Okay!
Shield! Biggest vote thus far. I am happy. Today's update is shorter. And written in a style that is different from usual, if only because I just could not figure out how to do it differently. But I think that the circumstances permit it. Onwards to update!
You asked for a shield, so that you would be recognized for a warrior, and before Ulla the Hammer could grant you your wish, the battle and the wounds endured took their toll, and you lost your consciousness, in the red-headed maid's arms.
5.0 The Price For All That
You woke up in the morning; you were cold. They had cleaned your wounds with wine and olive, and applied bandages to them, and put you by the fire, next to other wounded. But beneath the cover of furs, you felt cold. There was sweat on your brows, thick, sticky.
You were in terrible pain.
Again, you passed out.
You dreamed: of your family's home, which you perceived as distant. Rye grew around it, a wall which you could not cross. And as you dreamed, it seemed to move farther and farther away, until you could no longer see.
It felt as if your face was enflamed; you could not open one eye, and you could not open your mouth. Your body was very cold. Others gathered around. They touched you. You screamed. You cried. You passed out.
You dreamed: you walked alone through a field of grass, fawn grass. Rye? You had a shield on your back, and a spear in your hand. A fine helmet, and a suit of mail. Something terrible was behind you.
You heard prayer. It was coming from very near. It was spoken by a woman. It was a prayer to… you cried. You were so cold. You were inflamed. They fed you through a straw. You choked. You passed out.
You dreamed: fighting that never ended. Fellowship of warriors that lasts until the common sainthood comes, as promised.
"…she was very weak, now the wounds will fester…"
You dreamed: they dig a grave, and you lay in it. With you, your shield, and your spear. Gold. A fine cloak. A warrior's burial. You are not afraid. You are proud. There is no shame in such death.
You awoke to a moment of lucidity, and you regretted that. But it did not last very long.
You dreamed: a woman in a cloak of black feather, smiling at you. The crow has not yet cawed! Do not look! Do not look!
It had been… some time. The pain receded. You were wracked and afflicted. Pus dripped from your wounds. Your lips barely moved. They bled. Someone was near you? You whispered for someone to come. You asked for…
[ ] …a healer.
[ ] …a priest.
[ ] …the maid.
[ ] ...Ulla.
[ ] …Cu.
[ ] …Reda.
[ ] …mother.
