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The fireman’s footsteps are silenced by the grass, but his boots stick fast in the muck as he runs, dodging teeth and talons as he goes. The feral laguz and their maker are relentless in their attacks; whenever one beast is cut down, two more take its place. Volke dives out of the way of a hawk, splashing mud all over his clothing. The water seeps into the threads, making them cling to his skin uncomfortably as he continues to run.
The bird screams behind him, undeterred by the splashing of swamp water as it dives for him again. Volke whips his head around wildly in hopes of cover, but the area is flat, the treeline several hundred paces away- he would never make it in time-
A large mass blocks out the sun for a moment as something jumps over him, and for a moment, Volke thinks that a four-legged foe has come to carve a slice off of him as well before a loud whinny meets his ears.
The horse skids slightly on the slippery ground as its rider leans forwards to skewer the bird on the end of their lance. They almost make it, falling just short as the feral one swoops to the side to dodge the attack.
“Fireman!” The rider calls to him, and Volke recognizes Geoffrey’s voice. “So kind of you to join us.”
Volke wipes some of the mud from his face, shaking out his arms in order to relieve himself of the swamp’s heavy weight. Undergrowth is beginning to stick to his filthy pant legs. The reeds are itchy, even through the wet fabric.
“My services have been well bought.”
“So Bastian took care of it? Good.” Geoffrey pauses to shove against the hawk’s incoming talons with his shield. The metal dents under the force of the attack. With another swing of his lance, the bird swoops away again, careful to avoid the weapon’s sharp point. “It's nice to have you back.”
Volke grunts, pulling his scarf further up his face, thankful that it had been spared the rest of his clothing’s fate. Every time he does work for these people… this man tries to befriend him… how troublesome…
An animal’s scream draws his attention back to the skies. The bird dives once more, and again, the knight beats it back with his shield. This time, however, the beast’s claws dig themselves into the metal, poking through to the other side and closing around Geoffrey’s arm. The horseman yells in response to the sudden pressure, and the feral one answers in turn, similarly appalled to find that its limb is now trapped within the crushed armor, binding the two fighters together. Geoffrey lets go of the shield, but it doesn’t drop to the ground; it remains impaled upon the hawk as the beast begins to jab at his face with its massive beak.
The knight cries out, and Volke catches a glance at his face- red runs down his forehead in thick lines, the color matching the splatters around the creature’s mouth-
The fireman makes his move. Knife at the ready, he dashes behind the fighting duo, looking for an opening. The bird’s back is completely unguarded; without the ability to dodge, it’s defenseless and weak, just like him. But Volke isn’t the one being held fast.
He stabs it between the wings, dragging his knife downwards as he goes. It throws its head back as it shrieks, attempting to lift off one final time before slumping backwards, its weight finally dragging the shield to the ground with it.
Volke removes his dagger from the corpse with a flick of his wrist. Another job well done.
Geoffrey sits atop his horse, front bathed in red from the top of his forehead to his saddle, blinking blood out of his eyes. He brings a gauntlet to his forehead, and Volke can see that the wounds there are deep. Was that a sliver of bone, or the dull light of the hidden sun playing tricks on him?
The knight wavers slightly in his seat, and with a short sigh, Volke moves to help him.
“You’re hurt.”
Geoffrey blinks at him. Volke wonders if he can even see. “It… It appears so- I must retreat…”
Volke surveys the battlefield. It was still chaos; men and beasts fighting each other ferociously, with that horrible man in the middle summoning more and more all the time…
“Give me your reins. I’ll lead your horse.”
“I can do it; go assist the others-”
“No you can’t. Give.”
He doesn’t wait for confirmation, instead choosing to tug the reins out of the other man’s hands despite Geoffrey’s protests. Volke moves them across the battlefield quickly, dodging an attack now and then as a beast spots them only to be distracted by other members of the army. They reach the treeline unharmed, or at least, as harmed as they were when they started.
Geoffrey dismounts as soon as they stop, wavering on his feet as he continues to rub at his face with his hand. Volke grabs him by the wrist.
“Stop that. You’ll make it worse.”
“I can’t see with all this blood in my eyes.”
“You don’t need to see right now.” Volke pauses, watching another spurt of blood ooze down the man’s face. “You need to bandage that, or you’ll bleed out.”
“I don’t have any bandages. I used my last roll on the way here. It’s alright- I’ll just put pressure on it and wait for a healer-”
“No, no you won’t.” He would surely be dead by then. Yes, that is a little sliver of skull peeking out from beneath the blood-
Volke pauses before sighing and unwrapping his scarf.
Showing his face while working wasn’t something he enjoyed doing… but it was fine. He could get a new one anywhere. He’d been paid for a job, and it was that job he would do.
“Stand still.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to bind that wound.”
“With what? I have no supplies.”
He begins wrapping the cloth around Geoffrey’s head. The dark fabric begins to stain immediately. “You can replace my scarf at a later date.”
Geoffrey’s eyebrows move under the fabric. “Oh? I thought you were only here to open locks and pass along information… why the sudden charitability?”
“I doubt the crown will continue to pay me if I let one of Crimea’s generals die due to indifference.”
The corner of Geoffrey’s mouth twitches into a small smile. “Well, as gratitude, I’ll have Bastian pay you back twofold. Your scarf is red, is it not?”
“It's red now.”
“So it is.”