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“You are in no condition to crusade.”
Lamb lay on the cot, scowling. The timing of it all was almost twisted enough to be comedic. “Nana, I am fine.”
“You are extremely fevered and your ankle is broken.”
She sits in the chair adjacent to the cot, staring at Lamb like a mother might stare down a disobedient kit. “So what? Comes with the territory.” They test out that ankle, wincing as pain shoots up their leg. Not wise to do that again.
“Uh-huh.” She unfolds her arms. “You’re lucky Ratau found you when he did. We thought you were dead. Julna fainted.”
Anura had been a bastard. Since they’d set foot in Heket’s domain an awful famine had been cast upon their cult, and they’d been reduced to eating grass and what little produce hadn't rotted overnight. The vegetarians didn’t mind this too much, too drunk with devotion to attribute the troubles to anything but divine trials, but the carnivores and omnivores who relied on meat were noticeably struggling.
“Foolish to think I’m incapable of traversing Darkwood with a weak leg,” Lamb pouts. “It’s only Darkwood! You know Darkwood trembles before our might. The cult needs to eat.”
“Then let one of us go! You cannot possibly expect to bear all of this on your own. Let us strengthen you.” She presses the issue further, and her hand finds their shoulder. “I’ve gotten better with an axe, and I know Darkwood like the back of my paw.”
“No, I can’t ask you to do that. You or anyone else.”
Nana blushes at that for some reason, but doesn’t relent. “We have enough food to last the week. At least rest until your fever is down. I have no doubts you’ll be fine without the use of that ankle, but do me this one kindness.”
Lamb pouts at that, averting their gaze. They say nothing, like a scolded kit.
“Let me set your ankle.” Nana readies her hands around Lamb’s ankle, and Lamb winces before she even makes any movements. “Don’t make that face; it won’t hurt!”
Lamb didn’t listen. Why would they?
They don’t feel so heated anymore, and their ankle feels leagues and leagues better. Comparatively. They can step on it now, at least. It only hurts after a minute. They’re getting better at suppressing it.
They didn’t sleep that night and dedicated the night to making sure everything was perfect . They had enough coin, the cult was asleep– ideally they’d be back before sunrise, before anybody noticed they were gone, and before they got an earful from Nana and Ratau; this was the most important.
The plan was simple: they were to sneak out of camp, go to Darkwood, and kill for food. There were to be no disciples slain tonight, no witnesses, and certainly no bishops. Though, if one were to fall, it wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing.
So, they were off. They penned one last sermon speech, tucked away any and all otherwise important papers, grabbed the crown, and left their tent. They’re cautious about it, taking extra care to step quietly yet quick enough that they could slip away undetected.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Shit. Apparently in their rounds of the camp, Lamb forgot to triple check if Ratau had gone to sleep. The old man was finicky with sleep– some nights he wouldn’t sleep at all, insisting upon his role as Lamb’s right-hand-man and unofficial loyalty enforcer, and other days (yes, days) he’d sleep for 16 hours. No one knew how he was timing any of this, but obviously it worked if his goal for the night was to get Lamb.
“Quick run for supplies.” Lamb rocks on their heels very nonchalantly.
“Oh no you don’t.” Ratau takes a wide stance, placing his paws on his sides. “I remember Nana making it very clear that you are to rest before you do any crusading. I found you half-dead once, I’m not too keen on doing it a second time.”
“I’ve rested enough, and quite frankly I think I’m well enough to go out,” Lamb says, attempting to sidestep Ratau. They’re not slick, he takes notice and swings his walking stick out to block Lamb.
“I really don’t care what you think. You can’t keep endangering your health like this. That’s how you end up like me.” Ratau removes the stick from where he had it jutted out in front of Lamb, leaning onto it. He’s getting a little good at maneuvering that thing. “I know your fancy resurrection powers make you feel like you’re unstoppable, but if this doesn’t kill you you’re looking at another week in the healing tent, and I know the last thing you want is to be away from your duties.”
Lamb ponders. They really did not enjoy the healing tent. The only thing close to a healer they had at the moment was Nana, and her experience was about as limited as knowing how to wrap bandages and knowing which herbs were and weren’t poisonous, so there was no easy way out of that tent. Healthcare in the cult amounted to not much more than extensive rest and occasionally tea if they had stock for it.
All the more reason to avoid it. “If I’m looking at more rest regardless, I may as well go out useful to the cult. Excuse me,” They walk along, leaving Ratau behind. “I’m off to catch tomorrow’s dinner!”
Ratau grumbles. “I won’t be the one you’ll answer to when you arrive back here at death’s door!”
“Thank you Ratau!” Lamb replies, smug as ever as they saunter off to Darkwood. They don’t turn around to see where Ratau goes, but he’s probably off pouting somewhere. Typical.
Who really knew what was best for Lamb, anyways? Without Lamb, there’d be no community. These followers barely know how to feed themselves. Whether anybody liked to admit it or not, they all needed Lamb to survive. They could handle a pained ankle better than anyone, for they have the powers of the Red Crown coursing through them!
…It goes well until it doesn’t. Lamb makes it through the first couple rooms fine, ignoring the steadily mounting pressure between their eyes as they flay the first few heretics they kill that might make for decent meat. They’re a vegetarian, or at least they were a vegetarian at one point before all this shenanigans started, so they try their best to cut only what they perceive to be appetizing portions. They think they did a good job, stuffing the meat into the crown’s storage dimension. Time was frozen up there, so the meat would stay fresh.
They miss a step, and a bushworm sends them careening into a wall. Pain radiates up their bad leg, and they narrowly bite back a yelp. They recover as easily as they can, pulling themselves up from the ground and launching themselves at their assailant—
A twig snaps. Lamb draws out the dagger, sending a spray of blood across their wool. The heretic drops dead, and Lamb says a silent prayer in thanks: for the meat, or for an easy(ish) fight, they’re not quite sure. One of the two, they’re sure. Before they crouch down to collect their reward, they draw their dagger once more and turn with guarded suspicion. Most heretics weren’t known for their stealth.
The search turns up nothing, but Lamb keeps their guard up as they harvest before lifting themselves up–woah, dizzy, they steady themselves with a hand to the head–and trot into the next room.
The next batch of heretics go down easy.
That is, until they don’t.
There’s one last heretic left before inklings of regret start to crawl up their back. The archer shoots an arrow, Lamb twists and dodges to avoid getting impaled, and the searing pain that shoots up their leg at the movement sends them crashing to the earth. They’re fully seeing white for a moment as the heretic all but pounces, and then————
The guttural, wet sound of a blade piercing through flesh cuts through the air, and the world is silent for a heavy moment before Lamb even considers opening their eyes. Did they hit something? Have they been hit? Their ankle hurts, and it’s the only thing their body allows them to focus on before slowly, their eyes flutter open.
At least ten feet away the heretic that previously had fired that arrow sits in a bloody heap, hunched over a bleeding wound in their stomach. From the position they’re in, Lamb can glean they’re definitely dead. Shakily, they drag themselves to their feet, another stitch of pain stabbing up their leg. They grit their teeth and suck in a sharp breath, willing themselves to find balance on their other leg. They gulp, stifling a whimper.
“It might do you some good to listen to me once in a while.”
It’s a familiar voice, one that makes their heart beat. They turn, on their good leg, and there stands Nana, her ears lopped and her tunic torn. Her hands are empty, and Lamb quickly makes the connection between her presence and the bloodied heretic sitting in the corner of the room.
The words die in their mouth and they say nothing.
“Sit back down,” She says, and for once Lamb listens. She crouches at their side, and Lamb is able to get a better look at her features. They realize how late it is– and from the slight droop to her eyes and the heaviness her movements carried, Lamb can only guess how long she’d been awake for. If she’d been following them all this way…
“Did you follow me?” They ask, and it comes out throatier than they intended.
“Ratau came and got me. You’re lucky I was still awake.” Nana sounds exasperated with the situation, but there’s a tenderness in her voice that’s hard to miss. She gestures for their leg, and Lamb grimaces as they offer it forward. Adeptly, she wraps her paws around Lamb’s ankle, and the pressure nearly makes them pull their ankle away before Nana sighs. “It feels like you’ve displaced the bone again, so I’ll need to re-set it. Sit still.”
They hold their breath as she maneuvers the extremity, and it pops back into place with a nauseating click. She rubs it, and the movement seems less medical and more intended as a comfort. They mourn the loss of heat when she moves her hands, and when they look back up at her, she’s looking around the area as if she’s searching for something. They watch her as she snaps a few twigs off a tree, and she tests them, bending them both ways before retrieving a vine from the same tree.
“You’ll have to forgive me for using these instead of some more formal medical equipment, but since you insist upon defying doctors’ orders for these crusades, they’ll have to do for now.” She sets up the branches on either side of their ankle, and ties the vine around them. She tests the makeshift splint, pulling and tugging on it to ensure it isn’t too tight. Hopefully, they’d be able to change it to something more cohesive back at the camp. “Honestly, I can’t believe you’d–”
“Marry me.”
She freezes completely, still touching their ankle with tired hands. Slowly does she remove her hands to look up at Lamb, disbelief clouding her pretty features. Beneath the low light of Darkwood, she might even be blushing down to the tips of her ears. “...Huh?” She squeaks, her firm demeanor pivoting on a heel to something softer, more delicate.
“Marry me, Nana,” they repeat, head lolling to the side somewhat. If anything could rival the pain in their ankle (which was currently slowly dissipating, thanks Nana,) it was the fever. If anything could rival even that, it was Nana’s presence. For this moment, they allow themselves to be tended to by her, to be fully nurtured and loved. They can imagine any other cultist running in fear if they saw what Lamb got into during these crusades, even tame ones like these where the goal was only resources and any heretic fights were collateral damage. From the way her hands shook as they held Lamb’s ankle and tended to their injury, and from the tears in her tunic…
They push those thoughts from their mind. Their Nana.
“You… You’re delirious. We need to get back to camp,” she stammers, the blush on her cheeks unmissable. “Can you stand?”
“I’m more serious than I’ve ever been.” Lamb makes no movement to stand, instead smiling as usual, cool and confident. “Marry me. I meant what I said when I asked you never to leave my side, you know.”
She looks contemplative, her hands folding in her lap. Briefly, Lamb worries they've made a terrible mistake. Their worries are dashed, however, when she lifts her chin to speak.
“Before you saved me. Back when I…” She trails off and looks around the environment, observing. Lived here, in Darkwood, she almost says, but the sentence fizzles out. Lamb isn’t an idiot and gets the idea. “...I thought a lot. I thought about so many things from the moment they tied me up and held the dagger to my throat, the things I regret, the things I never got to experience. But then you came– I think it was fate.” Her expression stills for a beat, and they catch one another’s eyes. She then breaks into one of the most genuine smiles they’ve ever seen on her, and she looks stunning. “I would love nothing more.” Her blush only deepens. “To be with you for eternity, I mean.”
Lamb matches her expression, and forgoes all constraints and pulls Nana into their arms. She laughs into them, not a demure giggle but a full-blown laugh. It lights up their heart.
“Okay!” She chirps, triumph and effort inflating her tone as her laugh tapers off. She pulls from them first, slinging an arm around their back. “Try to stand. We need to get back to camp; I’m tired.”
Lamb listens, leaning against Nana as she leads them home.