical rearrangement. Short-term. We can move."

From:

Short-term, she says, and that reassures the thought temporarily foremost on his mind: can we get home from here?

At least, he can choose for the moment to be reassured by it, and put that thought aside.

Quietly: "Are both of you all right? Were either of you injured?"

From:

"A question that can be best addressed at a farther point," is Galadan's swift reply.

He punctuates this, however, with a sweeping glance over the Tam siblings.

"Provided the both of you can walk."

River gets an extra questioning feeling in the corner of her brain.

It saves time.

From:

River rolls her eyes at both of them, and takes the first step, tugging Simon along. Her fingers shift against his with fine twitches stemming as much from superfluous adrenaline as River's usual tactile investigation.

"Got legs," she says.

(In the corner of her brain currently being questioned: if she's hurt, she isn't feeling it yet, and it didn't slow her in the fight. She honestly isn't sure, so as far as she's concerned it isn't important yet. She knows, in the faraway way that adrenaline brings, that at the very least she's bruised and tired, and at some point that will be relevant, but not yet. Her blood's still up. Right now, she's concentrating more than anything on not reacting as if she's still mid-battle.

Although Galadan may also be able to smell that some of the blood on her is fresh, and her own. Not a lot, but it's there.)

From:

He moves, silently, following River and Galadan.

There's a blurry dreamlike feeling trying to drift into his mind, and he works hard to banish it. This is not a dream.

Whatever else it may be, it's not a dream.

From:

For some it might almost seem a nightmare, or it would, were the Wolflord not at the head of their company.

He knows Pendaran of old, and they have something of a truce. It is why the trees do not impede their progress, save for the occasional upthrust root that was not there before.

It is why they are disturbed only by the faint rustling of bushes in the distance, but not by predators leaping out of the foliage in search of an easy meal.

And it is why, despite the pace that he insists on, no trace of worry or anxiety clouds the edges of River's perceptions. (Well, it is why in part that is the case.)

"This," Galadan says, after many minutes of walking, "may well be far enough, for the moment. Though there are more hospitable places to rest along a somewhat longer path."

It seems only fair to offer his human guests some degree of mercy. Plus he can still smell River's blood, and that is something that is best taken care of soon. He finds it . . . irritating.

From:

Yeah, River's starting to limp a little.

Not a lot. But a little.

Personally, she finds that irritating, but the long shallow slice along her calf refuses to go away despite any amount of annoyance with it.

Ditto the claw marks (also pretty shallow) raking one shoulder blade.

But that's it aside from the general bruises and minor scrapes and stuff that even the best fighter has a hard time avoiding in a multi-hour melee full of wildly varied demons and overwhelming odds.

From:

"How much longer?" Simon asks.

Yes, he's noticed River limping.

... and he left his bag on the ground near the greenhouse.

From:

"Long enough that everyone's limbs should remain fully functional."

Galadan's voice is dry and his gaze remains fixed on the southwest, mind questing outward to make certain that there is nothing (and no one) to impede their passage.

The general time should be twenty minutes to a half an hour, provided River's limp does not slow them down overmuch.

He seems confident that it won't -- or that River will let them know if it becomes overly likely.

"Hardly even what you would call a day trip, I should imagine."

From:

"She's fine."

River's voice is a little cranky, although it's directed more at her wounds than her companions.

(She's stubborn, is what she is.)

But she was a dancer before the Academy ever got its blue-gloved hands on her. That's a hobby that teaches you to assess and work through pain -- and do it with a smile, though River's not so good at that part these days.

"External logistics are the primary determinant."

It's not that she'd object to a stop for bandaging, but she can keep going fine too. It'll hurt, but not unmanageably, and it's not going to widen her wounds much more than fighting with them already did.

From:

"All right." Quiet. "Let me know if you need help."

He's not going to assume she does.

A glance up at Galadan: lead the way.

From:

--That was easier than expected.

Not that River's complaining!

From:

Galadan's eyebrows manifestly do not hit his hairline.

This is hardly the time.

He does resume his position at point, slipping soundlessly through the underbrush and moving toward what, as they move ever closer, reveals itself to be a swift-flowing stream.

"The opposite bank is what I would call an appropriate resting place."

And the stream is very convenient for cleaning the blood and ichor off of his hands.

And, you know. His face. Swishing the ichor out from between his teeth is also preferable. Few things taste more unpleasant, save perhaps the blood of the svart alfar.

From:

"Is there a bridge? Or is it safe to wade?"

He's hoping it's safe to drink, and/or to wash with. He may not have any disinfectant, but at the very least he can clean those scrapes once they've settled.

From:

River's already wading. (Carefully. This may be because the water is cold, which it is, or because of her injured leg, or just because she's River.)

So. Take that as you will, Simon!

Her boots can hardly take any more damage from a wetting than they've already gotten. The knee-deep water is already swirling darker downsteam with the grime coming off her boots and calves.

From:

"Traveling to the nearest bridge would take us several hours." Galadan's response is dry. It seems to be his natural tone.

"Wading is infinitely easier. And though blood will serve as the forest's libation, provided you do not cut yourself on stones in the stream bed, you'll take no harm at all."

And then he, too, wades through the stream, ripples spreading and multiplying in his wake.

From:

Beat.

"Thank you. That's very helpful."

Simon wades after him.

From:

River, meanwhile, has settled on the opposite bank.

(Oh, hey. Sitting down.)

Her left leg is stretched out in the water, so she can wash it off better. This has the side benefit of rinsing her hands, too. (And here, Pendaran, have a bit of blood. It won't particularly mollify it, but River doesn't mind courtesy! Especially when it accomplishes a more pressing practical purpose anyway.)

Having a few parts rinsed sorta-kinda-cleanish is making the rest of her look even grimier by comparison, but it's not as if she really cares.

From:

Galadan drops to a crouch on the bank, the toes of his boots submerged in the stream, and vigorously washes his face.

Once that is accomplished he lets the water flow past him before dipping his now-clean hands in and pulling up some water to drink.

After that he dips his hand into a belt-pouch, removing what may be a familiar (if faintly stained, despite being washed) lacy handkerchief, which he hands over to River.

In case she wants to clean up a little more vigorously than bare hands will allow.

From:

Simon's own hands and wrists are only slightly smeared, but his lower arms are gory to the elbow. He's taking advantage of the moment's rest to scrub at them with his own handkerchief, dampened in the stream.

Suddenly, overwhelmingly, he's exhausted.

Galadan passing River the handkerchief catches his eye, though, and he moves a little closer to her before settling down to sit on the bank.

Quiet: "Let me see to those?"

From:

River accepts the handkerchief solemnly. Her heart's not entirely in the joke, though.

It's been a long day. And now that she's sitting, now that she's stopped moving, she can be exhausted, and she can remember Milliways.

Milliways, dying, despite everything they tried to do. Too little, too late, and maybe nothing would have been enough; it doesn't matter now.

She doesn't say that. She nods, a little, and twists around to give Simon better access to her leg.

From:

inthetapestry

The forest is full of creatures who give Galadan of the andain a wide berth.

. . . except for one elkor, who, against all the laws of rational herbivore behavior, appears to be making right for the Wolflord and his company.

From:

Galadan looks up at said elkor, grey eyes sharp and winter-bright.

Honestly, now.

Kevin. How like you to continue your trend of absolutely appalling timing.

From:

inthetapestry

I thought you would be pleased, retorts Kevin, that I'm paying enough attention to know when the boundaries between worlds are crossed by strangers.

In other words: is he here mostly because he's bored and annoying Galadan is more interesting than anythi else going on? MAYBE.

You're beginning to make a habit of this, Wolflord. Is this world so poor in company for you?

From: