Moonlight and headaches

Your head is killing you. Which is weird in a way. Your head can't kill you if you're already dead. You are dead, right? You were very much bleeding out back there, so you are probably dead. It's weird that the afterlife starts you out with a splitting headache.

"Hey, are you awake? Can you hear me?" a slightly recognizable voice calls out to you.

You open your eyes and you're met with sky full of stars. It's night. Turning your head you see the girl you kinda sorta rescued, sitting down huddled between the rock and the sand. It's dark, and it's surprisingly a bit chilly. Of course it doesn't help that you were exiled in just some loin cloths.

As the raccoon girl sees that you are awake she rushes towards you.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

"My head hurts, my abdomen hurts, and my foot hurts." you reply weakly.

"Yeah, everything considered that's not a big surprise." she replies softly.

You try to pull yourself up. Your abdomen clearly doesn't like it, as it immediately acts up. You groan in pain.

"I've bandaged the wounds and coated them with honey." she states.

"Honey?"

"It works as an antibiotic. I carry it around so I can address wounds and unlike other antibiotics like garlic or oregano, it's very easy to preserve."

"You're a doctor or something?"

"More like an apothecary, really."

You spend some time focusing on your breathing. Meanwhile you look at the girl across you. She has taken off her headgear and her face is now clearly visible. Her long auburn hair perfectly accentuates her tanned skin. Her hazel eyes match her ears. She is quite small in frame, but she looks fit enough.

"My head is pounding." you groan.

"You've lost a lot of blood, and you're probably dehydrated." she states, as she fishes a flask out of her pocket: "Here. Drink as much as you need."

"Don't you need this to get to the outpost?"

"I have more in my backpack."

"I thought you said you didn't have any water."

"Well..." she embarrassedly hesitates. You wave it off.

"It's fine. I get it." you say before taking a big swig out of the canteen. It almost immediately takes the edge of the headache.

"Do you have a knife?" you ask.

"Just a small one. Why?"

You nod your head towards the scorpion corpse.

"Desert Killer is pretty good meat."

"We don't have any way to cook it."

"It's also worth a lot of money."

She looks again at the corpse. She frowns and trembles a bit.

"I'm not good with corpses." she says. She seems a bit sheltered.

"Fine." you say as you get up. Your leg hurts to stand on, but in contrast to your abdomen it's bearable. You take the knife out of her hand and make your way towards the body.

You cut the underbelly and fillet the meat to the best of your ability.

"Why didn't you take the tail? Is... is it venomous? Oh my god it stung you. Are you poisoned? Do we nee-" she hyperventilates.

"Settle down, it's fine. I didn't take the tail, because it tastes like shit."

"Oh, ok."

She's soft. No one at your tribe would have cared in anyway about your well-being. They would only care if you were still fit to fight, or have become a burden. She'll have to learn to toughen up to survive out here.

"Let's move." you say as you pack the meat in her backpack.

"But you're hurt. There is no way you can walk ten miles in that condition."

"Tell me lass, how much water do you got on you?"

"About two canteens. Probably half a gallon."

"Yeah, I figured. I reckon' that if we were to make it to the outpost we better start moving now while it is dark. There is not enough water in that canteen of yours for two people to survive another day under the sun of the barren."

The girl mulls it over.

"Okay," she decides: "but if you feel weak or fatigued, then promise me you'll take a break."

"Fine." you tut.

---

The walk is tiring and lengthy. You walk slow, and every step hurts your entire body. The nomad keeps asking you how you are every ten minutes or so. It's grating.

"Are you getting tired?" she asks for the umpteenth time.

"Yeah, tired of your questions." you grunt annoyed.

"Don't you think we should take a break?"

"No. We've walked what? Six miles? I can make it. It will probably be day soon, and if we don't make it by then, then we would be in deep shit."

"Listen to me. I know you're a tough orcish warrior bu-"

"Orcish hunter."

"Right, orcish hunter, but that doesn't mean you are not allowed to rest. You should at the very least consi-"

Her words are cut off by you screaming in agony and tipping over.

"Oh my god, miss. Where does it hurt."

"Urgh... stomach." you groan.

The nomad examines your stomach. After a couple of seconds she declares: "Your bandages have shaken loose, and all of this walking is slowly reopening the already fragile wound."

"We need to get to the outpost." you reiterate through gritted teeth.

"Don't overdo it. You need rest." the girl bluntly respond.

"The blood will attract predators. I'm not ready for another scorpion fight, and neither are you."

"You can't know that will happen for certain."

"There is a high chance that-"

"If you move there is a 100% chance that you will die!" the nomad yells.

"Fine." you concede: "I'll rest for an hour or so, while you touch up the wound. Once I've pulled myself together we walk again. Our chances of survival only lowers once the sun rises."

The apothecary just nods, probably realizing she won't be able to get you to give any more ground.

She changes the bandages of your wound. You can't help but notice that she is using up all of the rest of the bandages to do so. No more fucking up. You only have this.

"So..." the raccoon girl speaks up: "What's your name?"

"I don't have one." you admit nonchalantly.

"You don't?" she rhetorically asks: "Wouldn't that make communication in your tribe rather difficult?"

"We get most done by pointing and yelling. It's more efficient."

"Oh..." she drags, probably not knowing how to keep the conversation going.

"I guess, I have to get a name now though." you leave the conversation open.

"Hmmm... How about Jess?"

"Why Jess?"

"I don't know. Why not Jess?"

Not having a retort, you just go with it.

"I guess. What is your name?" you ask breathing heavily.

"I'm Emily." she says softly.

"Why were you at our gates?" you ask. You're more curious than anything, but your rough and coarse voice makes it sound more accusatory than you intended.

"I-I was just..." Emily stammers: "I was just looking for work. People to heal. I didn't realize that it was an orchish camp."

"Yeah, next time, let the 18 feet fences warn you that whatever is on the other side is not friendly. It's not smart stirring something that could be a tribe full of orcish women in the middle of nowhere."

"There's just women in the camp?"

"Yeah."

"Then how do you procreate?"

"Well, some kidnap and enslave men. It's risky, so therefore rare."

"That's terrible!" Emily gasps in horror.

"Never interested me either." you shrug: "But that's also because I am the other way that we have offspring."

"What do you mean?" Emily asks, slightly raising her eyebrow.

"Some Orcish females like me have cocks." you state nonplussed.

Emily is quite obviously taken back by the coarse language, and the nonchalance of the subject matter of which you're speaking. She's not only sheltered in **** but in sex as well. That's not exactly a surprise at this point. A fair desert maiden. A goody two-shoes, trying to heal the sick, and mend the broken. What an idiot.

Clearly flustered and frantic, you reason that you won't get any more meaningful conversation with the young apothecary, so you just lean back against the dune, and feel the sand sweep across your basil skin; your wild and unkempt long inky hair flowing in what little breeze you get towards night.

You feel annoyed and vengeful. Your hatred towards your tribe fills you with the will to survive the harsh climate. Beyond that you feel purposeless. You feel as if the only place you could ever belong has been yanked out of your grasp by a cruel turn of events.

For some reason you also feel kinda free.

After a little while you start walking again.