Parcival sighed as he staggered into town. Several hours had passed; the shadows stretched from under the few trees on the road. A wolfren cried its distinctive song ending in a wolf's howl ushering in the night. The stars were few and dim, the moon a faded glow. Clouds passed over, blocking the light. 

Be it a town or a village, he cared not. This cold was unusual for this time of year. All the warmth of the past few days gone. A warm bed looked better and better. They weren't dressed for such an early fall. Merryn started to slip from his arms, so he gripped her tighter.

Near the town was a plain brown sign. It read: Sickle Village. The village road curved towards the right at the mountain's edge, partly encircling it.

Running towards it, he entered the town. Finally. Hereafter, would rent a horse. The rain was like a wall, and he couldn't see but a hand's width in front of him.

"Please, anyone help me!"

She muttered too soft to hear. He held her by her waist and she leaned the back of her neck on her hand. 

"I'm fine. I can walk."

She leaned out of his arms, taking a few wobbly steps.

"You know-never mind." 

No point repeating it. He put her arm over his shoulder.

She nodded, while patting his chest.

An old woman poked her head out of a window nearby. 

"What is the problem?"

"Does this town have a priest?"

Merryn's knees buckled. He caught her arm before she fell, pulling her back up.

"Thanks." Then faced away, her cheeks flushed.

"Then you need to find Han." 

The old woman came outside and lead them though the town. A fresh painted little church. It was shaded by two trees on both sides. He rubbed his nose, trying to will away a sneeze.

After he knocked on it, the door opened a crack. He startled. A short being that looked like one of the great white cats of the north peered from behind the doorway. His whiskers quivered as he eyed them both. Han stood up straighter and stepped closer to Merryn. 

"And, what happened to you?" 

His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, stopping at the end; he pushed them back up.

"Hurry, come out of the rain."

Parcival stepped inside. 

"Thank you, I hope you can help her."

"Follow me into the back room; there's a cot you can lay her on." 

"Han closed the door and locked it." 

"I just need some-rest there's no need-" She rubbed her wrist with a hand, while looking around. 

"So, fainting and looking like death isn't sick?" 

Her speech seemed slurred now. He made a mental note to pay closer attention. A desire to hold her hand pushed at him. No, she wasn't too keen on touch.

Her brows deepened, and she sighed. 

The church had a short hallway. The wall stretched on with several colorful nature scenes dotted on its length. Its hallway widened into the main room of the church, filled with long benches. A wall on the left side had a tall stained glass window of the god Olenus. 

The mural showed of the god's sacrifice that he'd made for all Gaxmina. They showed his tears flooding half the world from the loss of his human wife, Ruika, who the dark gods had imprisoned. 

As to how and why, he didn't know, as the scrolls he'd studied as a teen were vague.

He helped ease her on the cot. He took a moment to ring the water out of the pony-tail that was stuck to his neck. 

Han walked up to her. 

"You need to get out of the wet clothing." He looked at him. "Both of you." 

"I'm not undressing here. Do you have a bedroom?" 

"Yes, it's down the hallway behind the table." 

She stood. Her heavy wet cloak dripped water onto the floor. She made it to the table before buckling. 

He went over to her and pulled her up. 

"Did anyone tell you that you're stubborn? Do that again, and I'll let you fall down." 

Most women he knew tended to look for reasons to swoon. This one fought against it. Was it him-or just the way her people were? 

She said nothing, but her ears hung a bit lower; her eyes went dark, almost black, for an instant before reversing. He almost dropped her. 

Creepy, her aura had darkened, and the thin teal glow that was there left. It came back, but duller. If her spirit was ill, she needed stronger magics and fast.

Down the hallway were two locked rooms. The one at the end had a bed, nothing more. At least it's dry and warm.

"Do you need any help? With-you know." 

She shook her head, turned around and, scratched her right shoulder. He closed the door. We'll leave tomorrow. Father will know what to do.

Han met him as he entered the main room, his tail twitching. "Curious."

"What is?"

"The woman is more than just ill. I saw something moving on her back and then vanish. An infection of some sort." His glasses slipped down and pushed them back up. 

"My fee in light of this has increased to four thousand coins. I have my suspicions, but am unsure what they are just yet. She'll need to have an Elder priest help her," he said.

Scowling, but having no choice, he handed a fat pouch of coins to Han. He took the coins and placed them on a lamp table.

"You could have told me that. I'm not going to lash out."

She walked behind him in a small undershirt and her leather jerkins.

"Come, sit," Han said and patted a straw mat on the floor. With both his hands on her shoulders, he chanted in a foreign language. His paws took on a white glow. 

Little creases around her eyes smoothed away, and she sighed. Most times, her femininity was masked by the dirt and abrasive tongue. In this rare instance of the barrier lifting, a glimpse of the softer woman showed underneath. 

"You will need more rest; stay here until the 'morrow."

Han stood up and left the room. "This has exhausted me, excuse me."

His voice from down the hall. "Stay out of my scrolls; they are protected with runes."

"Of course, sleep well."

A few minutes later, loud snoring came from down the hallway. She stretched and laid on the mat, falling asleep. She'll be fine. Stretching his arms, he worked a crick out of his back.

He went over to the window. Storm clouds appeared. They drenched the town in a furious downpour. It was as if the wrath of gods themselves were out to drag the town down to hell. 

His growling stomach decided for him, and he left the church. The bracing fall air was a nice change from the overheated church. He watched the leaves swirl about on the street. The wind scattered them across and near a blacksmith's stand.

He walked up to the blacksmith's workshop nearby. 

"Blacksmith! What will you give for these old braces?"

The blacksmith turned around, and eyed the bracers on his wrists.

"One thousand three hundred Irons are all I will pay," he said.

He stomped out of the stall. Then, turned around after a moment. 

"I'll want five thousand Irons, or forget it!"

"What the hell are you playing at? I will not pay that much!" the blacksmith said. 

I won't be cheated. He stood there, trying to stare down the impudent man.

"Two thousand irons are as high as I will go."

He went to a wooden chest behind a water barrel, taking out two gray pouches. He tossed them at Parcival.

Catching them, Parcival tied the pouches onto his leather belt. He took off his bracers and set them down on the work bench. Then turned about and headed off towards the closest inn.

Once inside, he flagged a barmaid that was clearing off a table. Her hair was in a wispy bun, and she smelled of bread and apples, better than the stink of travel that wafted from him.

"What can I get you, sir?"

"Whatever you have that is filling."

He sat down at a rectangular table. After disappearing into the kitchen, she brought out a steaming bowl of Fool Bird stew, handing it to him.

"Thank you."

Eating fast, he then walked back to the church, carrying a warm bowl. 

####

Once inside, he was drawn to the rafters, where Merryn crouched between them. She looked at both of them, her eyes wide and her lips thinned. 

Her vivid features slipped to a form of shadow and light, the etch of a man's face outlined beneath hers, then gone as fast as it appeared. Perhaps, a ghost was residing in the church? Looking at her face again showed no sign of the outline. Will have to watch her closer. Her aura stayed the same this time. 

She pressed into the corner by the top of the post and curled her hands into a fist. Her right eyebrow twitched. She somehow had both daggers in her hands, when before, they were empty.

"Calm down lady! I've done nothing to deserve this."

He followed the wall while watching her and came up to him. 

"Did she have a head injury?"

"You fur-ball, you'll make a fine hat!" She glowered at him.

His fur puffed up. "I am not a fur-ball!" He grabbed a plate hiding his face behind it.

"When did I get here and how? Answer me!" She tosed a dagger at him but missed his foot. 

Merryn balanced on the rafter board and slid out several short throwing daggers from a compartment sewn into her boots. Moving the daggers into a fan with her fist. 

"He feels like a target." 

Han dodged and ran behind him. 

"Get her to stop, or I'll be forced to reverse the healing."

"This is Han, the priest who healed you."

She narrowed her eyes. "Who are you? A dark-one?"

She pulled several more daggers from her other boot. 

It didn't seem possible for such a number to be stored in them. Ask her about that later.

"I am Parcival, Paladin of Luna-jer; come now, you must remember me."

All of this was making his stomach full of acid, don't want to knock her out as it seemed to frazzle her brain. He tried to look as non threatening as possible and let his arms hang at the sides.

She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. Han leapt over onto a chair near the rafters and then onto where she was. He chanted a fast spell then orange bursts of light streamed from finger tips covering her in dust. 

She gasped and fell off onto her back on the floor then rolled over and stood. 

"You are a guard?"

Perhaps she had hit her head; that was a long drop both of them had the other day. You're my wife; we are to be married next week. It was fun entertaining the thought. But, that would be a good way to loose a few fingers ... among other things. Her green eyes-they were milkier now. Then down the breasts and-he inspected the interesting carvings in the door frame.

"No, but we were traveling together."

Han stiffned. He chanted a spell, while tracing a run on the floor boards using the ink on the desk. She startled trying to back up but the room offered no retreat. 

Han followed, still chanting, and covered her in a thick layer of the dust.

She sneezed and it plumed into the air, vanishing. She eased down into an old chair then held her head in her hands. When she looked up, her eyes were green again. 

"I have a headache."

She looked up at him with a lost and frightened look, squeezing her hands together. 

"I know you?"

Han went over to her. "Yes. Has anyone cursed you or did you eat any strange foods of late?"

"Not that I know of."

This memory issue was disquieting. Her shoulder strap moved as she stretched, showing the scratch now red and swollen. Her other injuries had healed nicely. There wasn't enough coin for another healing, not for what she needed. 

"I ..." 

Parcival handed her the now cold bowl of stew. "Here."

"Thanks."

She took it and settled down in the chair. The spoon blurred as the stew disappeared.

"Hey, slow down. You are going to give yourself a stomach ache!" Parcival said.

"I haven't had stew in months."

Merryn gulped down a large mouthful. She placed the empty bowl on the table.

He chuckled. 

Outside was an eerie screeching. Parcival ran outside, looking upward. Coming back inside, the door slammed in his haste.

"I had reasons for traveling alone; this is one of them," she said.

"So, you know us again? What caused that?"

She turned away. 

The blisters were gone, good.

"Unsure. Like I said before, I don't want you traveling with me."

He leaned over near her face. "What if next time this happens for even longer?"

Her face smoothed, and her eyes grew hard. "That's not your concern!"

She got up, left the room, and walked down the hallway. Damn, pushed too hard.