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“Hmm, wha-? Help me Denzi,” he suddenly fell. Denzin caught him as he collapsed into her arms. She picked him up and ran back up to the village’s healing lodge. She laid him down in the nearest bed. She bit her lip in worry. There wasn’t much to do but wait it out. Denzin took off the bandages around his arms and replaced them afresh putting one on his forehead. She covered him up and left asking Teelya if she could notify her if anything should happen to send a messenger to her immediately. Teelya was a woman who took care of infected orphans.
Weary and tired she reached her porch, suddenly a wave of pain shot through her left arm that she always kept covered even sparing with the men, young and old. She gasped for breath and clung on to one of the wooden posts of the porch as she had an attack from the infection. She slid to the floor and clung to her arm as it bled it’s toxin scorching the wood. Her vision went blurry, she saw a not so familiar face, it passed leaving her unconscious. She woke shortly after, her head drooped once then she cocked her head over her shoulder to catch a last glance at the forest as the sun sank into it’s emerald sea. She must have been out for a long time. She sat their until she could no longer see the sun. She rose slowly but steadily to her feet. Denzin recalled seeing something when the pain had surged through her body, something she saw as a form of a man. Like a dream it was quickly forgotten, but in this case she kept hold of it, it was a nagging familiarity. She went inside to ponder what it was she saw. His eyes a piercing grey with a almost glowing silver around the iris and pupil. Denzin sat at her table as the room spun to lay her head down and did not stir as heavy wearisome sleep came like a blanket with dreams of her parents death. She woke up with a start. It was nearing midnight. Denzin got up and headed towards her room. She stopped. Outside the kitchen window there was a tree, she though saw a man in it, the same one in her foray. She took another glance, there was nobody there. She sighed and went off to bed.
In the pale wake of dawn she slipped out of bed and went to her trunk. There she grabbed a staff tied in tattered cloth that stood behind the trunk. The staff was no ordinary weapon, but created from a deep magical sapling, the last one left. To it’s owner it could form as long or short, or even as sharp as it was commanded. (Her weapon of choice) She unwrapped it pulling off the tattered cloth and looked at it intently. It had beautiful carvings, the carver who worked on it had chisled it to his very last skill as a gift to her for saving his life. He gave it to her very unaware of it’s rarity. She took out a fresh pair of hunting clothes, a white tunic and pants of brown and a very strange material cloak that only had one sleeve and was silver. (Left sleeve) It was soft as silk, moved easily and bore what seemed like a swan on fire; she sewed it in herself. She also pulled out a black leather vest along with leather gloves that she only put on when she was going to fight. She changed and slipped on her sword less sheath that went on her back. She tugged on her black boots that went just above her knees and left just as silently as a shadow. Stopping near the door she went to the corner of the room, there was another figure wrapped in worn leather; a sword. It was a significant double bladed sword; had two blades connected to one hilt. She unwrapped it slowly, a twinge of sorrow so thick it would have choked you came over her. Denzin named it ‘Firsol.’ which means Dark History. She stared at the sword malevolently. Something changed in her just then, an evil surfaced in her, an uncontrollable evil. She bore the hatred like Fir’yn, her eyes almost the same as his. She slipped it in her unique sheath. She did not remember where she got it but it some how came into her possession. She walked out and it seemed that all peace and calm died in her wake, it even seemed she had a black glow around her. There was something about that sword