They left the longhouse, moving over the grounds. His thoughts on the poor woman, who had been tortured and played with. This was the Crimson Hand, this is what Licensith Ulroke’s Althanas was, a vicious cycle of predator and prey. Action and reaction, and the only way to break the cycle was to replace one of the two figures in the equation. It was a vicious cruel world that brokered no room for mercy, or forgiveness.

They moved across the grounds and approached a cabin, windows barred, and door left ajar. The insides seemed to be only a single room with fireplace bath, bed, and a desk against the far wall. It appeared to have a jug of water upon it. The water was lined with frost.. The sheets and other accoutrements were missing, leaving only a straw filled mattress. While supposedly punishment for a job ill done, it was still a step above the cell he had been meditating in. The fireplace was not lit, and so he would have to fix that after she had left. They had moved silently through the area and Scarlet spoke breaking the silence, “These were once my quarters. They are now yours. Do not try to escape, the archers have been informed to shoot to kill if they think you’re leaving.”

“It is my job to protect you, I cannot do that from the next village over,” He replied softly.

“You are doing a poor job of that.” She muttered in response, closing the door behind her. “Your water is on the desk.”

He waited for what seemed an eternity before he carefully pulled the Kimono from his back. A hiss of pain escaping him as he gently pulled it off the scabs of his wound from Licensith Ulroke, aggravated by the fighting he had just done. The Kimono was tossed towards the empty tub, as he felt his back, drawing back fingers coated in black blood, and the crust of dried blackened blood. He sighed as he moved to the pitcher of water and carefully examined it. She seemed impassive at the sight of the blood, perhaps Amari was gone after all.

The woman had never been a threat, that was the only reason he hadn’t attacked her. The second she had stood prepared, he would have cut her down, much as the members of the Hand. Amari’s impatience with the act had shown him that he would only get one chance to follow orders, before he would be punished. He carefully unwrapped the cloth from about his hands, spiraling under the gauntlets he carefully peeled off and poured a bit of the water into them before he carefully cleaned his wound.

Once that was done he sighed, seeing he had used much of the pitcher. Pouring the water into a cup he sipped cautiously, feeling his throat greedily absorb it. Truthfully he could have done the same with a bath, but he didn’t need that much water. The pitcher had been more than enough. Carefully he brought the bandages of his left arm about his back and drew them taut. Attempting to bandage his wound so that he could act more freely, there was no telling what tomorrow would bring. He would stop to occasionally sip the water, knowing better than to chug it.

He had been a ronin, the ascetic life was one he knew well. While the Ixian Knights had given him more mass, more muscle, he knew how to live without. That lesson would never leave the Ronin, who had been beaten and left for dead many a time. A sigh escaped his lips, before he carefully pulled the Kimono back on, to cover the wound from prying eyes and sat heavily on the mattress. He looked over at Amari before he spoke, “Will that be all today Scarlet-sama?”