Spirits of the Earth

It wasn't about numbers. Soldiers killed or garrisons sacked or military supplies destroyed. It wasn't about grand military victories. It was about sending a message. That the government, the Church, the military could not carry on with their agenda unheeded. That there were still mages free and fighting who would not just be beaten, down trodden, and shut away until they died or were killed. The atrocities being carried out in the camps, in hidden church cellars, in the countryside and city would not be silently tolerated.

Even if 'victory' was out of their reach, they weren't going to go down without a fight.

They worked in small bands, never acting in more numbers of more than ten or fifteen. Quick, stealth attacks that allowed them to strike and melt away back into the shadows before their targets had time to react. Ambush, sabotage, night raids, arson, hit-and-run: these were their modus operandi. Most of them had survived the horrors of the mage camps or experimentation and imprisonment at the hands of the Church. They were the lucky few who had escaped these dark places and, having escaped, they were determined to throw light onto what was going on. Draw attention. Send a message.

This can't go on.

Constance Carwick, sometimes called Olive, was one of these mages. Born noble, the privileged daughter of a duke, she'd now survived two separate camps before finally escaping in the uprising that had consumed the second. The memory of the bodies of those who did not make it out haunted every step she took. Fleeing Connlaoth to eek out a life somewhere else, somewhere safe, was simply not an option. People might want to forget the civil war in the land, pretend it wasn't happening or that it was oven, but it was vital that they remember. The countless dead left in the wake of the Grand Duke's campaign against mages, the countless more still trapped inside the camps, had no voices. No one wanted to hear about the atrocities carried out against a mage. They would change that.

The outpost wasn't a major military operation. It probably didn't house more than fifty soldiers. But it was a piece of the machine, if even a cog. And every strike counted. Hidden in the shadow and gloom of the forest, they worked by the light of the waxing moon. No torches or lanterns were needed. The only fire they would light wouldn't last long before they fled, melting into the shadowed forest. Olive pulled her set of arrows out of the barrel of oil. The outpost barracks were made of wood and situated next to a storehouse of hay and grain for horses, and it hadn't rained in weeks. The whole thing was a tinderbox waiting to go up. The clearing of mud and dirt was large enough that the fire, once started, should be contained, with only the outpost to consume.

The mages were situated on the edge of the forest. There were no Mordecai at this encampment, but it didn't matter. They would not use magic in their attacks; they only would use magic as a last line of defense if they were cornered. It was a matter of principle. Their objections were as human beings, not as mages. And they would not add flame to the fire swirling out of control about the danger of magic. No, they attacked by conventional means. Swift, stealthy, effective... conventional. A knowing look passed between the twelve assembled there, then with a nod, one lit a small torch. That would be enough to light the arrows. Olive lit her first arrow and sent it flying into the storehouse. Eleven arrows flew at the same time, hitting the barracks, the guard post, the stores. They did not pause even a heartbeat before they lit the next round of arrows and sent them flying, then the next, and next again. They storehouse was ablaze, and fire was growing in the barracks by the time all the arrows were spent and the torch in the woods extinguished. One of the mages, a large, burly man lifted the barrel of oil, still half full, and hurled it towards the entrance of the barracks where it burst into a shower of flames.

Time to fly. They would all flee separately, gathering at an agreed upon point away from here so they could not all be captured together if there was a pursuit. Olive remained a moment, retreating a little into the forest, watching the fire blaze, after the others were already gone. One mage always stayed behind just half a beat longer than the rest to verify the success of an attack. But the encampment was ablaze; she felt the soft warmth of it even in the forest. With a grim satisfaction, she turned and fled into the forest.

OOC: Warning, this post is long and rambly, but I'm working on editingit so um- I'll cross out this text once i'm done 8D
D:

ok this post is good enough ;_;
sorry kleine for it's specialness D:
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It had bee his first real taste of military life outside of the church, since the haunt of war was all around him by now as the mage camps, although most believed a good idea, were beginning to broil with unrest, and even some- had unfortunate uprisings and more unfortunately- escapes. So it was no surprise when the church was contacted, and then contacted again in hopes to find a solution to this bitter unrest in the north. A lot of the Northern territories were displeased, the armies needing to be dispatched every week in order to quell the midnight raids when they'd happen- and it seemed these mage radicals did not stop at just military posts, but had attacked lesser equipped towns as well.

No one was safe, and this was the constant reminder to the young priest Kentamin Dhelsbar as he clutched onto the silver necklace he wore and slid his fingers across it's smooth surface. Silently, he prayed as he journied North, and it was nearly a weeks travel to get to his assigned military outpost before he found himself finally there... in the Kilanthro's- And it was his first time visiting the mountains as well. Had he more time to enjoy it, he'd find the view beautiful- but there was hardly a moment's reprieve, for the moment he was taken into the post, he was brought in with the military commander's, and got a briefing on what was to be expected of himself as a new addition and also, a non military member, but a ranking fighter of the church. And it turns out, most of his day consisted of simply waiting... and training.

This was a relatively shabby outpost, with barely fifty men, one cook, maybe a dozen horses, and just a few quickly constructed cabins to house black powder, while the rest was constructed hastily out of animal hide, which housed the bunks that to Kentamin thought, were hardly comfortable. But Kentamin's refined life was already being tested during his time at the church- but it still hadn't quite prepared him for this.

THough he knew had he not joined the church so young, he would be in the military now, he still could not push past the fact that these limp cots he had to sleep on did nothing for his back and gave him a headache most of the week. He was barely settling in as he was briefed again on what was expected of him, but the first four days he was there- it seemed they were simply playing a waiting game, for news arrived that a rebel mage group was on the move, they just had no idea where.

They said they had come from further north, which, when he had a moment to contemplate it, Kentamin Dhelsbar had to wonder what sort of person would wish to even navigate through such uncomfortable mountains, for the environment here was wretched, and he found he hated the cold as he bundled up in as many furs as was offered, and as many as his parents would have sent with him. But he supposed nothing could have prepared him for the miserableness of a winter in such a steep mountain bed. The Kilanthros, he already decided, were not for him.

Part of him wondered why the church, of all places, would send someone with his 'experience' to here of all places, but he supposed it seemed as promising as any other place. Though he would have been more delighted to remain nearer to the cities, and thusly, nearer to real civilization. It seemed though, through tacticians, they deduced  that since mordecai numbers were thinning and anyone with a power to thwart mages seemed valuable, that the number ten- and twenty-forth outpost was where he was desired, due to the intel that mages were on the move, and on the move near here. Still, it seemed absurd, why fight int he cold when the cold was already fighting you? But it was reminded to him, most thoroughly through his complaining, that the key here was capturing the enemy and bringing them in for 'retribution'. They wanted to make an example out of those who were trying to make an example out of them; to show them that the people of Angsar had no tolerance for such things, and being someone that could irradicate magics, and even though his powers were hardly polished, Kentamin found himself desirable among the army when resources were quickly waning. So he as as good as the ten and twenty-forth outpost was going to get and even this, to his dismay, had made the Colonel in charge laugh, which hardly helped with Kentamin's soured mood.


Though he saw himself as one not to complain,  at least not over the logic of the use of his powers, but to say he was nervous those first few days in the wind and chill of the mountains would be an understatement. Waiting was always the hardest part, and the young man had very little patience and found himself not the most agreeable of company in the ten- and twenty forth outpost. Though it seemed the men had no trouble putting the boy in his place, and he was left many nights in misery, listening, half awake, to the howl of the winds and wolves.

These living conditions were atrocious! And he was sure to write to his parents about how bleak life was out here, and how he could not wait to return home after he served his country well. Though his mother had sobbed over his departure, Kentamin had been a ball of exictement and nerves, where as now, on his forth, or was it his sixth? night of waiting and not doing very much while he was there but train and pray and wait...
well...

It was wearing on him and kept him on edge, so while he was tossing and turning on his cot fitfully that fateful night, he finally had enough of it and threw off his fur blanket in a huff and sat up, raking his fingers through his unruly curls and sighed. This was truly not the life for him, and he now found himself wishing for the hard, itchy straw bed from the church over this shitty cot any day. Military life was taking it's toll on him, and he hadn't even truly begun it, for he was to be stationed out in this wretched place for the whole year!

Yes, he had been through drills and such, but nothing could prepare him for the bitter night air cutting through the tent flaps, or how bone chilling the wind and wild animal noises could be. It was like living near a grave, the only noises of humans were that from the drills conducted throughout the day, and when the men were more festive at meal time. And Kentamin found himself even then, miserable. Was the slime they fed them truly all they were meant to get? Even the plain wafers of the church were better than this shit!

Kentamin rubbed a hand down his face, pinching his fingers at the bridge of his nose as he worked at the crisps forming over his eyes and groaned. Though it seemed most of the other soldiers sharing his tent were fast asleep, Kentamin still looked around to see if any stirred. But nothing, just the howl of the wind was heard, which sent his teeth chattering before he got up and stoked the fires and returned to his bed post, realizing how dredfully cold it was and was thankful to return tot he meager heat his blanket had maintained in his short absence. But now that the tent was getting warmer, albeit not by much, he realized he had to piss.

Pissing in the arctic was the worst! Drop your drawers and go in the snow made him appalled the first time he heard of it, and in fact, actually made him rather constipated over the idea at first- for he was not used to releasing himself in 'public' in any such way, but it seemed this out post was anything but reforming to what the 'upper class' were used to. Not even a house or bowl to use for excrement! How uncouth! And now that he had to piss again only served to make him angry, especially when he was already frustrated over his lack of sleep- for all week it had been like this, he finding himself only able to procure but a few hours before he was awoken to start another day.... and another day if this pitiful waiting game.

Perhaps it would not be so bad had he the military training before he was brought here, but the church,(a nd his parents), had pampered him rotten; and he was not used to obliging others as much as one would assume a 'priest in training' at the church would have to endure, well... more specifically, a templar in training. But Kentamin was a different stock himself, in that he had youth to work against him. So when it was always said for them to go in pairs, Kentamin bitterly ignored this,for he hadn't resorted to any sort of friendship here, and a piss was a piss, so he saw himself out after bundling thoroughly for his brief trip outside, an action that had managed to awaken one of the elder men in his tent who only laughed at him and turned over in his bed, urging Kentamin to be quick and get back to sleep if he could.

"Your misery only affects the rest of the camp. Remember, kid, you're the new one here, and as fresh meat, you also bring fresh relief. We're all hoping to be able to use you in the battles ahead."

Kentamin snorted at that.
"Battles.." he muttered. "More like waiting for the turkey cakes on Angsar's day."

The elder man only chuckled which was erased the moment Kentamin turned away from him in a huff, throwing open the tent flap and stepping outside into the moonlight and howling wind. It was snowing as the youth stepped out behind a tree and, after the damn wind finally calmed, he found himself finally able to relieve himself. And it couldn't happen a moment sooner, for as he was readjusting his furs to return to his camp, a light pierced into the darkness forcing his attention it's way- and before he knew it, his tent was on fire.

For a long while, the young boy only gaped. It seemed like some sort of dream, and clearly he must have been imagining things, but once the smoke reached his nostrils, he found himself suddenly scrambling and groping about in order to react.

"FIRE! FIRE!" he shouted, fumbling around int he snow in a floundering attempt to put the fire out. And no sooner was he crying it out, the horns were sounded and Kentamin turned, breathing heavily in puffs of white breath away from the tent side to watch in horror as the shop nearest to him suddenly went KABOOM!



The noise was terrible, piercing his ear in an ungodly loud manner that had the boy doubling over and attempting to plug up his ears, though the fire was massive, and even from as far away as he stood, had felt the raw flames and knew, once he opened his eyes and saw the effects, that several of the tents nearby had been completely destroyed- men in cluded, as they had gone up in flames in mere seconds, and the fire, so intense and tall, it left him gaping in fear.
Reality took seconds later to bleat into his head, and soon the young templar was scrambling. Water and snow were called for to put out the flames, and the outposts walls had their four corners lit now in attempts to see how this happened, who could have done it- and as the chaos was raging on around him and he heard the answer

"The mages have attacked!"
Kentamin's eyes instantly shot to the dark, and being just at the edge of the out post, found himself catching a fleeting form disappearing into the woods. And it was here an unnatural rage over took him. All the fire and death behind him seemed to surge through him and propelled him out into the night as he took off charging, and spewing back towards whatever men might hear him (if any at all)-
"The mages! I see them! I see one! I won't let them get away!"

It was his time to shine, and he was NOT about to let this moment go. He had waited too long for this! (even if it had not eve been a week!) So like an eager young hound he tore off, boots cutting into the snow as he followed the shadowed form of Olive, one hand to his sword, with blue eyes cutting forward, cleaving through the trees and glaring at his prey.

"You will pay for what you've done, mage! I will cut you down and you will hang for treason in the name of the church!" his voice barked out, and forward he continued to dash, glaring as some trees broke and more snow would fall over him. But Olive's tracks, he could now see, fresh in the moonlight, as he continued to scramble after her, gaining grounds as white hot breath trailed behind him.
"You will not get away!"

Olive cursed as she ran. She'd heard the man's shouts and then his heavy footfalls as she ran after her in the forest. She picked up her speed, a hare flying through the forest from her pursuers, and also changed directly, veering away from her planned route. She would have to meet up with the others much later now... with any luck! But at least he was noisy, and there should be no real threat of him sneaking up on her. It wasn't the first time that Olive had been pursued after an attack and she wasn't panicking yet. She was light and swift and was armed.

But she didn't want it to come to a confrontation. With luck, she'd lose him in the chase. And after that, hopefully it'd come to a place where she could get a clear shot at him with the bow or the hand canon strapped to her side. The last time she'd been cornered... Well, it hadn't come down to a clear shot. Olive didn't want to end up in that situation again.

So she ran. At least in the cover of the forest the ground was sheltered from the light snow that had begun to fall. She wouldn't leave tracks behind... And more importantly, neither would the others, she thought, risking a quick glance over her shoulder. She was already being followed. But it seemed only by one, and he was still a ways behind her. The sound of snapping, burning wood and crackling fire was drowning out now. That was a boon: whatever happened, it would be far better if they were out of earshot where the soldier could call for help.

But now she came up to another obstacle. A swift-flowing stream intersected her course and there was no way around it without losing her lead. The water was no doubt icy and that could be a big liability if it came to spending the rest of the night out here. Hypothermia was not the way she wanted to go. She'd spent enough time trying to keep from freezing and keep others from freezing when she was in those awful camps. But then she spotted an old log, thin and weak-looking, spanning the length of the river. She wasn't certain that it would hold her, but she was willing to bet that she was at lest 50 pounds lighter than any soldier. So, crossing her fingers, she leapt awkwardly up onto the branch. It swayed and creaked beneath her weight and she nearly fell off in the middle, but with a careful balancing act, she managed to scamper to the other side.

Of course, she lost precious time in the act and the angry blond man tearing through the forest after her was within sight now and closing in quick. Pausing just a moment to consider her options, Olive kicked the log, causing it to crash into the icy water below, then took off again into the forest.

Kentmain slid to a halt, the grasses and reeds being much more slick nearer to the river as he watched, through angered puffs of white breath, the mage fiend break his only means to chase her. And he growled more hotly through his breath and drew his sword, pointing it at her as he howled beneath the moon light.
"Don't think you're so cunning, mage!" he barked. "I will have you and make an example out of you yet!" The only problem now as finding a damn way across the rivers, and as his boots tested the ice he was making a face at the uncertain probability that he could actually make his way across without the river's ice breaking on him, and he paused as he heard the ice crackling beneath his boots, and took a few sloshing steps back towards land, gritting his teeth as he realized some of the icy waters had, in fact, seeped into his boots.
This mage would pay!
He just had to figure out how!

Spotting a broad copse of broad oaks, Olive threw herself into the shelter of the closely growing trees. She'd heard the cursing of the soldier, as she assumed him to be, and was betting that if she were going to get any good shot at him, it would be now while he stood seething on the opposite bank. Saving the hand canon for a more desperate situation, she drew one of the arrows that had not been dowsed in oil and fire and set it to the bow, drawing it taut, hidden behind the trees. She glanced quickly around the tree to see where Kentamin was and saw him quickly withdraw his boot from the river. Baby. Then she appeared in a space between the trees for just long enough to fire an arrow at him. Then she quickly jumped back behind one of the trunks, fitting another arrow.

An arrow suddenly hissed by, grazing the white, embroidered hood he wore, symbolizing him as a knight templar- and with that, a shock wave snaked through him, electrifying his mind as he let out a cry.
"You could have taken off my head!" he shouted indignantly, angrily pointing his blessed sword in her direction. "Dare you try to kill a Templar, sacred knight of the church?" his voice echoed angrily across the river. "Try this and Angsar will damn your very soul!" Not that he truly believed this mage had any chance at redemption as he seethed angrily and bit his words through puffs of white breath and gritting teeth.
"Do not think yourself so clever, for not even a river of ice can save you!" and he'd prove it by crossing it! Clearly Angsar would bless his pass, and soon, his boots were storming across the very river, even as it groaned and threatened to crack beneath his path, thgugh what kept the knight going was blind stupity, and blinde rage, as he hugged onto his silver necklace and chanted a prayer to Angsar to allow him passage, despite the dangers lurking just beneath the crinkling cracks of the ice's surface, it seemed, somehow, despite all oddds, his prayers seemed to be heard, for the river remained unyielding, despite it's whines and sudden bursts of cracks. ANd barely did he lose his footing, his eyes, like a storm, raging and solely focusing on the path before him.
This mage would be his!

Something hardened inside of Olive, twisting in her stomach, when the 'soldier' revealed himself to be a Templar. A pang of anger, betrayal, and memory tightened inside of her. Templar. But she gritted her teeth, and called back to the man.

"It's not a game; I was trying to take off your head!" What an idiot. "Your Angsar has already damned me; but mine will look harder at your soul, Templar!"

Then she heard the groan of the ice as he stepped onto the thin, weak ice covering the river. He really [i[was[/i] an idiot. The ice cover of a swift river like this was never strong enough to old someone. Not to mention that it was already broken where the log had crashed into it! Well, she thought, let's see if we can speed up his plunge. Sounds like the boy could use some cold water to make him wake up to reality anyway.

So once Kentamin was a few feet onto the tenuous ice, she fired the second arrow at him. Even if it didn't hit him, she hoped if he startled or moved to avoid it, the  rapid movement would break the ice beneath him.

Hearing her words only grated on his nerves and fueled his fire, and the fact it was a girl made this chase even worse as he growled, hands clenching into fists.
"And you will pay for that very much! Don't think that being a woman will save you! I will have your head on a stick if that's what Angsar demands!" he shouted, still storming across the river in a fury, though when her second arrow came at him, it was actually a little low and jumped to a skid across the ice right before his boots, which scared the crap out of the templar, making him dance, and a heavy dance it was, for his boots were applying too much pressure too quickly, and suddenly, the ice cracked and with a yelp, the boy found himself barely 3/4 way across the river when he suddenly went under, plunging into the freezing water and a layer of crackling ice.

Olive couldn't say that she was happy to see the young man disappear under the ice, but she couldn't deny that she was at least relieved. Now, she knew, she should fly through the forest until she'd lost him completely. But something stayed her. Templar. The 'sacred' knights of the Church. Memories of Valinarus flashed through her mind. Of the hope Mercuxio had betrayed her with. She knew she should run, but instead she found herself looking downstream for the next break in the ice.

Olive hesitated a moment, uncertain of her decision. But her bitter memories won out, and she found herself running down to the break in the ice a little down river, fitting another arrow as she ran. He'd have to surface there, and when he did, she'd be ready for him.

The river was fast and felt like a zillion knives stabbing into his body the moment he plunged beneath the surface. And he hadn't the time to properly get a breath, so while he was floundering int he water, splashing against the icy turrent, his hands would smack desperately into the ice above him, which stung his hands painfully, making him choke ont he very waters that threatened to drown him. And before he knew it, the ice above him split open and he was suddenly gasping for air. But the river was strong, and Kentamin, half blinded when he surfaced in that moment, now had Olive as the poor unfortunate target of his groping hands.

Latching onto her, he had no idea it was even a human he held onto when the river pulled him back in, taking both boy and girl with it into it's icy clutches.

Olive didn't have time to do anything but gasp when the Templar grabbed her, the arrow from her taut bow shooting wildly into the forest. Then her world turned into a muffled torrent of white and blue as she was swept below the icy waters of the river. At first shock took over and Olive didn't know anything except the all-encompassing cold. It was like she was just an observer of the situation, not actually in it, running out of air and running out of time. This thought made her wits snap back to her and she remembered the wretched thing clutching to her leg, and kicked hard at him. But it was more important first to find a way out, back into the air...

But no openings or cracks in the ice were forthcoming, though Olive's eyes searched desperately for them. Finally, she saw a tree root that had looped under the ice and caught onto it. Difficultly, she pulled herself up to the root, holding tightly onto it, and she lashed out with as much strength as she could, kicking hard at the head of the boy latched onto her. His added weight was not helping. But desperately, she began banging on the ice above them with her free hand. It was useless. She was going to drown under the ice of the river with this pathetic excuse for a knight.

Olive wasn't even entirely aware of what was happening as she pounded on the ice. Her hands started to glow with a warm orange light and the ice was becoming slick under her palms. Her heart leapt into her throat when she realized. She hadn't even...! She felt some fear of the power pang through her, but now was not the time. Crooking her arm around the root, she pressed both hands, glowing hot, against the ceiling of ice above, melting it, weakening it. In seconds, Olive should be able to break through it and escape back into the air above...

The first attempt to rid herself of Kentamin proved fruitless, but the second one managed to wrangle herself free of him, and the templar found himself rushing away the moment her powers came to fruition. And seconds later, as he was floundering and gulping river water, the ice above him cracked and he was rewarded with air. Though his salvation proved difficult, for his hands slipped and slid all over the ice that surrounded him, and he was coughing out water and gasping for air, allt he while taking more in as he splashed around frantically, the arctic chill kicking his survival instincts into over drive.

He didn't want to die- and surely not here, and all he could think of was hoping to grab onto somethign to pull himself out, but all that was afforded to him was ice and more ice, some of which broke away as he would grip onto it, sending him back into the freezing cold water in a yelp of pain.

Olive felt the release of the knight dragger her down and weighing against her. She didn't have the time to thank Angsar for the release; instead she used her now free legs to twist around and kick at the ice melted thin from the power of her own hands. Clutching onto the root with her arms, she kicked with all her strength until she felt her leg break through the ice and into the air above. She clutched at the root, pulling herself desperately up and gasping in the freezing cold air. Once she'd filled her lungs, she used the root to pull herself the rest of the way out of the clutches of the river. For the moment, she was still in too severe of shock from the ordeal to feel it, but she knew the cold would set in soon.

Now, she realized, the cold was her more dangerous enemy. Not the Templar. Already her slight body was shaking like a leaf. She stayed there, hunched on the river bank, for several moments while trying to regain her composure. In the bleary distance, she saw Kentamin surface only to be dragged back into the river. A cold anger clenched in her stomach. She wanted to kill him; but not now. The river would do that. And if not the river, than the night, the winter.

The same things that may very well kill her tonight. She needed to move, but she couldn't quite make herself.

But the two young people weren't the only eyes in the forest that night. A fox had been drawn from its winter den by the din of the mage and knight in the river. It had no love of the soldiers, who came into the forest and cleared away trees and hunted the birds and beasts. And this mageling, he'd seen with another. One that he knew. One that could speak with beasts. The creature watched impassively for a moment, unmoved by the plight of humans, before finally deciding against the soldier and for the mage, scampered off into the forest.

Further down stream, Kentamin finally dragged his sorry, freezing, cold and soggy ass from the river. Trembling, his lips were already beginning to pale and icicles forming on the fringes of his clothes and hair. And as he knelt within the snow, he trembled. Though he was not slight like his enemy, he was soaked to the bone and had no idea how to deal with this sort of shock, and remained trembling and just trying to figure out just what happened, while inwardly thankful he was alive. Though when he caught sight of the mage, his voice got caught in his throat, as he tried to bark out a threat towards her, but nothing came out but a sobbing sort of breath as he peered around sheepishly through frantic blue eyes. Blazes, was he ever cold!

Olive's attention slowly focused on Kentamin as he stumbled out of the river and a snarl formed on her features as he choked on his threats. Dead. She wanted the templar dead. She couldn't keep the thought from her sluggish mind. Numbly, she felt in her quiver for an arrow, but she couldn't feel and it took several long moments to finally pull an arrow from the quiver. Still hunched on the bank of the river, it wasn't until she pulled the arrow around to her front that she realized she'd lost her bow in the initial plunge. How had she missed that? Now Olive wasn't sure what to do. Flight or flee. And, with her body now shaking violently, she wasn't sure she could do either. Suddenly she found herself feeling the ground of the bank, still moving sluggishly, until her hand clasped a sharp, heavy stone. If she were thinking more clearly, she would run now, she wouldn't even be thinking of the stone. But anger at the templar, at their whole order, at Mercuxio and the camps, was burning in her stomach.The ice by her was broken. She only had to wait for him to come to her... she was sure she could knock him off his balance and back into the water.

He wouldn't get out again.

Like Olive, his instincts were to go for his weapon, and inwardly he was cursing himself to find- SHIT. His sword had been swallowed in the river. Glaring over in her direction, and shaking- though it would hve been just from rage had he not been soaked to the bone with icy cold waters, Kentamin began to take a few heavy and uncertain steps her way. Though now he was being smarter and stayed clear of the river bank, he clutched an arm around himself in a feeble way to keep himself warm and finally managed to bark out a command as he crested a hill and advanced on her.
"M-m-m-m-m-m-mage girl! STOP!" and his voice echoed through the snow dusted trees. "By Aa-a-a-a-Angsar's command! You..you.. you... You will be taken in, for for for... for for for.. for... FOR TREASON!"

The stupid git was smarter than she'd hoped, and Olive swore to herself when Kentamin had the sense to come around the crest rather than along the river bank. She, meanwhile, had yet to move and now had her back against the frozen, icy waters. And that was not where she wanted to be. Still gripping the rock, and still shaking involuntarily from the cold, Olive stood up to defiantly face Kentamin. She clutched the rock hard, until the sharp end of it punctured her skin. She glanced behind her, wondering if the ice of the river would hold her weight - and whether or not she wanted to risk it.

Setting her jaw, she called up at Kentamin, "What? Are you just going to yell threats at me from up there? Are you sure you're a knight? So far you've seemed more like the damsel in distress!"

Kentamin stopped dead in his tracks at her words and was taken back.
"What!?" his voice squeaked, then his teeth returned to chattering. "Your ff-f-f-foul words harm m-m-me not!" He told her, baring his chattering teeth as he set his brow and took an angered step nearer to her and noticed she clutched something in her hand an instinctively, his hands hoovered over where his ax was tied to his side as he growled.
"What.. what... whatever weapon you have g-g-girl, drop it!" he commanded, frosty words spitting from his mouth.

Olive's heart sank; her eyes followed his hand to the axe and she knew she was in trouble. The hand cannon was still strapped to her hip, but it would be useless now that it was soaking wet. Not that it would do her much good if he charged her with an axe, anyway... About as much good as the rock. No, she would have to be faster than him now. Silently, she cursed herself for not taking off the moment he fell through the ice.

At least, she thought, she could take some solace from the knowledge that he was just as likely to die tonight (from exposure, if nothing else) as she was.

She only allowed herself once, quick and furtive glance upstream. She'd have to risk it. So she called back up at Kentamin, her voice loud and defiant despite the violent chattering of her teeth. "I'm afraid you'll have to come get it from me if you want it!"

Then she took off, fast as her frozen body, weighed down by her drenched clothing, would carry her. She sprinted upstream, behind a screen of pine trees until she found somewhere where the ice was unbroken. Kentamin had nearly made it across earlier... so surely she could now? Glancing once back to see if Kentamin followed, Olive fled lightly, quickly, but clumsily over the river. She was successful in crossing, but a slip at the end sent her skidding into the opposite bank, momentarily exposed as she struggled to pick herself up from the fall.

Kentamin skidded to a halt at the bank of the river, staring at the girl and unbelieving she just raced across the river again.
"Are you mad, girl!? Do you have a death wish!?" his voice came out, barking (or more like yelping, fo rhe was so frustrated and cold). "Get back over her or I'll make you regret it!!" And he took one hesitating step onto the ice, before growling and scooping up a broken chunk of the river and throwing it towards her.
"If I have to come over there after you girl, you will regret it!"

The chunk of ice caught Olive on the back of the shoulder, knocking her as she was picking herself back up face-first into the frozen mud of the river bank. Oh, she was going to disembowel this stupid templar. With what, of course, was a different matter. Olive picked herself up all the way, turning to face Kentamin with a sense of security in that the templar wouldn't risk crossing the river again.

"Not as much as you will after your bulk pulls you clumsily back into the water, my dear damsel!" she threw back at him. Then, as if in some childish retaliation, she threw the stone still in her hand back at him with all her strength (which admittedly wasn't much at the moment), aiming the rock at his face.

The rock smashed a few feet before him and SMASHED the river open. With a gurgle, the rock was taken under and the river, coming to life in a fast moving pull. Luckily Kentamin was wise enough to tak ea few steps back before angrily shouting at the girl.

"YOU WILL NOT GET AWAY WITH THAT!" and he hefted up another chunk of ice and threw it at her. SHe wasn't lucky enough to get snow balls. He'd ice this girl,.. if he could.

OOC: loool
I probably used the ice joke before but oh well :T
Sleepy posts are special posts

Oh, this is how he was going to play it, was it? Olive ducked the shard of ice Kentamin threw and, grabbing it, hurled it hard back at him. She needed to run, she needed to get dry and warm some how. That was going to mean having to set a fire, and the more distance she could put between herself and this knight the better. The cold, she was dully aware, could still kill them both. But Olive couldn't tell which way was which anymore. The cold had gotten the better of her. Her soaking wet clothing was starting to freeze.

But while Olive had descended into an unwise and perhaps childish game of one-ups-manship with the templar, word of her predicament had been carried back to her allies. Emerging large and stately from the forest, came a great red stag. The beast pranced elegantly up to Olive and, to her amazement in that moment, lowered itself. Oh, Silas. She would kiss him once she got back. Still shaking violently, Olive called over the stag to Kentamin.

"Looks like I will, my pretty damsel!"

Then she climbed onto the stag, clumsy in her near hypothermic state, and the great beast raised itself up, and the stag and the mage disappeared into the forest.

Watching as the girl was rushed off into the forest, he let out a cry of frustration, boots kicking to the snow,but of course, came in contact with some ice as he bounced around annoyedly and nursed his foot. Cursing up and down the river about mages, he figured it was time to head back to the out post and check out the damage and report this to his commander.
But by Ansgar's name, was he ever mad!

Constance Carwick crouched on a wet rock, perched just feet above the roaring waters of one of the largest rivers flowing into Connlaoth from the Kilanthro Mountains. Dusk was falling and, in the fading light, Olive's eyes were fixed on something high above: a great stone bridge and one of the only crossings over the violent river below. For generations this bridge had connected Connlaoth to the mountain reaches to the north. It had long been used as a trading route and now it was being used to move other 'goods': military supplies, soldiers, and - Olive's stomach clenched at the thought - mages destined for the increasingly violent and grim camps.

Such a caravan was headed for the bridge now. Laden with weapons, gunpowder, soldiers, and Mordecai. It was followed half a day behind by a cruel march of imprisoned mages. There was no way that the rebels here could attack the military head-on without being slaughtered. But then, they never did. Instead, they had acquired some gun powder of their own. And now it was bound strategically onto the underside of the bridge, targeting the bridge's structural integrity. A few shots from a hand cannon would set off the explosion. The gunpowder carried by the soldiers would only make for a bigger bang. Another group of rebels were shadowing the march of mages, prepared to carry out a lightening guerilla attack to create enough chaos for the mages to escape.

But for now, Olive would wait. They couldn't set off the bridge until the bulk of the military caravan was on it. They should be here soon now. She glanced to the other rebel stationed with her. Both had their guns ready. Any moment now, and an important military link would be cut off. And hopefully quite a few soldiers with it.

((OOC: Hope you don't mind doing a few more rounds!))

Kentamin angrily counted the days since his last rendez-vous with that mage girl in the river. He had been sick for weeks after that, and had gained more ridicule among the men he was ordered to serve. Thank Ansgar he had grown better as the days rolled on- and was well enough to take the orders to help a caravan with soldiers and supplies heading towards his out post.  He could only help this could go without incident, and perhaps gain him favor to be returned back to the cities. He found himself really disliking his current station. HE was a priest, not some warrior- though then again, he had signed up to be a templar. What had he expected?

Too eager. Too stupid- but he was moving forward, along wtih a scout, and had just briskly crossed the bridge ahead of the caravan. So far, so signs of mages, even as his blue eyes cleaved through the trees. But things seemed... oddly quiet- and being so inexperienced, he noticed no clues as to the fact there were several eyes watching the supplies lurch forward on the trail. The wagon were now moving onto the bridge, and still, Kentamin's eyes only looked out for the obvious-

Not thinking to look underneath a bridge, or in the places where shadows made it difficult to see....

A quiet, wordless noise of recognition passed between the two mages. It was time. They waited, hearts pounding in anticipation, as the military caravan inched onto the bridge. Then, when the caravan was three-quarters of the way across the bridge, Olive and her companion leaned out around the rock and took aim at the barrels of gunpowder beneath the bridge. Olive missed; the other mage hit the mark, but it hadn't provided enough spark to set off the explosives. It gave the caravan just enough time to raise the alarm at the sound of gunshots before both mages had reloaded.

This time they both hit their marks.

And the bridge groaned and then began collapsing into the roaring, violent mountain river below.

The first gun shot made him jump. The second made him gape, as he watched the horror unfold before him as the explosion shook the ground, crumbled the bridge and sent horse and man alike tumbling into the deep crevice below- where a painful death of being crushed on impact awaited them as only part of the caravan was able t break through the ice- while the rest cracked and splintered to a halt over top of it.

And all Kentamin could do was gape before the travesty caught up to his brain as a blood curdling scream erupted from his throat.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"

And that's all it took to alert the man nearest Olive, who had quickly cleaned and packed his gun for a second shot and took aim. He wasted no time firing- and before Kentamin knew what was going on, his horse had been struck and in a panic, he was tossed from his steed and landed in a painful heap upon the ground.

"The rebel mages! Fall back! Back to the look out!" the other man that was left shouted- for the mages attack had been a clean one- and only two of the caravan's occupants had remained off the bridge on impact- but as the other man was attempting to make a swift get away- a man nearby with an arrow silenced him, and Kentamin watched his death in horror.

[Time warp! This takes place a year-or-so later, after many run-ins and head-butts between Olive and Kentamin.]

The snow would cover their work. Cover their tracks. Cover their escape. The mages had studied the lay of the land, practiced the routes to safety so they were ingrained in their memories; then they waited. Waited for the targets to arrive. Waited for the weather, for the heavy, blinding snow that would disguise their attack and their flight from the scene.

The target was a meeting of three generals - generals! - come to discuss troop movements, how to secure the increasing uprisings in the mage camps, and other such matters. They were meeting here, at the foot of the mountains that led to the crueler camps in one direction, and the mines, and to the rest of Connloath in the other. It was to be a three day meeting and the Alliance was getting anxious that the weather wouldn't come to cover them and they would have to risk a more dangerous, outright attack. But this morning the snow had started and had not let up. It was the perfect conditions for the rebel mages.

They waited until the troops had retired to their barracks, but struck before the generals had retired. Now, all three of them were still cooped up together in one cabin. Sitting ducks. They were few enough and stealthy enough and the snow was thick enough that they could move without being detected. But they didn't only rely on the snow. Earlier that day, three of their members - posing as local peasants - had delivered firewood and foodstuffs to the armies. After all, why should the army use their own stores when they could impose on the locals. But the soldiers taking the goods weren't locals and did not recognize the wood, or the 'edible' roots for what they were:

The firewood was the thick woody vine that, when burned, created a smoke that inflamed the respiratory system and burned the eyes. It wasn't deadly, but it sent its victims into a state of uncontrolled coughing and partial, temporary blindness. The root, however, was Aconite, or wolfsbane, and it certainly was deadly. Easily mistaken for wild carrot or parsnip, the roots had been taken greedily by the army cooks to use in the soldiers' dinner that night. They would not, they knew, be lucky enough to poison the generals; officers of that rank would only eat the fine food they had carried with their train. Inside the barracks, though, now that dinner was eaten and night had fallen, the soldiers would start feeling the effects of the Aconite. For those who had eaten a higher dose, the root's poison worked to paralyze the nerves, lower blood pressure, and stop the heart. Any soldier who had not received a large enough bowl of the deadly stew would instead be treated to violent vomiting and sickness.

That should start any time now, Constance Carwick thought, gazing through the snow at the dim light of the barracks. But they wouldn't let them suffer for long. A scarf pulled tight around her face to protect herself, Olive dropped her torch into the stacked firewood. She had already doused the pile with oil and when the torch hit it, it set to light. But rather than burning bright, the thick, oily vines began to let out copious amounts of their burning, choking smoke. Simultaneously, other members of the Alliance set alight fires at critical points around the barracks and the generals' cabin. The wooden, makeshift buildings quickly caught fire themselves. And throughout the camp, several piles of firewood were now filling the air with noxious smoke. Coughing, despite the protection of the scarf, Olive quickly retreated through the snow away from the fire and smoke, but she didn't fully retreat yet. She was listening for...

...BOOOM!!!...

Olive was knocked over by the force of the explosion that had just been set off. Pieces of the generals' cabin flew flaming through the air. Once a fire had been set by the cabin, all they'd had to do was roll the explosive in the right direction and - kaboom - the generals were no more. Olive picked herself up, her eyes burning, choking. The snow was falling even faster now and her visibility was starting to fade; was it the snow, or the smoke? she wondered. Either way, she needed to get out. The whole attack had only taken a few minutes and the reaction from the barracks was, predictably, non-existent. Those soldiers were in no condition to respond to a guerrilla attack. But that didn't mean that retreat wasn't still paramount. But another explosion rocked the camps, sending Olive staggering and, combined with the noxious smoke, left her disoriented. Unsure what her route was now, Olive decided it didn't matter; picking a direction away from the smoke and fire, Olive ran through the blinding snow.

The damn snow- it was ALWAYS snowing when he had to travel north. North... DAMN THE NORTH, so much chaos took place there, it was incredible any of the duchies were still in one piece! Though he'd seen his fair share of rebel activity, he was out there again,t his time with some more practice beneath his belt. Though he was far from becoming an actual priest (which served to piss him off they felt he was not quite ready for it...) He took his next duty with much less grumblings than before. It seemed he, at least a little bit..., had matured a bit since the last year he had been stationed out in this area.

It felt like eons ago, but now he traveled alone, and he knew that was dangerous. But he had little choice, as he realized...
a lot of the other confessors did the same. So with he and his horse collecting snow from the sky, he pressed onward...
until a line of smoke int he sky caught his attention. Realizing it was in the direction of exactly where he was headed, he gave a kick to his horse's side and pushed it onward- and nearly ran over a woman who came rushing his way.

Jerking back on the reigns, he let out a cry as his horse reared up and he nearly lost control of the beast, but the moment the heavy hooves slammed down into the ground, just inches from Olive's body, he blinked down at the girl, not recognizing her at first as he called down to her, "Are you alright?!"

Maybe the fire was in a nearby village.. maybe his presumptions his destination was under attack were wrong...

Olive hadn't heard the horse coming to the last minute. She'd stayed in the smoke for too long and her eyes were stinging painfully, her vision blurred. She stumbled straight into the horse and its rider, falling into the snow before the horse. The hooves thudded heavily down beside her, and Olive jumped backward unwittingly. She sat there, crumpled in the snow, unable to make out the rider clearly. But even if her senses weren't fully functional, her mind was still working overtime.

"Mages!" she answered, sounding as terrified and distressed as she could. Olive pulled the scarf away from her face to make herself look slightly less like a bandit... or a rebel... than she might otherwise. At least with the blizzard it wasn't as conspicuous. "They attacked the army camp! I... I was working in the kitchens and... They set the whole place on fire!"

Olive's heart was pounding. Mentally, she was thinking about where her hand cannon was and how quickly she could get it out and shoot if her rouse didn't work.

Kentamin's eyes went large at the news.
"Truly?" ANd he turned his head towards the thick line of smoke in the sky. "Did you see which way the rebels had gone?"

Olive opened her mouth and almost told the stranger that the mages had gone in a false direction. But then she remembered that she didn't know what was the false direction. She ended up completely disoriented between the snow and the smoke and the explosions.

"N-no," she answered instead, teeth chattering now that she wasn't running. "I just ran. I was so scared, I..."

Olive paused. She didn't want to send a stranger into harm's way. And this rider certainly didn't sound like he was in the army! She had to make a quick decision. Wondering if she'd regret it, she decided to warn the stranger, "The smoke... it's poisonous! I had to flee. I- I think I'm blinded. I don't know what they used. It must have been magic!"

Kentamin's heart was drumming wildly in his chest. Poison smoke!? Then it would do no good for him to charge in there, head first, lest he fall prey to what this poor cooking girl had fallen ill to. Damn mages! Damn them all to hell!

Setting his jaw, he turned down to the girl.
"Come, we must warn the nearby military station of the danger so they can send aid to the wounded." ANd pausing to observe her, still kneeling in the snow.
"Can you stand girl?" And his horse moved about uneasily before her, it seeming to finally smell the smoke and it's ears pinned back unpleasantly by it. "We can ride together."

Now what should she say? Olive certainly was not going to go to an army outpost with anyone. And the Alliance members wouldn't be that far away yet. If more army units showed up, they might start combing the area... She shouldn't have said anything and just let the stranger go to the camp. The smoke wouldn't have killed him, after all. But it was too late for that. Now she had to figure out how to keep her story unsuspicious so she could escape back to the others. And, if possible, keep him from alerting the army.

"I- I don't know if I can stand," she lied, pawing at the ground, panic rising in her voice. "I can't see, I think they blinded me! If you send anyone else there... they'll all go blind! They, they..."

Then Olive did something she almost never did. She forced herself to cry. Or at least look like she was crying. That was what she imagined a kitchen maid would do in this situation, anyway. Maybe she could play on the rider's sense of chivalry; saving the maiden instead of saving the army.

His horse still moving uneasily, Kentamin gave a jerk on the reigns to steady her. Then down to the young woman he said, "Then I can not leave you here all alone. With those ruffians in the woods... no doubt you'll be in danger. Come," he said, dismounting and taking a step towards her. "Allow me to escort you away."

"Th-thank you," she stammered, teeth chattering loudly. She was relieved that he was no longer heading for the army outpost, but she wasn't sure what she would do with him now. Once her vision returned properly, maybe she could just make a run for it... But what to do until then?

When he dismounted, landing in the snow, she turned her body towards him, reaching her hand up to let him help her to her feet. "Thank you so much," she said again through manufactured tears. "I don't know wh-what I'd do if you hadn't f-found me. It's so terrible!"

Kentamin pulled her to her feet with a frown.
"Don't worry about it now. The important thing is to get you to safety." She was an innocent in Angsar's eyes anyway, though as he pulled her along and began to question her- he had to do a double take and stopped in mid sentence as he held her hand beside the horse.

"So how long had you-"

He blinked and took a step back, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest. Through the tears and falseness of her expression, that face! THAT FACE!!!  There was NO WAY he could forget that damned female mage that had nearly made a mockery of him!

"YOU!" And suddenly his grip tightened.

Constance couldn't believe it.

It couldn't be.

But as soon as the voice changed into the angry shriek, she recognized it immediately.

Him.

"Fuck."

Twisting her arm hard to try to get away from him, Olive pulled back her other hand into a fist, and swung the hardest punch she could muster right at Kentamin's face.

The fist connected, and Kentamin went down. It was wholly unexpected, but then again seeing her again, was unexpected as he fell down onto his ass- but his grip was unforgiving, and when he went down, he dragged her clean ontop of him.

Olive growled as she realized Kentamin was pulling her down with him and she landed, hard, on top of him, her face smacking against his. But she was quick, fury at seeing this cursed "knight" again searing through her. Even though it hurt with her right arm still cutched tightly by Kentamin, she twisted her body and pulled herself up so she was straddling him. With her still-free left arm, she grabbed his throat, trying her best to strangle him while squeezing with her legs to try to keep him pinned.

She leaned all her weight into her grip on his throat, so that her face was mere inches away from his, their noses almost touching. "Fuck... you...," she said through gritted teeth, strained by the effort she was putting into her clutch on his throat, "you... fucking...worm."

The awkwardness of having a woman straddling over top of him and pinning him to the ground was all lost as him as she was quite literally trying to strange the breath out of him. Gasping and gurgling, he shook his head violently in hopes to thwart her attempts.

"Get... GET OFFA ME, YOU CRAZY MAGE!" he barked, and used his other hand to snatch onto her wrist and attempted to yank it away.

Olive had to release her grip on his throat to keep him from grabbing that arm, as well. She yanked it away to avoid Kentamin's grasp, then pulled it back - an act that was painful for her other, pinned arm - and hit Kentamin as hard as she could across the face. Holding on as tightly as she could with her thighs to try to keep Kentamin in place, Olive tried to get another hold on the templar's throat.

The second hit had a lot less force than the first,a nd came out more like a stinging slap than anything, and made the priest in training growl out puffs of white breath.

"DESIST YOUR ATTACKS NOW, MAGE!" he roared, trying to wrestling himself out from underneath her, while also grabbing at her hand again, but this time, instead of grabbing at her hand, he twisted the other one at a painful angle- and the second he saw her react, he acted upon that and tackled her up from underneath him and suddenly, she was on the ground in the snow with he over top of her, growling in her face and pinning her down, one of her arms across and pinned against her chest.

Olive yelped in pain as he twisted her around, pulling roughly on her shoulder as she was contorted beneath him. She struggled, painfully trying to escape, but he had her properly pinned. Olive stopped struggling, but she was still tense, and she sneered. The urge to use magic to attack him was huge, but she'd promised herself she would never use her magic to attack. And even now, she was going to hold herself to that. With nothing else to do, she spit in his face.

"What," she growled scornfully, "can't handle a woman on top? Not that you'd know anything about that, O Virgin Priest."

Kentamin flinched at the spit, before growling and rubbing it away off on his shoulder. But then at her words, he couldn't believe she'd accuse him of that here, or anywhere for that matter! His chastity was in honor of Angsar! HOW DARE SHE MOCK HIM! But that didn't stop him from his natural blush.

"STILL YOUR TONGUE, SINNER," he hissed. "And maybe if you repent before you die, Angsar will forgive you."

Sensing that she'd hit a nerve, Olive decided to keep down this track. Maybe if she flustered him, she'd force a window where he was distracted enough and she could escape from underneath him.

"You're sure you wouldn't like me to do something else with my tongue?" she retorted smugly, taking the upper hand in their verbal exchange, even if she had the decidedly lower hand in the physical exchange. "A proper man might take advantage of a situation like this. I bet you only do that with other priests though, right? Isn't that why you all join the 'brotherhood?' So you can all give each other a 'helping hand?"'

Kentamin knew these mages were awful, but he hadn't realized just how awful until he heard this woman speak! Flustered was an understatement, he was pissed and his one hand moved swiftly as he struck her across the face.

"SILENCE! How dare you mock the holy men of God!"

The full force of Kentamin's blow landed across Olive's face. But the movement gave Olive the opening she was hoping for and, before Kentamin could pin her again, she twisted away, managing to roll out from below Kentamin. But he still had her other arm in her grasp. In hopes of freeing it, she lashed out violently, kicking hard at Kentamin to try to gain her total freedom.

Olive may have gotten out from under him, but despite the kick, his grip held firm as he growled and tried to reach for her other wrist again.

Olive gritted her teeth, pain shooting through her arm and shoulder as Kentamin kept his grip on her. But now she twisted her body around and stamped her foot down, hard, into Kentamin's stomach. Jerking her arm away as soon as she made contact, she finally freed herself from the Templar.

Her vision wasn't fully restored yet, but it was good enough and, wasting no time, Olive leapt to her feet and threw herself onto Kentamin's horse. Hoping to get away before the sniveling man could grab ahold of her again - or of the horse - Olive dug her heels sharply into the horses side, urging it towards the mountains, invisible in the ever-thickening snow.

The hard kick stunned and winded Kentamin, but only giving Olive enough time to loosen his grip and get away, but the second he saw what she was headed towards, he let out a sharp cry and thew himself at the horse, one hand clutching the saddle horn, the other one grabbing her limb as the horse let out a cry and began to run around confusedly in a circle.

Olive cursed when Kentamin grabbed ahold of the horse saddle and the beast became momentarily wild. But Olive, Constance Carwick, was the daughter of a duke from a duchy famous for their horses and their horsemanship. Gripping onto the horse with her legs - ignoring Kentamin for the moment, a dangerous necessity - Olive pulled the reins to bring the horse under control and end its frantic circles. Once she had the beast calmed, or at least as calm as it was going to be, she directed it in... well, a random direction, if Olive were honest: she didn't know where she was and even with her vision returning, the snow was so thick now she couldn't see farther than a few meters ahead of them... and urged the horse into a gallop.

Once the horse was off, Olive turned back to Kentamin, who was still gripping desperately onto the horse and was being pulled roughly along. Holding onto the reins with one hand, she used the other to wind another punch at his face.

Kentamin winced and growled at the woman, his body being jostled by the galloping horse, though he tried to smash his shoulder into her to deter her from striking him, but his main objective was NOT to fall off.
Oh.. and to NOT let this mage get away with his horse!

Olive drove the horse on full speed. The faster she went, the more likely they would lose the leech stuck onto its side. In attempt to shake Kentamin, Olive drove the horse off the road and into the forest. It was enough work for her to guide the horse through the snow-laden pine trees; her hope was that it would be too much for the Templar. Or maybe that he'd be skewered on one of the trees. But as she drove them farther from the road, the ground started to slope gradually uphill and the horse splashed through small, shallow, half frozen and fast-flowing mountain streams.

Though they wouldn't be able to see through the thick snow, they were headed up a narrow mountain valley. Steep, black rock slopes - hidden by the thick falling snow - rose up on either side of them, wild and untamed, mantled by thick banks of snow and ice.

Snow and ice was also stinging Olive's face as she drove the horse relentlessly on, crystallizing on her eyelashes. She could just hope that Kentamin was having a worse time of it than she was!

When Olive stopped trying to personally smack him off the side of the horse, the templar in training was filled with relief, but it was a brief feeling riding on the back of the tingling sensation of fear of being jostled around and smacked hard by the on coming pine trees and other things that the horse raced across. But he somehow managed to bear it all, clinging tightly to the horse before he felt the confidence to risk it all- when his hand suddenly shot out and grabbed onto Olive's wrist.

"DESIST AT ONCE!"

Kentamin grabbed onto Olive exactly as the horse leapt to cross a small, swift mountain stream channel: exactly the wrong moment. She was off the saddle when the horse jumped and, when Kentamin grabbed her, he succeeded in completely dehorsing her! The result was that the two, half-frozen combatants tumbled backwards over top of each other in the deep, fresh snow while the horse thundered away into the valley.... and disappeared.

Olive scurried to pick herself up from the fall. Her vision was almost entirely returned now - or at least, she thought it was - but it didn't make much of a difference. All she could see in every direction was white. Snow, snow, snow. If anything, it was only falling faster now. And now that they were up in the mountains, the wind was fierce and the temperature considerably colder.

Staggering on her feet, Olive was trying difficultly to pull out her hand cannon to finish this wretched Templar Trainee once and for all when she heard it. Olive froze. It wasn't a sound she knew well. But she'd heard it before, once, when they had transported her from Valinarus to the camp beyond the mountains. At first it sounded very far away, a distant roaring. But it was quickly getting louder... and nearer.

"Fuck," Olive swore. Then, without further explanation, she turned on her heel and ran, but the snow was deeper than her knees and she didn't get far. Racing down the mountain towards them was an inescapable, roaring wall of white.

Avalanche.

It was chaotic and madness, and he was NOT about to let her get the upper hand.
But perhaps that was the down fall to them both, for as they rounded a sharp bend and the horse took to the air, the grip he had on Olive did not help to cement him to her, but rather, pulled both of them clean off the horse.

And down they went, into the cold snow-
and Kentamin fell hard, catching his head off of something hard as he lay there, still as death, except fr the faint puffs of white breath escaping his lips and the seeping of red blood onto the white snow beneath him.

The avalanche thundered down the mountainside and Olive had no chance to outrun it. She didn't stand a chance and she knew it, but that didn't prepare her for when the force of the avalanche hit her. Before she could think "oh fuck," her world was transformed into the crushing rush of snow. She could hardly breathe, fear and adrenaline coursing through her, and Olive was almost certain she was dead when... it stopped. Or at least slowed. It took Olive a moment to realize she was no longer moving, then once the reality snapped in - that she was still alive! - she scrambled to dig herself out of the snow.

Olive gasped for air when she finally surfaced. The avalanche was over, but the blizzard was only worsening. As much as she didn't like to use magic, Olive knew that now was a matter of life and death. She didn't have the same level of control or range of power that a trained mage would have, but Olive was slowly learning to control things, if she focused. Trying to block out the cold and fear and anger, the winds and snow around Olive began to calm while the storm raged on outside of her sphere of influence. That's when she saw him. Unconscious and half-exposed amongst the snow and debris of the avalanche.

Olive wasn't going to miss her chance.

Numbly grabbing for the hand cannon, Olive stood... then immediately fell. Trying again, Olive again immediately fell over when she put weight on her right ankle. Fuck. She tried again, staggered a step, and collapsed. She looked down at it. For now shock was blocking the pain, but Olive was sure: it must be broken. Olive's heart raced. She didn't even know where she was... Somewhere in the mountains, away from a road or a settlement or anyone else... She'd never be able to get out of here with a broken ankle. She'd die.

Unless.

Olive looked around. Maybe a hundred meters away she spotted a rock overhang that still was providing some shelter; the avalanche had blown over it. But she still would never make it out alone. But she couldn't, she... Olive looked back at the still form of Kentamin. His chest was rising and falling. She couldn't. She'd have to.

Gritting her teeth, Olive dragged herself to the fallen form of the Templar. That was already hard work and when she reached Kentamin and hooked her arm under his to drag him with her towards the shelter, it took nearly all of Olive's strength and energy. Once she reached the sheltered space beneath the overhang, Olive collapsed. But she couldn't take any chances. She pulled Kentamin the rest of the way in then untied the scarf from around his neck. And retied it around his hands after pulling his arms behind his back.

She was guessing she'd want him immobilized when he came to....

Olive then leaned against the back of the rock, using the remainder of her energy to keep the blizzard outside, and to raise the temperature inside.

How he had survived he couldn't know. At least in that moment he could not be told. He was still unconscious, even as the poor young woman lugged his sorry form around. He was dragged about, limp as a doll, and made no protests when his hands were bound behind him. Though as he sat there, half wilted, hair stucka nd matted against his face, lips turning pale and his body, involuntarily shivering; things looked very bleak for the pair of them.

The temperature inside the shelter, thanks to Olive's influence, was steadily warming, but Olive was still shivering. She glanced over at Kentamin. He didn't look much better. A surge of hate coursed through her and she thought for a second about just shoving him outside and letting him freeze to death.

But, no. She had to remind herself: she wasn't saving him, she was saving herself. And, as things stood now, she needed him.

Olive heaved a frustrated sigh. Well, if she wasn't going to kill him, she might as well clean him up. So, using a handful of snow, she cleaned off the blood that was covering his face and head, then pulled the collar of his coat more tightly up around him. Then Olive turned to her own problems. Setting her jaw, she went about carefully removing the boot from her injured leg. She winced once it was off and she saw what was underneath; her ankle was swollen to twice its size and ranged in shades from nearly black to blue to purple. That was no good. She touched it once and winced again, then carefully set about packing snow around the broken ankle.

Once that was done, Olive leaned back against the stone of the shelter, pulling her coat tight around her and pulling her scarf over her face. Nothing to do now but wait for Kentamin to regain consciousness... and to make sure he didn't kill her once he did!

It was about this time the templar began to awaken, groaning as he did so. There was a heavy, painful pounding inside his head and when he went to move his arms to swipe some hair from his face, his shoulder jerk as he grunted. Then his eyes opened wide as he realized he was bound. He began to struggle some  more before something caught his attention as he turned to regard..

"You!" he continued to struggle, the scarf seeming only to tighten. "What is this meaning of this!?"

Olive tensed when Kentamin came around, but it quickly turned into a sneer at his outburst.

"Oh that's real nice," she shot back at him. "How about, 'Thanks, Constance, for saving my life. I'd be a frozen piss dead out in the snow without you.'"

She scoffed, her eyes flashing at him, then looked away, cursing to herself under her breath. The idea of just pushing him back out into the snow to let the elements take care of him seemed pretty appealing. But no. As much as she hated it, she needed him.

"Alright," she said, looking back at him with, her voice a bit calmer - or at least more controlled, "are you ready to be reasonable, or do you want to go back out in that blizzard?"

Kentamin set a glare upon her. What did she mean thank her!? She was a mage! This was outrageous! And she had helped to aid the killing of soldiers! Baring his teeth at her, he let out a growl. But as his mind reeled back to what had happened- he recalled seeing the terrifying wall of snow come at them- then nothing after the fall.

He peered towards her, gaze still suspicious.
"And how am I to thank you? For all I know, you simply saved me to use me," he bit back, struggling again before realizing it was futile and he slumped over with an irritated sigh.

Olive rolled her eyes at his growl; though she gave a sidelong glance to make sure that he was still securely bound. She gave a frustrated sigh and leaned forward as she tried to explain the situation to him, in a tone not too different than you might explain to a stubborn child.

"Listen, you twat, I don't like you or your little," she waved her hand, a look of disgust passing her face, "secret brotherhood of priest-knights or whatever, any more than you like me or any other mages. But look at the situation we're in. There's a blizzard out there with no signs of letting up, it's cold as fuck, the valley will be full of snow and debris now, your head's been bashed in, and I'm a fucking gimp."

Olive shot him another contemptuous glare, then leaned back again. "So when you're ready to stop sulking and see sense, let me know. Otherwise, you're welcome to go back out there and freeze to death. But don't kid yourself; I saved your life and I'm the one keeping us both alive right now."

Kentamin scrunched his face, his expression turning sour at such a declaration, but as he began to study the place they were in, her leg, his throbbing head-a nd what memories he had before the fall, he simply let out a growl and looked away from her.

"Are you proposing we have to work together?" It was laughable! Yet even as his haughty pride was puffed out, he couldn't help but begin to sense....

Perhaps the woman was right, and it was that sick feeling that made him queasy and more ill at ease than before. Help from a mage?! How could it EVER come to this?

Olive was no happier about the situation they were in than Kentamin was, and it showed on her face in response to his puffed out pride. As though she were so below him. As though his whole order weren't a bunch of... Olive checked her anger. No. She couldn't think about that now. Not if she wanted any hope of working with him. The last time she'd trusted a templar, though... Maybe she should just blow his head off and shove the bastard into the snow.

But instead, Olive pulled out her hand cannon. She gave Kentamin a meaningful look as she unloaded it and tossed it away from her (and away from Kentamin). Then she pulled out the pouch of ammunition and tossed it over to Kentamin. He couldn't catch it, of course, but it was the gesture of good will that mattered, right?

"There," she said flatly. "If you have a suggestion how we can get out of this alive without working together, I'd be delighted to hear it." The pain in Olive's ankle was increasing now as the shock was wearing off and she winced, scrunching up her face before looking back over at Kentamin. "Once we're out of this, though, if we see each other again... all bets are off."

Seeing her unarm herself of quite a deadly weapon, and even so much as toss the ammunition his way, Kentamin furrowed his brows in confusion before lifting his blue eyed gaze over towards her. His lips flattened as he frowned.

"It seems we have no choice but to weather this..." and as he studied her, he sneered and added, "together," and gave a haughty look away, but his eyes caught sight of her leg. Even from here he could tell it was bad. Unless she were bluffing- but what reason did she have? Unless she liked torture....

Fear chilled through him as he tried to put that idea away. No, no. He couldn't lose his cool just yet- And he was just agreeing to make friends with the enemy.

He cut her a look.
"That leg looks bad. How did you manage to drag me all the way here on it?"
Little did he know, that probably made her leg worse.

"'Weather this'," Olive repeated with a hollow laugh, "Very appropriate word choice."

Olive's eyes followed Kentamin's to her swollen, black-and-blue ankle, ignoring his sneering, jeering tone. "Difficultly," she answered honestly."You're not as scrawny as you." This was a funny remark from Olive who had always been a bit twiggy, but certainly qualified as 'scrawny' or worse after her time in the camps and surviving on the run. Pulling the Templar to shelter, through the snow, with her broken ankle had been quite the feat.

Olive leaned her head back against the stone, closing her eyes. The pain in her ankle and the energy it'd required to protect this little space from the blizzard had left her exhausted. A minute later Olive opened her eyes and gave a exasperated little sigh.

"Alright," she said grudgingly, "shuffle over here and I'll untie your arms."

Kentamin could have snorted at her remark to call him scrawny. He knew he was young, but the comment was rather cutting. So he was no hulking mass of muscle, he was well suited for what Angsar had him destined for-
yet he bet his God was scowling at him now. To think it had come to this. He turned away from her bitterly, but when she conceded to offer in untying him, he shot a confused but haughty look her way.

"You trust me enough to untie me?" A funny statement for him to be asking, for the binds were uncomfortable- but... they were still enemies, even if there was a temporary understanding. "You know if roles were reversed I wouldn't have the luxury." Then he grew quiet, wondering why he worded it like that.

"'Luxury?'" Olive repeated, staring at Kentamin open-mouthed. The offense registered clearly on her face. Who was this asshole to talk about luxury? "You think, between the two of us, that I am the one benefiting from luxury?"

Part of her knew that she should just shut up. This yearling little priest was an idiot, and she should write it off, but anger and disgust was rising up through her being at his words.

"You know," she said, shifting her weight so she was sitting straighter, looking intently at Kentamin now, "I was born into a life of luxury. That's true. I had..." she gave a little shrug, as though only thinking about it for the first time, "every advantage a girl in our country could have. Then I was Marked. I was a kid, what did I know? I accidentally used magic I never even realized I had. And after that, once I knew, I did everything right. Everything. I never used magic - I still don't like to, but I think neither of us want to freeze to death, do you? - I went to mass every day. Sometimes twice a day. Sincerely confessed all my transgressions. And what did it get me?" Olive gave a little scoff, looking away from Kentamin and out of the cave, her frustration no longer directed necessarily at him. "You know, when they came for me, I went willingly to the camps. Willingly. I thought it was the best choice... Maybe not for myself, but my family, my -" she almost said 'duchy', but cut herself short. "I was an idiot. Sent to be beaten, and raped, and starved, and worked to half to death - and for many, just to death. And to be treated by your lot, who always espouse understanding and compassion," she gave Kentamin a meaningful look then, "like fucking disposable tools. To be experimented on then disposed of. So don't fucking tell me who between us has the luxury of anything or not."

Her green eyes stayed venomously on Kentamin for several moments, then let out a long, pained exhale as the throbbing in her ankle overtook her again. "But fine," she said, closing her eyes again, "if you want to stay tied up, I'm happy to oblige you."

What started off as the flaring heat of hate turned into the embarrassing heat of guilt. He had never considered the consequences of being on the other side- for he never had to, but to hear it was a lady he was with, one of his own standing, to be branded and tossed away. He grit his teeth, avoiding her gaze all together as he looked at the cave floor. And when she got to the end about keeping him tied up, he unfortunately felt the same. A sickly feeling of guilt twisted into his gut, and chilled his veins as a knot cemented in his throat, nearly impossible to swallow through.

And for once the haughty young man had nothing to say, for his tongue was as useless as his brain, as he stared at the cave floor like some kicked dog. But two things were certainly broiling inside him- guilt for her, and guilt for him. Shame for what had happened, and shamed that he even cared. He had been taught these sorts of things might happen, but he never thought it would be so difficult to swallow. So instead of reacting, he just did nothing at all.

Olive let the silence dwell between them for a long time. What did she care about his discomfort? She had no guilt if just hearing about the things that had actually happened to her caused him unease. And what had happened to her... Olive was still painfully aware that her rank had saved her, even at her worst moments, of much greater pains. If someone of common standing had dared the things she did in the camps...

Well, they had. Many of them. And now they were dead. Rotting in the earth that lay beneath those evil places.

She should just shove him back out into the freezing, unforgiving blizzard. What better did he deserve? The betrayal of the other Templar burned like acid inside of her. But even if she were able to cast him out now - a physical feat she very much doubted she could perform, now that he was awake - what good would it do? He might not be innocent, but he was, in a sense, in her hands now.

She could kill him next time.

Finally, Olive half opened her eyes and glanced over at him. "Come over then," she said grudgingly, too exhausted from the pain in her ankle and the day's activities to keep up her silent battle with him, "I'll untie you. It won't profit you any to harm me now, anyway."

It shamed him to think it would come to this- but she was right. And after only a moment's hesitation, the templar shifted over closer to her, back close enough so she could unbind him- but still, the young man said nothing and avoided her gaze.

Shifting her weight to untie the bonds, Olive made a sharp noise of pain at moving her leg. This was bad. This was definitely not the right time, place... or company!... to be injured. But it seemed she had little choice in the matter.

As she untied his bounds, Olive watched Kentamin carefully, observing his obvious shame. She wondered if any of it really came as some sort of surprise to him. Or if the shame just came from being called out on it. Or from having to actually interact with a mage as though they may, in fact, also be a human being. Part of her wanted to throw more barbed accusations his way. To throw in his face the betrayal that Mercuxio had thrown in hers. To, in other words, kick him while he was down. But she stayed herself, instead watching him with a hard, unforgiving gaze.

"Stop moping," she suddenly commanded, her eyes flashing fiercely. "As though it fucking mattered to you what happens to a mage or not. You just keep telling yourself you're doing Angsar's work. Whole lot of fucking hypocrites."

When his hands were free, he moved them forward to rub at his wrists. He kept his back to her, but when she called him out on his moping, he turned around to cast a nasty glare her way.

"I don't like this situation anymore than you. I'm just having a hard time digesting it!" he snapped. But after a moment, he still felt miserable and growled, "But I suppose I do owe you a thank you." And the last part of that was mumbled as he cast his blue eyes to the ground, which slowly began to wander over to her leg. It looked bad.

"Have you got anything to treat that?" He had some supplies on his person... but even still, he wasn't sure any of the basic dry herbs would help miraculously cure a broken leg. Though one of them might help with the swelling.

Olive snorted at his initial outburst, but if she was going to make a retort, she withheld it in light of his gratitude. In fact, she looked at him with a bit of surprise and, at first, skepticism, as he suggested he owed her any thanks.

But her expression softened when he asked about her ankle, and if she had anything to treat it.

"No," she answered, also looking at the swollen blue ankle, and her tone for the first time not barbed. In fact, it was very matter-of-fact when she added, "The only thing I carry on me is Oleander," a highly toxic, extremely deadly plant that, despite its frequent use in gardens and the beauty of its flowers, quickly caused cardiac arrest if ingested, "in case I'm captured."

Olive wasn't sure why she told him that. Surely she shouldn't. She glanced very quickly sideways at him. Despite their position, she couldn't quite bring herself to ask if he had anything that would help her.

Kentamin made an obvious face at the mention of Oleander, and why. Though one might think a time like now might warrant the act to use it, whether on herself or him, it still did not sit well with him she held poison.

"I only carry the bare minimum of essentials. I have a few herbs- one might even help with the swelling."
And well...
it would at least make him feel more even over this... this... rescue of hers. He fished into his pockets, slowly at first so she could see what he was doing before he produced a thin pouch. He paused a moment before opening it, then lifted out a smaller pouch.

"Ermsdale, it's called." And he tossed the pouch to her. "Dark leafed plant with a bitter taste. But it'll help with any swelling and fever that might come because of it."

Olive read the concern on Kentamin's face over her mention of Oleander. "I have it for myself," she told him levelly, still watching him carefully. "I'm not going to poison you. Remember, I could have just left you out there." She paused a moment longer before saying, "I'd get rid of it as a goodwill gesture, but I don't want to risk not needing it."

She caught the pouch of herbs, though, and looked curiously at Kentamin. Maybe a little suspiciously. But after she carefully sniffed the dried herbs to verify what Kentamin told her, her expression turned more to curiosity and confusion. "Thank you," she said, a little warily.

How many times had the two young rivals, she suddenly wondered, tried to kill each other. But Olive took a small measure of the herbs out and placed them on her tongue, letting them reconstitute in her mouth before swallowing them. Olive was finding herself suddenly curious about who this priest-knight actually was. This whole time, for the last year... or longer? ... she'd been trying to kill him, she realized that he'd just been the embodiment of her anger at another Templar. Somewhere to focus her hatred of all the injustices suffered by herself and so many others.

Then suddenly, half-surprising herself, she asked, "Where are you from, anyway? And do you actually have a name? Or should I just keep coming up with curses for you? 'Fucking worm,' 'heartless bastard, 'skinny prick'... I can settle on one, if you like."

"It's not poison," he told her hastily. He was a templar... he really had no reason for that stuff. Besides, he'd never trust himself to carry it- just in case of accidental ingestion...
But he could not conceive how someone could willingly carry it, let alone be willing to use it, and as he studied her, he flattened his lips as the questions came back to him. And he made a frown at her choice of names.

"If you must call me something, I would prefer my real name."A nd he hesitated before huffing out, " Kentamin, Kentamin Dhelsbar." And at her first question he added, "My family is from Matron's Hallow." And he started at her critically. "And what of you girl? Or should I continue to call you 'mage'?"

Olive couldn't help but smirk a little when the Templar said he was from Matron's Hollow. Of course he was. He smacked of 'city boy.' Not that Olive could claim some rough-and-tumble background or upbringing.

"I told you already, but I suppose you can be forgiven for not remembering right after regaining consciousness. Honestly, you can call me whatever you like as far as I'm concerned, but my name's Constance," she watched him carefully, wondering if she should say more. She was sure the fact that she'd been sent to the camps had spread through the gossip circles like wildfire. But that she was here now... Doing this... Did she want that making its way back to her parents as whispered rumor? Instead, after her suspiciously long silence (probably too long for him to not draw the obvious conclusion), she settled halfway and simply said, "I'm from Wulfbauer. But it's been a long time since I've seen it."

Even though she said it definitively, Olive couldn't keep a vague look of worry, and maybe even vulnerability?, from her eyes.

Kentamin's expression went flat, but when she revealed her name to him, he felt sheepish. She had given it to him, and he could have kicked himself since it wasn't even that long ago! But as she hesitated, it gave him a moment to recover- and the moment she said where she was from...

"Wait, you're Constance Carwick of Wulfbauer!?" And his eyes grew side at the realization, not realizing he could be terribly, terribly wrong... when he was oh so terribly, terribly right. He just put two and two together on her age, location, the fact she stated she had been privileged then forced into THIS life, albeit willingly...
Who didn't know her tail when they were nobility? And even the Dhelsbars, who were most certainly on the lower end of the spectrum of nobility (with no direct claims to any thrones...) it did not mean they did not acquire much of the gossip from everyone else.

Constance Carwick.

Olive's eyes flashed with a sudden fierceness when Kentamin, correctly, declared her true identity. Her first instinct was to hit him across the face and her body tensed in preparation, but she didn't strike out. Her posture, however, stayed tense.

She as much as told him, she knew. Olive hadn't hidden her identity since she'd first entered the camps. It had been too useful. Not just 'useful'... that word seemed to cheap. But perhaps, after spending her teenage years desperately wishing she weren't Constance Carwick of Wulfbauer, in the camps Olive had truly learned the power and responsibility that came with her position. She'd been able to take risks and exert power over the guards that others wouldn't be able to. And doing so, she'd learned to become some sort of leader. Plus, denying her name now seemed like too much of a lie. Like denying everything that had happened in the last years. Trying to hide it, or being ashamed of it.

But who was she accountable to now? The mages she fought with, for? Her family and the people they ruled? No, she told herself. The people that they sent to war, or sent to the camps. Like they had sent her. But a longing for her parents, and a desire to protect them, still pulled at her.

But still.

"Yes. I am," she answered, her expression a little defiant, and some of her inner struggle showed on her face. "Does that change anything?"

Kentamin continued to stare at her with disbelief. Of all the luck, this mage happened to be her. The fact not only was she a woman, a mage, and now a noble of a much higher ranking than he did NOT sit well with the templar. But as he set his jaw, his eyes softened a little. He supposed they both had bigger things to worry about- even though it still made him feel considerably more soured than before.

"No," the words came out more venomous than he would have liked. "I suppose not."

He eyed her over, as if trying to decipher just what part of her could possibly be from nobility- but had she an ounce of that propriety of the nobility of Connlaoth, he could not see it now.
But he found himself unable to ask, "So you're now fighting against your own parents." As if fighting for her own freedom meant she were to make her own family her enemy. He still didn't get the whole picture- or he just wasn't accepting of it.

Olive watched him watching her, scrutinizing her. But somehow it didn't add to her ire. If anything, now that it was laid bare, she felt less angry. She was, above all else, exhausted. But somehow the fact that he knew who she was, who she really was, and that she was here, injured and run down, with him unbound... Or, in other words, that they were now both vulnerable to each other... It made her feel less tense about the situation.

Maybe she just wasn't thinking straight anymore.

"Well, I'm Nobody from Nowhere now," she said dryly, but without any real bitterness. "The war is, I suppose, the great equalizer. At least," she gave a small, hollow laugh, "on our side of things. I doubt very much that if I make it to the other side of this, assuming there is another side, that there will be any future for me in Wulfbauer."

Olive paused to adjust her ankle again, then looked at Kentamin, "My parents likely believe I died in a camp uprising. I hear that's one of the rumors, anyway. I imagine they take some solace in thinking their daughter is at least at rest, since they couldn't spare her from the war." Her green eyes were large and earnest when she added pointedly, "I'm sure you wouldn't rob them of that."

Kentamin wanted to respond. In fact, the words were at the tip of his tongue. But seeing the look in her eyes, the words all but fell away. This war... he had never thought to consider an end to it- or that there could be anything but victory for Connlaoth and it's laws. What did the mages think they were accomplishing, trying to fight back as they were? He did not fully understand the horrors of the mage camps, just that there was some high ranking noble woman before him completely and utterly at wits end. He knew for a fact she would wish to be anywhere but here...

But why had she dared fight? Did she not realize this was the result of it? So foolish these people were... he did not think those of the upper nobility were even capable of such treason. But he simply swallowed back a knot in his throat and nodded. He would not let her parents know.

But who should know? He knew the church would be eager to hear this bit of knowledge. And the very idea of revealing it to them somehow did not quite sit right. He adjusted himself uneasily from where he sat before sighing and staring away from her and towards the mouth of the cave.

"It's snowing, " he said thoughtlessly. But it seemed to always be snowing. But it seemed the weather was a far less awkward thing to think about then her parents believing she was dead- and this woman wanting them to think so. By Angsar's name! What a trial this was!

And little did he know... it had only just begun.

"Thank you," Olive said quietly when Kentamin nodded acquiescence to the request she hadn't actually made. But her words were very, very genuine and, the thought of her parents lingering with her, a deep, conflicted, lonely sadness welled up inside of her and she couldn't keep it off of her countenance.

Looking away, Olive wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Because she knew, as painful as it was to think it, that it was best for her parents to think she had died. Wasn't it? It would save them from so much... But Olive hadn't left them on a good note. Her mother and her had always fought. That's why she'd been sent to university in the first place. And now Olive wished - really, really wished - that she could just see them once. Just to tell them that she loved them. That she forgave them for sending her to the camps. To tell them that she wasn't dead, that she was alive, that she still thought of them. And not as a duke or a duchess, not as part of the government she'd been driven to fight, but as her father and mother.

But if that were ever to happen, it wouldn't be for a long time, she knew. Better now, surely, for them to think she'd died, pious and compliant, in the chaos of the camps? Better than to know what really happened there. What she'd really suffered. Who it had turned her into.

Olive only half heard Kentamin's remark about the snow. It would be clear from the heaviness of her breathing that she was trying not to cry. She kept her face determinedly away from his. "Go to sleep," she said abruptly, her voice tight as she struggled to keep it level. "We both got pretty knocked around. The spell keeping out the snow will hold through the night."

In other words, Olive was done talking. Instead she pressed her eyes shut, determined not to cry as she tried to push out memories of the parents she would never see again.

Kentamin wasn't sure he could sleep. The air was too tense and awkward, and his mind was busy being wrapped around all that had transpired that day. Eventually he felt too overwhelmed not to oblige her request, and some odd number of hours later, he drifted off to sleep.

He awoke unto darkness, the sun had not yet begun to rise. But int he winter months and this far north, the daylight was fewer. He shivered, the sweat from the day before making his skin clammy and more susceptible to the drop in temperature, and as his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, he noticed Constance Carwick laying there, dreaming away-
Or she was really good at pretending to be asleep.

In this setting she looked almost normal, just like any other woman. But he new deep inside she held magics, the very blight on society that Angsar's shunned. But he couldn't help but wonder... what sort of power could such a woman possess?

The next day and a half passed by in a listless silence. Olive spent most of her time focusing on trying to block out the pain in her ankle, and in maintaining the spell that kept the small rock shelter safe from the elements. Not to mention that they had no real provisions between them. Olive wasn't going to waste her energy talking to the knight of the church. But for all that, she'd become, perhaps, accustomed to him somehow, while the storm raged on outside.

Finally, in the last hours of sunlight on their second full day in the shelter, the snow and wind began to let up. Olive scooted to the edge of the shelter, gazing out into the valley. It was a daunting blanket of white, flanked by steep, black rock mountains. But on the other side of the narrow valley, maybe five hundred meters away, was the dark line of a pine forest. Olive gave a thoughtful puff of air, looking down at her ankle. The swelling had largely subsided, but the joint remained black and blue from internal bleeding and there was little doubt in the mage's mind that the bone was broken. She'd yet to be able to put any weight on it. But they couldn't stay here much longer...

"Alright, now's time to see if you're a man of your word," Olive said, glancing over to Kentamin and trying hard to keep her tone neutral, maybe even slightly jesting. It wouldn't profit her any to be on his bad side now. But still, the result sounded a tad forced. "I think we should try to go soon. But I can't walk like this. There's a forest not too far away, though; if you bring back some wood, I can fashion a splint. Then, well," Olive made a face, looking back down at her ankle, "then I think I can manage."

She knew, though, that 'managing' would be a matter of will as much as anything else. Even on a splint, it would be very hard, slow, and tough going. But, she told herself, she'd been through worse?

Kentamin frowned at her assessment. It had been an awkward day, and it was obvious both were getting antsy. The weather outside didn't seem to be letting up, that was, until she spoke up, and he too, observed the fact there was less wind and snow falling in and threatening to bury them inside.

Giving her a nod, he rose to his feet.
"I'll see what can be done." And he move to fetch the ax at his side, pausing a moment to realize she had no disarmed him. Strange. Peering back at her, she gave the ax a twist in his hand. "I shouldn't be long. There's plenty of wood all around." But he still gave her one wary look before mkaing his way towards the cave entrance. He paused just before stepping out into the snow- then he was gone.

It was midday, or had to be- for the sun was blinding on the snow. He shielded his eyes and made a face, wiping back the tears the overly bright sun brought on before looking around for a good sized tree to chop- not just for a splint, but who knew, they could find other uses for it.


Finding one not too far off the path from the cave, he secured his gloves upon his hand and released a hot, white puffed breath. Then he rose the ax and proceeded to chop the pine tree down.

It took him some time, an he was sweating beneath his layers of clothing, but soon he had a bundle of sufficient wood, and began to walk back towards the cave, carrying the wood like a bride. Once inside, he set the pile of wood dwon near Constance before brushing off the debris from his sleeves.


"Here, let me see your leg. It'll help me gauge how tall to make this splint."

Olive unconsciously drew back a little, adopting a defensive posture, when Kentamin stood, bearing the axe. But it was a slight movement, and was quickly replaced by a level, composed, and neutral expression. Olive couldn't help but feeling that she was very much the vulnerable one in this situation now. After all, she thought as she watched him head out into the snow, he could easily abandon her here now. It would be easier for him, in all honesty, to get out of the valley on his own than it would be with her. True, she could offer some protection to him if the weather turned for the worse again, but Olive wondered how much of a difference that would really make to him.

And, of course, he could always just kill her now. There was still a dagger in the boot of her uninjured leg - she wasn't a complete idiot - but it'd be a poor match against his axe or sword. She wondered if she'd been foolish to give him the ammunition to the hand cannon... But that, she was sure, had been an essential gesture.

But he did return, dumping the pile of wood at the entrance of shelter. Olive had expected to make the splint herself, and she took her aback at his suggestion that he see her leg to gage the size of the splint. Olive frowned, she didn't really like the idea of him seeing anything. He might not be the biggest and brawniest, but Olive was getting a distinct feeling for the fact that he had a large physical advantage over her; even uninjured, Olive was skinny and underfed. Now she was skinny, underfed, and broken. And he was armed, and she (more or less) wasn't. He was right, though. It made more sense for him to fashion the splint.

Cautiously, her wariness blatantly obvious, Olive scooted forward towards him, lifting her broken leg and moving it so he could examine it. Tense, watching him wide and sharp-eyed, Olive resembled a wild animal unsure whether or not to trust the human who might aid it.

Slipping off his gloves, he moved to position himself over her, and it was only in their close proximity did he realize how intimate they'd have to become. He never thought he'd have to feel up a woman's leg- even if it was a woman's broken leg, but also, more importantly, the woman it belonged to was a mage. 

After a while, he released a tense breath and decided to stop staring at her and moved forward, gingerly beginning to roll up her leg. Once the leg was exposed, he made a face. Any awkward feelings that propriety would dictate were washed away at the very swollen and bruised look of the leg.

"It looks bad," he murmured, releasing a breath he hadn't released he had been holding as he studied it.

Olive held Kentamin's (too long) gaze when he drew near her. Figured this is the sort of tension you would get when you were stuck with a virgin priest. And though Olive seemed more comfortable with the closeness than Kentamin did, she couldn't pretend that being both so close and so vulnerable to her until-now-enemy didn't affect her. But, just to add a smidge to his discomfort, she edged a bit closer to him.

Olive frowned when he actually touched her all the same, though, but swallowed her reservations about it. This was the situation. She just had to deal with it. But at his assessment of 'it looks bad', she forced a lopsided smile. "You think I would have kept you around if it wasn't?" she asked with a breathy laugh. Despite the content of her message, the tone wasn't so mean, and her face was left with a bemused, lopsided smile.

But the smile didn't last. "I don't think we'll last much longer up here. Not unless you want to start hunting and collecting firewood while this beauty heals. I'm guessing you don't really want to play house with a mage, though, even if she is the daughter of a duke."

The joke fell a bit mirthlessly. The truth was Olive was starting to feel a bit nervous about the idea of moving on the leg. It did look bad. What if she couldn't manage after all?

It was then Kentamin gave a snort.
"For now, as you put it, our differences are cast aside," he told her smartly, intentionally ignoring her face as he went to work, gathering some clothe to wrap around it, to prevent the wood from rubbing her skin raw before he found something to tie it together with, and began to make tidy work of it and when he was all said and done, it was actually a remarkably clean looking splint, and as comfortable as he could make it with what they had.

"There, now if you were to walk around, when you are able to," he went on, sitting back on his heels as he released a breath. "You should be able to do with better ease, and the extra padding will protect you in case you, yu know... walk into a wall or.. er.. tree."
Okay that part was lame, but now it couldn't be unsaid as he frowned at the leg and finally lifted his blue eyes to her face.

"Do you think you'd like to stand?" She had been sitting for nearly two days now. It couldn't be at all comfortable. He knew his bottom was sore.

Olive watched as Kentamin bound the splint. She was secretly impressed with the job he did. At least, compared to how inept he normally seemed to be! And that he was taking this amount of care with a mage at all. Olive wondered if he also realized that he could just kill her and leave. It's probably what the Church would want him to do, after all. Strange that he didn't.

When he finished, Olive didn't even notice the lame remark. She was too focused on the idea of standing on the leg. "Okay," she agreed, nodding, though it was very clear that Olive did not at all want to stand up. She exhaled, gathering her resolve, then reached up to a crag in the rock overhang. Olive pulled herself up awkwardly onto her good leg, not yet putting weight on the broken one.

Carefully, slowly, Olive shifted her weight. A sharp sob of pain followed the experiment, and Olive promptly stumbled, her ankle rejected the very notion of being stood on, and fell.

Kentamin hadn't realized he had been holding his breath until he gasped as she fell. ANd being so close beside her, instincts kicked him and he threw his arms around her, catching her when she was nearly about to spill unto the ground- except the catch came at an awkward angle and instead of becoming a hero in the moment, he went down, and awkwardly, the pair landed in a way they were both smooshing one another. It was when he released this and her condition that he scrambled to untangle himself and soon had his arms around her more proper, and though ti was awkward, he somehow had helped her to stand, to get the weight off of the leg he was afraid he might have crushed, and it was only then did he realize how close they were- faces but inches apart as she was half leaned now against the cave wall and he? He was half leaned into her.

"Are you alright?" he found himself asking, but felt as if it were someone else saying it but he, for he felt so strange and out of place in such a scenario, as a blushed touched his face all the way up ot his ears.

The awkwardness of the situation was lost upon Olive, who cried out in pain when she and Kentamin landed smushed against the rock ledge. She even let Kentamin pick her back up without any protest or struggle. In fact, she momentarily leaned her weight into him, choking back a sob, hiding her face in his shoulder, eyes squeezed tight as unbidden tears sprung into her eyes.

But when he asked if she was alright, she bit her lip and gave a jerky nod against his shoulder. "Yeah," she lied, her voice catching in her throat.

Olive took a moment to collect her courage, taking a few ragged breaths, then pulled herself back up. With one hand on Kentamin's shoulder and one on the rock wall, Olive maneuvered herself back onto her good leg. Looking nearly as white as the snow outside, Olive shifted her weight slowly back onto the broken leg. Another sharp sob of pain followed, but Olive managed to stay on the leg. But everything about her - from her heavy breath, to her contorted expression to the tears streaming down her face - said she was in a lot of pain.

"Okay," she declared, choking out a laugh at the ridiculousness of it, "I'm ready to go."

But that was as long as Olive could manage, and she fell back against the wall of the shelter, shaking from the effort.

With the woman pressed so closely against him, he feared he might drop her- or his heart might leap from his chest, or his brains might remained as scrambled as they were in he moment. ANd her breath against his neck made him shiver. And she smelled so good this close....
But why was he thinking about that!?

Snapping himself back into reality, Kentamin frowned and furrowed his brows and went on scoldingly, "Perhaps we ought to not push your luck. We don't need you breaking your leg even further."
For if he acted now as if he were in control, he could stay in control- and not let his racing heart and those weird, bizarre fluttery feelings get the better of him! But truth be told, for a moment, even his legs felt a little useless. But he wouldn't admit that. No...
That was just inconceivable! Whatever this was, it was all just in his head! And hopefully not this mage spinning her evil magic against him! And at such a thought, he noticeably bristled.

A second look at Olive should be able to convince Kentamin that no stray, dark magic was at work here. Between her screwed up face, tightly closed eyes, and ragged breath, it looked like it was taking just about all Olive had to keep standing on her one good leg even with the bulk of her weight on the rock behind her. At Kemtamin's 'command', she nodded and carefully, awkwardly slid down the rock wall to a sitting position; not without banging her bad leg once or twice on the way down.

Olive looked, frankly, miserable.

And a new realization was starting to seep in. She wasn't going to be able to make it down from this mountain. At least, not in time. She was probably going to die up here. The thought settled in her stomach like ice. She had accepted that she might die as the result of her actions, but Olive always imagined it happening in action. During an attack or, even, from the oleander. Not a slow death, freezing and starving and... Oh. For a moment, it was as though she only just remembered the oleander. It would be less painful, surely... But Olive pushed the idea out of her head. At least for now. Still, her options felt like they were rapidly dissipating.

"You should go without me," she heard herself saying. And though her body was still shaking from the pain of trying to stand - much less walk! - on the broken ankle, her voice was oddly resolute. "You're right; I'm just going to injure myself more, and there's no point in us both being stuck somewhere without shelter and dying from exposure because my damn leg." She frowned at the offending limb. She wondered how long she could survive here on her own. There was no shortage of water - snow was everywhere! - and she could last, for a bit, without food. It might be long enough for Silas to hear of her plight from the birds or the trees or whatever way nature always talked to him. Maybe. "On your own," she continued, trying to sound authoritative, so that she might believe herself in the wisdom of her words, "you can probably make it back out of the valley in a solid day. Maybe a little longer."

She shook her head, then, still looking at the ankle. "But I'm afraid I'm useless."

Kentamin's apprehension melted easily as he observed her and her situation, and just about all had gone away when she appeared to have given up. And at that, he snorted.
"That's unfortunate. I can't leave you now. You might be my enemy, but I still owe you for saving my life. Looks like we both might be stuck here until you feel well enough on that leg. Perhaps once you are, we can get to a town- then our fates can be decided there."

"Yes you can," Olive snapped, her eyes flashing up at Kentamin. He was snorting at her? Who was he to act like her life mattered suddenly. More than anything, though, Olive just didn't have the energy to be polite. She was at her wit's end. "You've been trying to kill me for the last fucking year," she complained, but she mostly sounded tired when she finished, "what the fuck do you care? Consider your job done."

Olive wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, her body shivering. "It's not like it'd be the first time one of you fucking Templar bastards lied to me."

Kentamin, despite the truth in her words, felt the guilt and shame from them. But they were enemies, and his job was to stop mages at all costs- but this?
What was he to do with her? And at her last remark, he couldn't help but find himself gaping.

"What do you mean?" And then in a lowered breath, he asked, "Who?"

Olive looked up at him through half open eyes then. She had been, in truth, complaining to herself more tha saying anything for his benefit. But his surprise, his sudden interest, caught her attention and distracted her for the moment from her grumpy nihilism.

It also reminded her of why she hated Kentamin so much in the first place. And how little it had to do with Kentamin.

"It doesn't matter who," she answered wearily. "I trusted him to help me - that he wanted to help me - and I was wrong. I thought..." She trailed off then, releasing a sharp exhale and her voice became steely, looking at Kentamin with open eyes now. "I watched so many people die, be slaughtered, and I fooled myself into thinking he was there to help me. He wasn't there to help anyone. And instead of being killing me, like the rest, he shipped me off where he wouldn't have to think of me anymore. I was sent to another camp outside of the view of the government and the dukes. Do you know what they do, soldiers, when there's no one watching, to girls who are troublemakers, who need to be 'put in their place?'" Olive snorted, looking at the slowly falling snow. "I wish he had killed me then. I don't want to die now, but I could have died then."

Th last words were spoken more to herself, but she looked back at Kentamin, her eyes venomous but, much to her chagrin, wet. "So don't pretend like you're too good,because I know all about your kind."

A templar wanting to help? Though he too, felt compelled to help her now- one that used such trickery and deceit made him feel a bit soured. He'd never considered himself much of a liar, and it seemed those methods were best left to the dogs. Though he supposed if it was Angsar's will...
It still didn't mean it was a hard pill to swallow. Swallowing the knot that was cementing in his throat, he shook his head.

"Well, I'm not going to make you any empty promises, mage," he began, then paused to realize he hadn't used her name. "But we are stuck in this situation together, and being I know you are of noble blood," Though that should not matter- she was a mage, and one fighting against the cause, after all... "So I'll try to think of you more as Constance than.... than just a mage for now. But we are enemies," he reminded her. "But I don't think either of us wish to die. At least not out here. Things were... different when we were chasing one another in the snow, in the river." And he paused to recall, he could have died then too. This made him frown. "But whatever Angsar has in store for you... for us, I don't feel compelled to kill you right now. I might be a templar, but I have my own personal code I abide by, and I won't cheat you out of what is due. You did save my life, you could have left me to rot. So... I'll stand by you inside this cave until you are ready to walk."

And then, he added, with an awkward, breathy laugh.
"But I make no guarantees after your leg is healed enough for me to chase you again. Then you will be at the true mercy of Angsar again."

Olive's expression changed then, both the bitterness and the tears leaving her face. Instead, she looked at Kentamin suddenly clear-eyed.

"I don't fear God," she told him, her voice confident and resolute. "Do you imagine that just because I'm a mage, because I was born a mage, that I have no religion? Do you think that I fight for the right to freely use magic?" Olive huffed. "I would say that I don't like magic any more than you do, but as I think it's fair to say it's wreaked much more havoc on my life than yours, I daresay I like it less. I'm not some heretic who wants to uproot the foundations of our society, or blaspheme against our religion." Olive's tone and expression grew stern now as she said, "I fight because there is no alternative. When we didn't fight, we were thrown into guarded camps to be treated as something less than human, less than livestock. Because I couldn't peacefully watch old women beaten, young women raped, men old enough to be grandfathers or young enough to be schoolboys treated like workhorses then whipped when they were too sick, too weak for labor they were never fit for in the first place. I couldn't peacefully watch everyone starve, or stand aside as, one by one, we were experimented on and, when the trials went wrong - and they always went wrong - killed. Could you watch passively as a ten year old boy is stood up against a wall and told to stand still so they can blow his brains out, because he threw a stone? And why is any of this happening? Because of the way we were born, not because of choices we made. Tell me, is that how Angsar taught we should treat each other? Worse than animals? Because what I was taught, what my God said, is that we treat each other with compassion. That we're all sinners, and yes those of us who are born this way have a special challenge set before them, but that everyone, every person, is worthy of salvation in His eyes."

Olive kept her eyes on Kentamin for several moments before concluding, "So I don't fear Angsar. Or doubt his mercy."

The girl settled back against the rock wall again and at first it seemed as though she was going to simply ignore Kentamin and his insistence of staying. But after a moment, she added, "And if the only reason you think I'm worthy of a name is who my father is, I'd rather you call me 'mage.'"

Kentamin had a lot to say about that, but she'd see the anger and indignation burning within his eyes as he swallowed down his words and chewed angrily on the inside of his mouth. No.... it was not worth it to waste anymore angered breath on her, and he moved to turn away from her as he headed towards the cave opening.

"I'm going out. We'll need food." And the least he could do was at least scout for something, and besides, he was so fed up with this mage in that moment, and her daring to speak out about her part in Angsar's world (and mostly because what she said had been right) he'd rather up and leave her to cool off before snapping at her and saying something even more foolish-
because he had never doubted his religion before or his methods, and now this woman was helping to fuel both.

And he hated her for it. So ina  huff-
he left.

Olive watched him go in silence. Once he was gone, a small feeling of guilt ebbed at her consciousness. She'd lashed out at him without him really deserving it. And he hadn't, really, even been the source of her anger.  It was, she realized, quite noble of him - and surprising - to stay and take care of her. Take care of her. That's what he was doing. Frowning, Olive thought that she didn't really know what was going on here anymore. It must be a matter of pride, she decided. But she didn't think about it for long because, not long after Kentamin disappeared into the snowy valley outside, Olive fell asleep, still leaning against the rock wall, holding tightly to herself, overwhelmed by the exhaustion of the day's ordeal.

When Kentamin returned, he had been unsuccessful, but decided,since Olive was asleep, he'd make good use of his time and built a small fire near her. I twas still relatively chilly, but the fire helped to ebb off whatever bite there had been in the temperature. Shivering, he huddled closer to the fire until he was warm enough to take off his jacket. And seeing how Olive still slept, but not as close to the fire as he, he draped his jacket over her before returning to sit near the flames, back to her as he stared into them as they danced- his blue eyes in a whole other world away.

Olive woke slowly to the sound of the crackle and spark of the fire. She shifted her weight, groggy and stiff from sleeping sitting up. And her ankle! A low groan escaped Olive at the throbbing in her leg. Kentamin had been right; standing on it like that hadn't done it any good. And what had it proved? That Olive was a fool? Blinking and shifting her leg, Olive suddenly realized that a coat was wrapped around her. Not her coat. That's when she saw Kentamin huddled in front of the fire, without his coat.

Olive frowned, feeling a bit guilty. Maybe sleepiness had cooled her own fire, but no. Olive knew she felt like this because he hadn't really deserved her tirade. The man who did wasn't here. The man here was risking his own life to stay with her. Olive sighed, feeling sleepy and confused.

Without saying anything, she inched awkwardly over to the fire. In the small shelter, there was no way to sit next to the fire without sitting distinctly inside of Kentamin's personal space.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," she finally said, her voice quiet and her eyes on the fire. "I meant everything I said, but... You didn't deserve that." She paused for a long time, then looked up at him. "Thank you for staying."

At first, Kentamin ignored her, still looking at the dancing flames. It was evident in was moody, and her words didn't seem to help alleviate it much. So instead of commenting on what she said, he simply asked, not looking over at her, "Did you sleep well? Sounds like your leg still hurts."

Olive watched Kentamin as he determinedly ignored her. She wasn't really sure what to do. As grateful as she was that he was staying, she didn't really want to coddle him. And she doubted he would take well to it if she did. But he obviously had something on his mind. Not shocking after the rant she'd delivered him before. Olive didn't even know what he was doing here. She supposed it was pride, but she wasn't sure.

In the end, she decided to play the same as he was, and looked sullenly at the fire. Maybe if she followed his suit it'd draw the words out of him. Did she even want to hear them? "Yes, it still hurts." Then, "Do you want your coat back?"

"No, you keep it for now," he told her moodily as he sighed. "It's too hot in here now for it anyway. Just set it aside if you don't want it." And he kept his blue eyes locked to the flames.

Olive puffed out a sigh. Clearly she was not going to get through to him. She wasn't even sure why she wanted to, except that maybe she just didn't have the energy to keep up this stand-off. It was exhausting! To always be on guard, always suspicious of the other one. Surely at this point they'd shown that they were, if only temporarily, no threat to each other. Or maybe what Olive didn't see was that the were only no longer a physical threat to each other.

But how many days could this go on for?

Olive watched him determinedly not watching her for a moment, just saying a, "Thanks," when he told her to keep the coat. Olive needed a new plan. So, scooting away from the fire, as though just giving herself more personal space again, Olive took advantage of the fact that Kentamin seemed unwilling to look at her. Leaning over, Olive grabbed a handfull of snow, discretely shaping it into a sphere.

"Hey, city boy," she called out, throwing the snowball straight at Kentamin's head, and only after it left her hand did she add, "watch out!"

Kentamin was continuing to be a mopey fool. His eyes never left the fire, and wouldn't have left it even at Constance's shout but something drew his blue eyes and face to turn and then
splat!  A snow ball met to his face. He stood there, in absolute shock.

"Did you.. you just hit me in the face with a ball of snow!?" he stammered, eyes still wide as he peered at her, the glow from the fire dancing off his form as he looked at her, then furrowed his brows with a growl. "Why the hell did you do that?" And he moved to dust some of the chilly snow off of his face, eyes narrowing poisonously. She had better have a good excuse for this one! No one hit Kentamin Dhelsbar with a snowball. NOBODY!!!!

Olive stifled a laugh at his blown up, pompous response to her 'attack.'  In fact, she might have even been smiling for the first time in days. To answer his accusation, Olive simply sent another snowball straight at his face.

 And the snowball hit dead center. ANd something inside him snapped.
"That's it!" he shrieked, growling as he scrambled to his feet. "You're going to eat some serious snow!" He roared,a d tried scooping up as muhc snow as he could at the entrance of the cave, and the snow ball proved too large so when he threw it, it broke apart in it's assault. Snarling, he scrambled to make another smaller one, this one he aimed, but it hit lower than he'd like- landing on her shoulder with a snowy, explosive pop!

Olive couldn't help but laugh as Kentamin's anger rose and he gathered up all the snow he could find and sent it falling down towards her. She pulled the coat over her at the last minute, shielding herself mostly from the snow, though some slid off the coat onto her neck.

"Hey now!" she protested, laughing, "I'm a stationary invalid! What kind of gentleman are you!"

From under the relative safety of the coat, Olive scooped up another snow ball and peeked out from the coat just long enough to send it hurling up at him.

This time Kentamin blocked it as it hit off of his arm- but it exploded into a thousand tiny pieces, and despite his quick temper, it was hard for him not to react to her laugh.
"Invalid or not! You started this war first!" An he scooped up TWO snowballs, and threw them both at her face.

"It was just friendly fire!" Olive protested.

When Kentamin threw TWO snowballs at her, she quickly drew the coat over her head, but she wasn't quick enough and only protected herself from one snowball. The other hit her square in the face. Olive wiped the snow away, laughing again. She was probably laughing too much, but it was as though all the cummulative tension built up since the partial blindness of the snowy attack - or maybe even before - was finally releasing itself.

Grabbing a handful of snow, Olive decided to play dirty and used the proximity of Kentamin standing over her to shove the snow down his boot.

Kentamin had been preparing yet another snow ball,t his one rounded and large, to perfection- but when he realized what she was doing- it was too late.

"C-Constance!" he yelped, trying to gingerly kick her away, and kick out the snow, before crushing the snowball int he air over her head, sending thousands of frigid pieces of ice onto her head and neck, before he just began to scoop up a handful of snow without even forming it and letting it fall all over her, and somewhere during that time, he was actually laughing a little, too.

The girl protested as he dropped the snow all over her, covering her dark, honey-blonde hair and face in snowflakes. Olive grabbed at his ankle as he kicked at her, chastising, "Hey! It is not! nice! to kick a lady!" Finally she grabbed ahold of him, but caught his ankle mid-kick, sending him falling backwards onto his bum.

Olive clapped a hand to her mouth, snorting back laughter. She hadn't exactly meant to do that!

"Well, now we're on a fairer battle ground!" she said brightly and, not waiting to give him time to recover, sent another snowball whizzing his way.

Kentamin gave a yelp as he was suddenly on his back and breathless, and when he tried to push himself off the ground to bark out his displeasure- a snowball landed him square in the face.
His face wrinkled, the snow sticking to his blonde eye brows before he sputtered out the snow that was stuck all over and near his lips.

"That does it!"
And before she could stop him, he scrambled over to her, pinning her down and beginning to stuff her clothing full of snow.

Olive had NOT been expecting that! And the surprise at his sudden 'attack' showed on her face! She definitely would not have expected him to put his hands anywhere near her bare skin, even if it was only the back of her neck, and in the name of stuffing snow down her shirt.

"Hey!" she yelled, but still laughing, and squirmed underneath him. "Now that is definitely not how you're meant to treat a lady!"

Not in much of a position to counter attack, Olive resorted to defense and, while Kentamin was grabbing another handful of snow, Olive knocked out the arm that was propping him up. The result, of course, was that the young templar fell flush against her, their faces smushed together.

Olive felt a sudden, and altogether unexpected, fluttering in her stomach at his sudden closeness. Probably, she decided, due to all the stress they'd been under. And rather than dwell too long on it, Olive grabbed a handful of snow with her unpinned arm and smushed it into the side of his face, causing some of it to drip back down on her.

Where as Olive was not expecting that attack of snow stuffing from him, he certainly had not expected her retort-a nd down he went in a yelp, body smashing over top of her in a rather compromising manner- and Olive was not the only one who felt a fluttering. And this one started from his belly and tickled out to the tips of his fingers and toes. And he found himself staring down at her breathlessly, their faces only being inches apart. And he felt the familiar creeping burn of a blush consume his face, reaching to his ears until splat!

She smashed snow onto his face that stuck to it much like the creme of a pie, or froth from soap. And as pieces fell off in a glittering mess onto her face, he saw her wrinkle her nose and laugh and close her eyes tightly, and before he knew what was going on, he scooped both sides of her face as he growled...

And kissed her- and kissed her fierce.

And when he pulled away, he was both surprised and shocked at what he had done, and as he peered down at her, his blue eyes dancing with confusion and worry and lust and guilt, whatever doubts he had could not stop him from a second round as he suddenly pulled her close and enjoyed the flavor of her soft, albeit chapped, lips. And she smelled so good this close it made him moan as his messy blonde hair tickled at her face as he continued to kiss her, and kiss her with need.

OOC: Haha, the first time I read this I thought it said, "And kissed her- and kissed her face."

---

Kentamin took her by surprise, but Olive's reaction surprised her even more. After her initial shock at his first kiss, Olive returned the next with just as much urgency as Kentamin. Right then she wasn't thinking about the fact that he was a templar, that she didn't even really like him, that only hours earlier she'd told him to leave altogether. In that moment, it was all urgency and desperation, fueled by the desperate situation they were in. If the excessive laughter had been Olive's release of all her pent up anxiety and tension before, this was twofold now.

But even as she wrapped her arms around him to pull herself tighter against him, Olive's heart thumped in her chest, and there was an echo of fear in the back of her mind. She was alone and injured and certainly vulnerable. Or no, she realized, she wasn't. This wasn't like in the camps where Mordecai made any resistance impossible - other than physical, and the soldiers took care of that. Here she was not helpless.

Realizing that, and utterly refusing to let her mind think at all, Olive pulled herself against Kentamin, her breath heavy, just as fierce in her 'affections' as he was in his.

Feeling her own reciprocation made the templar moan against her lips, and he pushed away the coat he had lent her and moved feebly to remove her coat own now that resided beneath it, keeping her too distant from his body as they were held so close. His hands wanted to hold her, to touch her in ways he never thought he could. This was forbidden, he shouldn't be doing this. Not only was his virtue promised to the church, but she was a mage.

But in that moment he thought of none of this, or perhaps all of it as it made his veins burn, his body, feeling as if it were on fire as his kisses, though a bit fumbling, were urgent and spoke volumes of so many repressions, both from what they had endured, and what he had suffered msot of his life-

And all he new was he wanted her, and he wanted to keep kissing her forever.

"Gods," he moaned, pausing merely to tell her. "You taste like winter and salt." And he licked at his lips, then licked at hers, before leaning into her even more, trying to push off her coat and taste her even more deeply with his lips.

'You taste like winter and salt?' Oh brother! The awfulness of that line was nearly enough to snap Olive out of whatever was happening here, but she was desperate for this disconnect from reality. What she wanted, above all right now, was to forget; not just who this man actually was, but all of it. Everything. She just couldn't process it anymore. She wanted a release. And despite his awkward words, despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that he was a priest, his nearness and his urgency were enough to suck Olive back in.

But better safe than sorry.

"Don't speak," she instructed him with a breathy matter-of-factness, slipping out of the coat he'd been trying to remove from her. With their bodies flush against each other now, uninhibited by the thick coats, Olive pulled herself up to him, kissing his neck, and let her hands creep beneath his shirt, up the warm skin of his ribs.

Kentamin didn't mind her tone, and rather enjoyed it actually as he continued to kiss her hotly, moaning when he felt her hand against his warm flesh. His own hands dared to do the same, slipping up the front of her shirt and feeling over the softness of her stomach before move forward to where his hands were grazing over the soft mounds of her chest.

And that's when instincts kicked in, and the burning in his groin heightened and his hips reacted, finding himself pressing his sex against hers as he moaned. Thank Angsar they were still clothed, for the priest was growing mad with lust and desire, and had they not their clothing between them, he'd make his claim on this woman and make her his- if even for just the one night.

Olive's breath caught when Kentamin's hands slipped up her shirt, and released as a soft moan when they found her breasts. She arched into his touch, encouraging his hands to stay. Hers, however, moved downward, grabbing his ass and pulling him hard down into her. Her hips moved against his swollen sex.

Olive, however, seemed to have none of the problems of propriety that stayed Kemtain. For while he saw their clothing as a barrier sent by Angsar, Olive only saw it as a temporary one. And already her hands moved to unfasten his belt and she moved to kiss his ear and the sensitive area around it.

But maybe Angsar was determined to stop the hurried union between the templar and the mage. Because just as Olive succeeded with his belt and began to move her fingers down the front of his pants, a growl issued through the rock shelter.

A deep growl.

And there, at the opening of the shelter, was the hulking form of a bear.

The grinding of their hips and feeling her hands move encouragingly, even one so bold as to move forward as she began to undo his belt elicited a muffled, whimpering moan against her lips. His breath splayed across her, tongue shoving into her mouth, wrestling hers hotly, and with need while his hands worked hungrily over her breasts, thumbs finding and circling around her nipples, feeling them grow erect at his touch as he continued to try to make love to her through his clothes.

Her body was so soft, her breasts fitting perfectly into his hands, and he had all been but lost in the moment, his own fevered noises nearly drowning out the dangerous growl from behind- but the second it reached his ears, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and his lips parted just so from hers.

In a daze he looked at her as fear began to creep over his face.
By Angsar's name! They were not alone...

Olive was preoccupied with getting rid of their clothing (or, at least, enough of them) and at first she didn't differentiate the sound of the bear from the sounds coming from Kentamin. But upon another growl, and coincident with Kentamin's pulling away from her, Olive looked sidelong at the entrance to the shelter...

"Fuck!"

The bear was huge and, woken from its winter slumber, angry. Olive pushed Kentamin roughly off of her, sending him rolling onto the floor of the shelter. Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she looked around for her hand canon. But, of course, she didn't have ammunition anymore. And anyway, the bear was so big, shooting it might just... annoy it! Rather than kill it.

And Olive was acutely aware of her momentary disability again. Running was definitely not going to be an option. And somehow the idea that all that stood between her and Being Eaten By a Bear - hadn't she once told Jobias, the barber, that she'd be fed to bears if the Church caught her? - didn't sit very well with her.

Kentamin had never confronted such a thing in all of his life. The bear was positively massive, and when it gave another growl again, he felt as if his skin were about to leap clean off. And his instincts told him to run, and he was honestly considering it- though the bear itself was a beast with four legs, surely the beast could outrun a man...
and as he took a step back he almost had forgotten about his other plight...

Constance.

Gritting his teeth, he reached to his side and cursed when he realized- he had undone his holsters and now his axe was on the other side of Olive.

"Constance," he hissed, in a voice barely over a whisper.
"As careful as you can, get me my ax."

If he was going to be eaten by a bear, he was certainly going to do it with a fight. AN he was hardly he sort of man to fight a bear with his bare hands.

It was just as well for Kentamin that Olive's predicament had kept him from running. He probably wouldn't know, growing up in Reajh, but the last thing one wants to do - if one wants to live - is run from an angry bear! All the same, Olive stared at him in disbelief for a moment. His axe? What did he think his axe was going to do against this bear?

But what other options were there?

So Olive nodded and, moving slowly, she lifted the axe carefully and as quietly as she could, and passed it over to Kentamin.

The bear, meanwhile, snuffled loudly (and angrily) at the motion in the little open cave, swinging its great head towards the two and baring its stinky teeth in a snarl.

What other options did they have? Though she admired, maybe, Kentamin's bravery in his willingness to face a bear with an axe designed to cleave a man, Olive wasn't convinced he would pull it off. Her eyes moved sideways to the remnants of the fire he'd earlier lit. Of course, not only had it been unattended during their, well... But it had suffered considerably from their snowball fight and now all that was left of it were some orange coals half hidden beneath soggy ash. It didn't look like it'd be very useful, except maybe to anger the bear further...

Of course, there was another option, but she didn't want to use it. In truth, she hated it more than the bear. But she also didn't want to die. What could she do?

With the ax now secured in his hands, he gripped his hands around it tightly, wishing he were still wearing his gloves, which he had removed when tending to the fire. They were laced a little with sweat, not only from his nerves but from what had almost happened before, and when the bear suddenly began to charge their way, Kentamin unceremoniously shoved the injured Constance aside as he shouted, "Get out of the cave!!!" A noise that elicited an even angrier response from the bear as it opened it's jaws and let out a fierce growl enough to shake the cave, and before Kentamin knew what he was doing, he struck the ax towards the bear's face.

Kentamin's brazen confrontation might have been brave, or foolish, but the templar was poorly matched against the hulking bear. The beast reared up as Kentamin swung at him and as it moved upwards, the axe caught it on its nose. Blood oozed from the bear's nose, coating the fur on its snout and dripping onto the shelter floor. However, a bloodied nose did little more than make the beast angrier. It had reared up, and now it came down full force, striking hard at Kentamin as it came crashing down, sending the man sprawling backwards.

As the confrontation between the bear and the man unfolded, Olive backed up against the wall of the cave, using the rock to pull herself up onto her one good leg, sweat beading where her hair met her forehead. But her green eyes didn't leave the scene of violence before her. And when the bear came crashing down, she knew. Kentamin couldn't do anything - really - against this bear. He might put up a decent fight before the enraged beast killed him (and her), but in the end the result would be the same.

Feeling her breath shaking a little as she settled into her decision, Olive closed her eyes. Almost effortlessly her senses extended outside into the snow and the wind. This was never the hard part. That came later. Breathing slowly, Olive focused on the wind. And outside, it started to gust and swirl. A little at first, but it quickly began to pick up, snow suckd upwards into the air as it began to pick up speed, as Olive's spell began to grow.

And inside, the bear was moving in on Kentamin now. It'd knocked the boy down, and now it would squash the bug that had dared bite at its nose!

Kentamin was cast aside like a limp doll, the ax had come lose from his grip and down he went in a savage yelp. For a moment, he lay there, frozen still from the pain. But as the stinging tickled all over his body, drawing him back to the nightmare before him, he could not have realized the building spell Constance was brewing and spotting the ax from the corner of his eyes, he reached for it and barely managed to roll out of the beasts's way as he let out a roar of his own and struck upwards towards the bear again.

The winds outside grew faster, swirling tighter, and faster, and tighter, growing into a small tornado. Snow flew into the twister like a rush of seafoam, turning it icy white. It grew until its winds pulled at the air in the cave and Olive clutched onto the rock ledge. Her breath became more labored now, but she still had a look of steady concentration and she watched the wind swell with clear, open eyes. She was still letting the storm grow. The truly hard part, the part she couldn't always manage, would be stopping the growth. Controlling the storm that she created.

The sound of the tornado was a dull roar now and the bear paused its assault on Kentamin, looking back over its shoulder at the increasing chaos outside.

With the bear momentarily distracted by the beast of the storm growing outside, the ax blade came up and smashed into it's throat, eliciting a painfilled cry as blood splattered out all over Kentamin, and just as he gave a cry of elation and fury, he yanked the ax clean and turned, surprised to see the white chaos outside- the very thing that had distracted the bear enough not to kill him. And now the templar was frozen in shock, while the bear tried to turn tail and run. Not only was it bleeding from it's neck- and bleeding bad, but it knew what this sort of storm was, and he was not about to keep himself in any more danger. But where as the bear was smart enough to move, Kentamin was not, as he simply stared in wide eyed shock.

The bear wouldn't get far. Instead of making an escape, it was caught in the dangerous funnel of wind outside. The tornado's icy grip tossed the bear about, lifting the great beast off the ground. The winds' reach increased, pulling at the cave, and Olive found herself gasping out to Kentamin, "Get back, fool!"

Olive felt the power of the storm growing and she knew it was in danger of approaching a point of no return, where she wouldn't be able to control it or to stop it. Outside, the sky began to darken as the twister spun the bear high into the air and issued gusts that flattened nearby trees. Olive was gasping now, clutching at the rock wall to stay upright, sweat beading on her forehead and the palms of her hands. She needed to control it. She had to turn it around before it got out of her control.

The roaring of the winds spoke volumes about the very real danger in the mage's powers.

Kentamin wasn't sure what was happening or what to do, but dropping the ax, he moved away, cowering behind a tall rock in attempts to remain out of the storm's fury. Whether it would work or not, only time would tell as he grit his teeth and closed his eyes, wondering if this was the moment he was finally to die.

Olive was bent over with effort, her rail-thin frame shaking violently. Though not nearly as violently as the storm outside. It seemed like ages, though it was probably only a few minutes, before the young mage's breath caught in a sudden gasp. Outside, the tornado - which had been growing to frightening proportions - began to shrink and the sky began to lighten. Olive seemed to hold her breath as she forced the final push of magic.

Then all at once the storm dissipated, Olive collapsed, and a few seconds later, the loud thump! of the bear returning to the earth sent reverberations through the ground.

The impromptu storm, however, had destroyed Olive's earlier spell that kept the shelter relatively warm and protected. And now, with the girl strewn unconscious on the ground, the temperature began to quickly drop.

When the swirl of the storm had past, Kentamin sat there in disbelief. His heart was hammering clean out of his chest, and the chill of the aftermath came out in white puffs of panted breaths and sweaty shivers. He wasn't sure what to make of what occurred, but the second he realized it was safe to move, he stumbled over to Constance's strewn from and tried to rouse her. But when nothing came of it, he shivered; out of fear, out of strife. He hadn't known when it had become so cold, but uncertain what to do, he scooped up the woman's form and held her close, keeping their bodies close out of the heat, and out of comfort. But to feel her heat he could tell she was still alive, and he just held her, not sure what else he ought or could do. Too much plague his mind and weighed heavily upon him- considering he had no idea what just happened, and from his confusion he just held her tighter and buried his face against her to try to at least keep back the shivering cold.

Consciousness returned in a slow fade for Olive, wavering in and out, until she felt two things clearly: the pain in her leg and the cold biting at her skin. Her green eyes blinked slowly open. It took her several moments to realize that she was being held tight against Kentamin. She moved slowly, turning to look at Kentamin, her face only inches away from his. But at that distance and with her current state, the image wouldn't focus, and he swam before her eyes while she stared at him, or at least in his direction not yet entirely conscious. Finally, she shook her head as if shaking the blurry image away, and pulled away just enough to focus on him.

He was still alive. So she must be, too. And everything was still and silent.

And cold.

"Ca- can you build a fire?" she asked weakly, not realizing her voice was chattering. "I think- I think I can close the air in here again, but not..." Olive seemed like she was fading for a moment, and her gaze slipped downwards, then she shook herself again, momentarily 'all together' again, but it was clear in these conditions that she would fade fast.

Constance awakening in his arms was sobering, and seeing her teeth chattering he realized his actions were a bit foolish. But he had been so shocked that the moment held him still. Reluctantly he released his grip upon her and fumbled around until he got a fire going, but it was frustrating and took him a lot longer than he'd like, but once a few flames were crackling, he got down low and used his breath to help feed it, and then after throwing in some slender limbs, the fire began to really take light.

Releasing an anxious breath, he turned to Constance and moved near her side.
"Here, let me help you get over to the fire." And in silence, he guided her, mindful of her leg before remaining just beside her, holding her lightly to help keep her supported near the flames. And as the two sat there, shoulder to shoulder, he grew somber as he stared at the dancing fire. And the mre he looked, the more he began to realize what might have occurred. Could that have been magic? He shivered and just prayed to Angsar. He sure hoped not.

But well..
At least he was alive.

Olive said nothing as she let Kentamin help her to the fire. She sat down carefully, and a bit awkwardly, mindful of her leg. But less mindful than she had been. The mage was still spent, and she gave little thought to her leg or to much of anything else. But once they were situated, she leaned into Kentamin, even resting her head on his shoulder, and stared at the fire, thinking absolutely nothing.

She stayed like this for a long time, eyelids fluttering every so often. But in time the fire began to work on her and Olive felt warmth and a sense of reality return hand-in-hand to her. The fire felt good against her face, but she was aware now of a very different feeling in her stomach.

How many days had they been here? She realized she had no clue, at least not right now. But too long, and they'd had no food in that time. "Did the bear die?" she suddenly asked, without preface. "You can eat bear meat."

Kentamin shivered at her side, but grew quiet as he thought over what she said.
"I... I don't know. I suppose he has," he told her softly. And then as he regarded her with his blue eyes he asked, "Will you be alright if I check?"

Olive nodded. "I'll be fine," she said. "I'll be the one with the fire. I think food is probably getting more and more important if we want to last up here."

Kentamin gave a nod and wasted no more time. He too, was famished after this whole ordeal and not having anything to eat was making him tense and feeling vulnerable. Perhaps that why he...
But he shook off the notion as he disappeared to check on the bear. When he found it, it was definitely dead. He had his ax already in hand, and knowing he couldn't possibly lug the whole thing in one go (and it was a bloody thing to do once he began to cut at the bear, and poorly...) the snow was left stained red, so was his clothing and hands, but it was what it was, an once he had enough meat, he place it into a pouch and returned to the fire, and set it down beside it.

Wiping off the sweat from his brow, and accidentally brushing a streak of blood across his forehead, he turned to Olive.
"Feel free to cook these. I want to finish gutting the bear and retrieving the rest of the meat. And it's hide. Though I've never skinned a bear, it's fur coat will do us well while you recover."

Olive nodded as Kentamin left the rock shelter. Alone, she felt the cold creep up on her more than it had when Kentamin had been holding her. So Olive scooted closer to the fire, blowing on its flames and adding a few logs. Her thoughts still didn't stray on to any of the implications of what was happening here, or what had almost happened, or what was happening outside this valley. She just didn't have the energy for it anymore. And this disconnect from reality, from the war, that they seemed to have agreed on was much more amicable than the aggressive silence that had preceded it.

So when he came back, she simply took the meat from him without comment. Though the irony of the situation, how they were almost playing house (not unlike her earlier snide remark to him), was not lost on her. Carefully setting the meat aside on the cleanest-ish rock surface, Olive used a stick to draw out some of the coals from the fire, then she laid the chunks of bear across the coals so they could slowly cook. She turned the meat every so often, taking her time even as her stomach growled audibly at the smell of the cooking meat. Every so often, she glanced out of the cave to see how the city boy was making do with the bear.

It took some time to cook the meat, but likely Kentamin would need the time anyway, so Olive didn't worry. When it was finally done enough that Olive was convinced they could eat it, she let out a long, loud whistle. The same sort of whistle she'd used for her dog, when it was his dinner time.

By the time Kentamin returned, he was sticky wth blood. But he had the good sense to wipe off the majority of it in the snow. But that left him feeling more like an ice cube than anything, so when the fire's warmth greeted him in the shelter, it was enough to make him forget all of his woes. Like Constance, he was too tired and strained to question any of this, even as the events replayed throughout his head the entire time he was skinning the bear. Now with the hide and a surplus of meat in hand, he handed the large sack of meat beside her to add to the rest- for raw meat would not keep as well compared to that f whihc was cooked, and he went about laying the hide out as flat as he could, but left a few rocks beneath it so that air could flow and help dry it out.

"At least we'll be able to sleep on comfortable ground," he murmured, knowing full well his would now be their make shift bed. Then he move over to the fire and looked down at the sizzling meat. "Is it cooked and ready now?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Olive said hastily when Kentamin asked whether the meat was ready to eat or not. It had been excruciating waiting for him to return, and to wait longer as he set up the rest of the meat to smoke dry and laid out the bear's pelt. But manners were manners, and Olive had managed to wait for her 'companion' to join her before eating. As soon as he'd sat down, though, she swiftly grabbed a piece of the bear and bit into it.

It was very gamey, but Olive didn't care. She had the good sense, as hard as it was, not to eat the meat too quickly. She'd had enough practice with going several days hungry and the consequences of eating too quickly afterwards. Silence fell in between them as they ate - as it always did with the very hungry - and it took some time of careful eating and chewing before Olive's appetite began to quiet. But once it did, she felt like a different person, like life was flowing back through her.

She breathed in, slowly and contentedly, and momentarily closed her eyes, extending herself out to the wind again, and coaxed it to encircle the cave, trapping the heat from the fire inside. She decided it was best not to mention she'd done it to the templar, though. Instead, she leaned back against the rock wall, looking at him for the first time since she'd started eating.

"You know," she said, fixing him with a sideways grin, a teasing laughter hidden behind her eyes, "you're not a very good priest. I'm pretty sure feeling up mages is strictly off limits for you lot."

Like Olive, he hadn't completely lost his head, but wished desperately to feast on the meat, but followed Olive's example and ate it slowly, savoring each bite. Though he was nearing his fill when Olive looked his way, and the curious look and smirk she was giving him made his brows raise. He had just taken another bite of meat, juice dribbling down from his lips when what she said sunk in-
and suddenly he was choking on his bear meat.

Olive had to suppress a sudden laugh when Kentamin actually choked at her question! Not that it was funny, of course. He was choking! Reaching over to him, she clapped him hard on the back to dislodge the bear meat caught in his throat.

The second she hit him on the back,t he bear meat went flying. And for a few seconds, Kentamin was left sputtering, wheezing as his eyes burned with tears from lack of oxygen. And when he finally had the gall to turn to her, he saw that smug little smirk as his own face wrinkled incredulously, but instead of retorting with his usual bark, he surprised even himself as he leaned in to capture her lips as he growled, "I didn't see you complaining."
You know, until the bear showed up.

But at this point he didn't care. The pair had been through too much together for him to simply toss it out- even in the name of Angsar.
"And before the bear came along," he continued to growl through his kisses, forcing her to lay down in one solid motion upon the cave floor. "We were doing something...." And his hands slipped up her shirt. "Like this."

That was not what Olive had been expecting! She had only - or at least mostly - thought to tease him, laugh at his blush, that sort of thing. She’d felt quite confidently that she’d had the upper hand in the situation, but now it was her surprise that showed. He was a preist, after all!

“Well, we don’t have the same sorts of rules,” she muttered after the first kiss, her surprise still written plainly all over her face.

And he surprised her even more when he forced her down onto the cave floor and suddenly found her heart racing, not quite as in control of the situation as she’d expected to be. If she’d even thought there would be a situation! But she didn’t fight him, and her hands found their way up into his hair as he laid her forced her down and kissed her. She stopped his hand as it moved up her stomach, though, and pushed him just far enough upwards.

“Were we?” she asked, kissing him lightly, pulling at the cords of her shirt. “That seems silly when,” then Olive used the space between them to pull of her top, “this would make so much more sense.”

Kentamin whimpered through a moan, taking in her body with a lustful hunger to his eyes. He had never seen a woman this way, not truly, and certainly not so close and before him. And before he could stop himself, his lips were drinking of her body, soft kisses and light sucking were made against her breast, while his hand fondled the other. She was so soft and smelled so good. By Angsar's name, what was that scent about her? It made him shiver all over, and soon he felt the same burning desire between his legs as he kissed up her shoulder now and throat and found his groin naturally meeting to hers again a he groaned.

"None of this makes sense," he told her, kissing at her lips now, his hands still exploring her body, feeling the softness of her breasts while her nipples turned erect. And he shivered again, hips grinding against her as softly his teeth met to her neck while hot breaths splayed around his wandering kisses. "Gods..."

And for this moment in time, no vows existed. It was all about need, and exploring whatever this primal desire was with her.

Olive's breath caught when his mouth found her breasts, and released slowly. Her back arched towards him, her teasing and then surprising melting now into her own desire, and her fingers laced into his hair. She lay back down onto the rock floor, pulling him on top of her and kissed him hotly when his mouth found hers.

But when he wondered at how this made no sense (though Olive thought, after all of their pursuit of each other - even if it had been to another end - it made all the sense in the world), she put a finger to his lips and reminded him, "Remember, no talking."

She let out a small moan, though, as his groin pressed into hers and her hips arched to meet his. It had been a long time since she'd been with a man. For a moment memories of Lorent flittered through her head and she felt a pang inside her chest. For an even briefer moment the image of his lifeless eyes flashed before her. But she shut it out. She didn't want to remember that. Any of it. And in her desperation to forget, she kissed Kentamin that much more fiercely, pulling him tightly against her, her fingers digging into his back.

Kentamin whimpered when her finger came to his lips. Peering down at her with lust filled eyes, he only asked but one question in their silence before lips moved down her body, kissing her from throat to navel, and lower. Gods, she was so soft, and as his lips trailed back up her body, they met to one breast and took in a mouthful and just let himself taste her as his groin went back to work, grinding hungrily as he moaned.

This time, Olive wasn't going to let him leave his clothes on - and this time, the bear wasn't going to interrupt. The bear, after all, was already splayed out on the shelter floor. Olive let him kiss her body, her hips meeting his, for as long as she could stand the halfway mark they'd made it to. She pulled him up, kissing him hotly on the mouth and pulled off his shirt, kissing his neck, his shoulder, his chest, running her fingers down his naked back.

Then Olive disentangled from him and scooted back until she was on the bear hide. Carefully, mindful of her injured leg, Olive removed her own trousers, so she was left naked on the skin of the bear, then she pulled Kentamin to her.

Whether it was the desire to keep up what she was doing, or the desire that heated his blood, he couldn't say, for as Constance went to remove her own pants, the Templar did the same. Though his sacred vows to remain chaste wagged lightly in a scold in the back of his head, part of him was reluctant to safe guard his chastity any longer. It wasn't about vows here, it was about heat and need; and he wanted to forget about everything just as fervently as she, so when she pulled him towards the bear skin, he hesitated for only but a moment, until he felt her against his body, tasted her lips as he moaned and melted into her, melted into the moment as lips explored all over her skin.

Olive lay against the thick fur of the bear skin, her breath still heavy, her heart thumping in her chest, her body still flush. The sex had been a little clumsy at first, but that hadn't really mattered. The urgency, heat, and release of all the built of tension between them had fueled the encounter and now, spent, Olive felt oddly light. As though the man collapsed next to her could be anyone, a friend, or even a lover. She didn't think about who he really was, what he really was. And now she found herself watching the rise and fall of his chest, clear eyed, her hand running light spirals across his stomach.

The exercise had not, however, done any real favors to her leg. Olive stretched then, and pulled herself up into a lazy sitting position, just enough to stretch forward to adjust the brace. With her back exposed to him now, Kentamin would see the criss-crossed network of scars across her back; left there by a whip or a cane. Wincing just a little as she moved the brace, Olive retightened it, then let it go. Still sitting, she looked back at Kentamin, her expression curious and placid. But she didn't say anything. Instead she reached up and began undoing the bun which was now eskewed, sending her honey-blonde hair cascading down her back and shoulders.

For once in his life, he felt at peace. This serenity, this exhaustion that swept through him made him slick with sweat and his heart hammer within his chest. His eyes were nearly closing, about ready to just allow himself passage into a sweet slumber after their bliss when his eyes reopened and he noted the scars upon her back.

Silently he watched her, mind numbing over the reality- and the dream. It played at his emotions on a deeper level, and he had no idea what to make of the sin the pair had just committed. Except, perhaps, maybe this girl actually deserve better. But how wrong was that for him to even conceive? For despite his grave fear of those with magic, it seemed that it was this moment that- for once in his life, yes it was peace, and perhaps, more of an understanding, for mages were just people...

Though even he knew there was a lot more. Why did things have to be so complicated? When had this war turned grey? He lifted up a hand now and traced lightly over her scars.

"Did you get those marks from the camp?" he asked softy, perching himself up now on one arm while the rest of him still lay across the fur skin.

"Yes," she answered plainly, meeting his gaze as his hand traced over the scars. "But let's not talk about it," she said, leaning forward to kiss him lightly. "It's nothing special, anyway." The last comment might seem strange, but what she meant was - well - coming out of the camps like that was ordinary. Especially for a trouble maker, and Olive had been a trouble maker. The only thing that might be a little special about it was that she had survived to form scars at all.

She held his gaze for a moment, then gently coaxed him to lay back on the bear rug, and she rested her head on his chest, her body turned so that her stomach was against his side and her arm wrapped around his stomach. "Let's just pretend for awhile that there aren't any camps. That we're from some other country, without a war." Olive was silent for a moment, then said, "I'm sick to death of this war."

Kentamin went silent and thought about all they said and what they had gone through, what she must've gone through and he instantly tried to shut it out. Now was not the time to question his position. He was a templar, and despite her being a mage....

She couldn't be an exception, could she? His blue eyes drank in her form somberly, as he moved to kiss her shoulder.
"As you wish."
For he too, wished to play pretend, at least for as long as they had to. But then what? Would it go back to the same hunting and chasing as before?

"How's your leg?" He hoped he hadn't made it worse after all they had just done. But it seemd, in the moment anyway, she hadn't cared.

Olive listened to the thumping of Kentamin's heart in his chest, holding herself tightly against him. "It's sore," she answered, "but it's okay. At least," she laughed quietly, "as 'okay' as it's going to be."

Despite their closeness, Olive felt the coolness of the air against her bare skin and she half-rolled away from Kentamin for a moment to pull his discarded coat over them. Then, warm between the bear fur, his warm body, and the coat, Olive felt oddly safe. For now she wouldn't ask herself the same questions Kentamin was asking. Maybe she didn't need to. If she had to kill him in the future, would she? Probably. Sometimes, it seemed, the war had turned Olive into a person she hardly recognized anymore.

For now, though, Olive lay back against Kentamin, snuggling close to him, her head on his chest. Her arm was draped over him and she casually ran her fingers up and down his shoulder. Closing her eyes, Olive let herself feel content. "Tell me about growing up in Reajh," she said suddenly, her voice light. "I always wondered what it would be like growing up in the city."

Kentamin observed her in silence, his own eye lids hanging low as he studied where her skin was flush and where her hair still remained partially plastered to the lingering sweat on her skin. A hand moved forward, removing some from her forehead as he spoke.

"Busy," he told her, eyes seeking her own. "There was always something to do, people to see, things to see. Busy." Though he didn't sound so happy about it. "Reajh never offered a dull day." And it seemed to be a focal point in a lot of the animosity between their worlds.
"The war... you know, began long before the new Grand Duke dictated it... I... it..." but he let his words drift off his tongue.

"But we're forgetting about that now." He said, his eyes going distant as he peered outwards and into the dark cave. "In here, there's just comfort and contentment."And sighing, he nestled in against her and closed his eyes, keeping his forehead pressed to hers.
"I bet there would be no wars if there were more moments like this in the world." And idly, he stroked her hair and kept her close.

Gods, what was he doing. This was blasphemy, but in the moment, he tried not to care.

Olive wanted desperately to say that she bet there'd be a lot less priests, too, but she didn't think it was the right moment to antagonize them. Doubtless the breaking of his vows weighed heavier on his shoulders than they did on hers. But it was too late to keep the quiet laughter off her countenance, so instead she addressed his earlier comment about comfort, telling him, "Easy for you to say, with all your limbs intact!"

Olive was silent for awhile, then. She didn't want to think about what caused wars, or what prevented them. She didn't even really want to think about what she was doing now. She definitely didn't want to think about the Grand Duke and what he had decreed. The decisions he had made, the decisions other dukes made... Olive found herself wondering idly how much it had even impacted Calent's life, really. Not enough, she guessed.

"I don't envy you, really," she finally said, pushing all of those other thoughts out of her head, forcing herself to remember other things. "I liked growing up in the country, away from the rush and politics of the capital. I think even if I weren't... I don't think Reajh ever would have suited me. I liked Uthlyn, but I love Wulfbauer. The hills and forests, clear lakes and rivers. Always having horses and dogs about. The nice thing about having no brothers, I suppose, is that I got to do all that sport and running around with my father that normally only sons get to do. Hunting and riding and shooting. Tuffling!" Olive talked about all of this now as though remembering for herself, as if the things she described hadn't been part of a completely separate life from the one she now led, and the wistful fondness in her voice didn't betray the sundering of herself from her family. "My mother wasn't so keen, obviously. I suppose that's why I was sent to Uthlyn."

"It sounds nice," he murmured, finding himself growing heavy with sleep as he stroked her hair. "Though I've grown quite accustomed to life in the city, since I've been stationed and doing a lot of travel, it's been... a great change." He wasn't sure if it was necessarily for the better. "I don't think I've ever properly enjoyed a lake or river."
Though after his last experience in one, he wasn't so sure he wanted to.

Olive could feel his breath slow and grow heavy with sleepiness. She propped herself up, just, on one arm to look at him for a moment. "Alright," she finally said with a faint smile, "I'll stop blathering on about it. Not much point in reminiscing anyway."

Then she found herself leaning down, kissing him gently, returning from the memory of her past to the tentative fantasy they'd constructed here.

Her kiss was so soft he found himself releasing a soft whimper before he opened his blue eyes to look up into her face.
"Maybe we'll never have to go home." A fool's idea, but this small moment- despite all it entailed, felt like heaven.

Maybe we'll never have to go home.

Olive couldn't help but give Kentamin a lopsided half-smirk at that comment. "Stick with me, kid, and you never will."

Still, the fool's suggestion left a pang in her stomach, and the sadness behind her wry comment shadowed her face.

Suddenly she was thinking of her parents again, and her expression turned serious when she asked him, her voice slow and careful, "When you confess this, will you use my name?"

Olive no longer believed in the 'confidentiality' of confessions, and her instincts were still to protect her family.

Kentamin frowned when he thought it over.
"I was never good at lying." Then he turned to her to look her in the eyes.
"And it's my duty. It would be a sin not to."
An ironic statement, considering what was already transpiring between the two.

Something in Olive’s face fell, but she nodded. “I understand,” she said quietly. And though Kentamin might not believe it, she did. The Church and its tenants, even when she doubted them, had been a major part of her life. She wouldn’t ask him to act against his conscience.

Her expression tightened, and she looked away from Kentamin. But there was a faraway look in her eyes that suggested the pain in her face was not caused by him. “My parents…” she started, then stopped. When she continued, she was half talking to Kentamin, half to herself, never making eye contact with him. Her green eyes stayed fixed to the outside world. The world full of all the pain and fear of the war.

“My parents agreed to my detention in the camps. Probably you’ve already heard that. I think, if they knew what I was doing now…” Her voice tightened and she took a second. “You might find it hard to believe, but before that, I wasn’t the sort of person who would be here now. Fighting against the government, I mean. I maybe wasn’t the ideal picture of a Connlaothian lady, but I was pious, and I cared a great deal about my family and my duchy. And our country. I still do. What I mean is…” She was obviously having a hard time vocalizing it, and maybe because it was something she had avoided thinking about herself. “I think they would know that something must have happened. To me, I mean. I never want them to know what happened to me there. I don’t want them to think…” Here, her expression mixed concern and shame. Not at what she was doing now, but the sort of shame often felt by victims who feel they are less than they were because of the things that have been done to them. Olive drew a long, ragged breath. It was clear from her voice that she was struggling against tears. “I would rather they think I’m dead, than to think they sent me to that. Than for them to feel responsible…”

Guilt bubbled up into Olive's stomach, and she put a hand to her face, her body tensing as she thought out loud, "Gods, and if they ever catch me and they know who I am... The example they'll make of me... To think of them having to watch it..."

Finally she looked back at him, a conflicted mix of guilt and sadness in her face, her eyes shining with tears that she was determined not to shed. “Despite how everything is now, we loved each other.” She sighed, looking down again. "I'm sorry. It's my fault. I never should have let you know."

Kentamin shifted uncomfortably at her statement and felt his stomach tightening into a knot. Though as she spoke, he simply remained stiffly at her side, trying to swallow back the knot discretely inside his throat, but to no avail. After a while of him fighting over his own, awkward emotions in reaction to her, he blinked back the stingy-ness of his eyes and released a held breath.

"Don't worry about that now. I'm sure they probably think you're safe in the camps still."
Though even as he spoke in in attempts to comfort her, the taste of his words felt and tasted awkward in his mouth. But he couldn't help but consider what she spoke. That she had been pious, that she cared about her family and country....

Why did all of this make him feel guilty now? Perhaps it was because he fell prey to sin with her, and recalling their union made his cheeks flush hotly.

Olive closed her eyes and let out a long, ragged sigh. His words only half-registered with her. The comfort in them was hollow, anyway. It didn't negate any of the things she said. And all of the things she'd said were true.

Olive was quiet for a long time. She could feel the stiff and awkward posture Kentamin now had. Olive had opened a window to reality, disrupting the comfortable fantasy they had built up around them. Olive wanted desperately to close it now.

"You're right," she conceded, and kissed him on the shoulder, "it doesn't." It didn't sound like she meant it, but she kissed him again on the collar bone, then on the neck. Her right hand drifted down his stomach towards his groin. "But we've already sinned," she kissed his throat, "we may as well take advantage of the situation."

Kentamin shivered at her ministrations. But as much as he was turned on by her touches, part of this moment did not sit with him well and he found himself resting a hand over hers.
"Angsar might forgive us, in time," he murmured. "But we should not tempt fate." And his eyes met sadly to hers. The confusion was still evidently there, and so was his rigid posture.

Olive's hand stopped at Kentamin's restraining touch. For a moment she paused, her body tense in the position it had been stopped in. She thought she could probably push it, if she wanted to. Push away his objections, push shut the window to reality she'd opened.

Maybe. Maybe not.

Then Olive's body relaxed, and she rolled away from Kentamin onto her back. She was still laying next to the templar, but was no longer touching him. Olive let out a long exhale and simply said,

"Fuck."

What had she been thinking. Not because she'd slept with the templar, she didn't really care about that and she privately doubted Angsar did, either. But... the whole thing. Why had she let her anger keep drawing her to this man at all? She'd taken far too many risks to get at him, and now... What a mess. He wasn't her lover. He certainly wasn't her friend. And she'd let him know who she was, now given him the most scandalous rumors one could hope for. It put her in danger, it put her family in danger. If the church found out that a 'high profile' target was with the rebels, it likely put them in more danger than they already lived in. And for what? So she could pretend to forget about the war for awhile?

Fuck indeed.

Kentamin grew tense. His mind had deduced that reason for this moment was over the fact of sin, not over the fact that Olive had divulge so many of her secrets unto him. In fact, he was so wrapped up in the idea of sin, that the fear he'd face the wrath of Angsar began to curdle forth from the deep recesses of his mind. And to see her lay there so simply, so ready to give up under a word of 'Fuck', made him realize- perhaps he should use his calling.

He turned to her, but his blue gaze seemed to avoid her, even when looking at her all the same as his hand found hers.
"We should pray," he whispered, a gloved hand moving over hers. "For forgiveness. To wash away our sins."
ANd perhaps the memories of what had just happened. It would do them both a world of good to forget.

Olive pulled her hand sharply away from Kentamin and her green eyes flashed at him. If anything, she looked more disdainful now than she had before. "Oh, fuck you, too," she snapped, her lips curling up in a half-sneer. "It's a little late to play the part of a holy man."

She huffed and pushed herself up into a sitting position, her back to Kentamin. Ignoring him, she pulled on the coat that had only moments earlier blanketed them both and wrapped it around her, glaring at the fire. After a few moments, she finally told him without turning to face him, some of the edge off her voice - but not much, "Go to sleep. I'll take care of the fire."

The reply was like a slap to the face, another wake up call in the line of many. But she, he believed, had every right to be angry with him. He had taken advantage of her when they were both so vulnerable, and instead of embellish the dream to help them forget what a sorry mess they were both confined to, here he was- trying to 'resolve' things the proper way-

But she was right. It was too late- and he broke too many of his own laws here.
Still stinging from her remark, the templar went quiet. Though he did not oblige her, he instead, moved away and decided to quietly tend to the fire anyway as he fed it a log- but still said nothing as he watched the sparkling crackles of orange as the fire breathed in the newly piled on log and continued to burn with life.

Olive didn't even watch him as Kentamin set about tending to the fire (though she thought it was rather brave, or foolish, of him to do it naked!). In fact, she made quite a point of glaring at the flames and ignoring him. She wished very much that she could just get up and walk away. Walk back out into the cold winter night to clear her head. But as her earlier efforts to stand had made clear, that wasn't an option for her.

So she'd just have to wait him out. Eventually he would have to give up and fall asleep, and then she could at least pretend to be alone.

He didn't tend to the fire long in the nude, and eventually dressed himself after feeding the flames with sufficient amount of wood. He was numb to a lot of things in that moment, and while she pretended to be alone, he tried to figure out just what was going on in his life.

He tried to tell himself it was just a moment of weakness, a moment of survival-
but no matter which way he twisted it, something did not sit well-
and he kept thinking about her lips.

Olive continued to ignore Kentamin while he paced about the fire and finally dressed himself and retreated into his own thoughts. She stayed under the coat (his coat, as it happened, but she didn't dwell on this) naked and shivering a little, but stubbornly unmoving. When she eventually heard his breathing slow into the recognizable rhythm of sleep, Olive finally followed suit and carefully dressed herself, inspecting once again her damaged leg. It had gotten a bit banged up between her attempts to stand on it and her encounter with the templar and was showing signs of swelling again. Sighing at the great cost she'd already incurred because of the bloody ankle, she carefully and quietly scooted herself to the opening of the cave to collect fresh snow to pack on the injured appendage.

Then, as she was scooping the cold, frozen snow from the banks outside of the cave, she realized she wasn't alone. In the darkness outside, a pair of golden eyes were watching her intently. Olive's stomach leapt into her throat, but she didn't make a sound. The white-furred wolf was not bristling with aggression, but regarded her with curiosity and intention. In that moment, Olive wished desperately that she had the same power to speak with the wild things Silas had. But she did not, so she only returned the wolf's gaze. Though the moment felt frozen in time, the encounter could not have lasted for more than a few moments before, as silently as it had come, the white wolf loped away into the darkness. Olive watched the dark shadows for the forest where it had disappeared for several moments before letting out a long breath and packing the snow around her ankle.

She must have fallen asleep watching for the creature to return, because Olive awoke cold, stiff, and in pain near the entrance of the cave. Though by now it might be well into the morning, this far north the gray light of dawn was only just beginning to cast itself across the sky and it was still dark and lightly snowing outside. Olive blinked, still feeling thick with sleep, and wondered if it was the dim light or the shark crick in her neck that had woke her when she heard something echoing across the mountains. But it was distant and she couldn't quite make it out.

She pulled herself up stiffly into a sitting position, stretching the pain out of her neck when she heard it clearly:

"...Olive!... Olive!..."

Suddenly she was completely awake. It wasn't something it was someone. Someone looking for her! She said a silent blessing for the wolf then, without thinking, she leapt to her feet.

...and just as quickly, her injured ankle giving out from under her, came crashing down in a loud thud-splat on the cave floor.

The unceremonious crashing of his partner in crime (well, sort of, at least for hte time being, perhaps more like his partner against her will, but a partner none the less...)-  it forced him awake with a start, his gloved hand grasping his weapon as his heart was suddenly hammering with his chest.

Spotting Olive on the ground, he released a breath and put the weapon away, and groggily climbed over to her side.

"You shouldn't be moving on it. It's still tender," he scolded, and moved to offer her some help so she could sit down again, like she should be doing. It was only then he noticed the fire was getting low and he sighed.
"I'll go feed the fire."
And he moved to leave her side turning towards the entrance of the cave when something caught his ear as he paused in midstride.

Olive was already scrambling back up, unfazed by the fall (at least for now), by the time Kentamin woke and came to help her up. But she ignored him, shrugging him off and using a crag in the wall of the cave to pull herself back up, shakily to her feet. Or foot, rather. She hobbled past Kentamin, hopping and holding onto the cave ledge, until she was just outside the cave.

"Here!" she yelled back into the valley. "I'm here!"

Olive took another hop out of the cave, blinking back the dim sun and snow. She fell back against the rim of the cave, but still standing calve deep in snow. Her eyes scanned the valley, but she couldn't see anyone yet. With the steep mountain walls of the valley, the calls could be echoing from who knew how far away. With her heart thumping but her wits a bit more about her now, she let out a long, low three-part whistle that anyone from the Alliance would recognize as a call to say, 'I'm here. I need help.'

For the moment, Kentamin was completely forgotten.

"Hey, what are you doing?!" Kentamin growled. "You're injured! You could make it worse!"
But as soon as he realized she was calling for help, he froze beside her, too stunned to move. Was she calling for help to get away from him? Or was there actually another person she had heard or seen in the valley?

"Shut up," Olive snapped at the growling templar, "can't you hear that?"

Still faint in the distance in the valley, the voices could just be heard echoing off the walls of the steep valley sides. "...Olive?! .... Olive!..."

She responded with another long, low whistle that carried across the silent, snow-filled scenery. With all the echoing, though, Olive knew it would be hard to follow the sound of her voice or of the whistle. She remembered the wolf, wondered if the searcher out there was Silas, and what or who might be guiding him. But she still felt she ought to do something more to draw them here. For the first time, after all, she wasn't so afraid she was going to die here.

"Hey," she said to Kentamin, less snappy now, "can you get something that will smoke, and bring it out here?"

While asking for the boy's help, Olive had yet to think about what would happen when her compatriots arrived and found the templar.

At the sound of someone's voice, Kentamin froze. There was definitely someone out there- and while Constance didn't seem to think about the future of her companion, he certainly was. The fact this stranger who was calling to them knew this mage didn't bode well for who's side of hte war they were on. So when Constance ordered him to get something to create a signal fire from, the templar didn't dare move.

ANd instead he asked, "Who's out there, Constance?" And he set a stern gaze upon her. There was no way he was about to set himself up for certain death.

At first Constance's attention didn't waver from searching the distance for approaching figures. For help. Then, several seconds after he'd spoken, she seemed to hear Kentamin's words. Her head and attention snapped over to him and at first her expression was impatient and annoyed. "Help, that's who! What, you don't want it?" she bit, and nearly laid into him for hesitating on setting up a smoke signal, but she stopped.

Her eyes searched his expression, reading his unmasked concern there, and her countenance softened. Somehow, his sudden potential vulnerability made her feel a new wave of... well, not affection, but... What was it? Her posture relaxed, and she reached out to hold his face. Unconcerned, it seemed, that he had rejected her intimacy the night before. And, to her surprise and with no idea why, she kissed him. It wasn't tender, nor was it as rough and hot as how he had kissed her the previous night. It was, if anything, sudden.

"Come on," she said when she pulled away, her face still close to his, the hostility gone from her voice, "this is our chance to get out of here."

Despite the kiss, despite the chance at freedom from this, Kentamin turned his face away from hers, averting her gaze.
"Those men are part of the mage resistance, aren't they?" he asked, not even daring to look at her until his words were through. "You'd kiss me now while hoping to lead me to my death."
ANd with a bitter look, he pushed away from her and moved back into the cave, using his boots and the snow to snuff their current fire out- or what little flames were left.

If Olive could have followed him, she would have punched Kentamin in the face. That option being closed to her, she grabbed a handful of snow and threw it hard at the templar.

"That's not fair!" she bit at him, surprised at her own anger. She shouldn't care what the priest thought, one way or the other. "I'm part of the mage resistance. You've kept me alive, and I know that. I've kept you alive. What do you think I am? What, now you think I'm just some opportunistic murderer, without any honor at all?"

Olive glared balefully at him. Then, in what she knew was a low shot, asked, "Or are you only willing to play nice as long as you have a chance to fuck me?"

The snow ball hit him hard on the back of the head, and made him freeze. Then her words came, but they reached his ears slowly as his rage began to simmer beneath his skin. Turning towards her, his blue eyes cut through her like an icy rage.

"It was a mistake," he hissed. "A moment of weakness and I shall not die here." And he went back to stomping out the simpering flames and smoke.

Olive's anger flared up and she wished bitterly that he were close enough to hit. Instead, she threw another snowball, hard not playful at him, glaring daggers.

"What, you'd rather die tomorrow? In a week? You're only going to delay them finding us, you know, not stop them. Then what are you going to do? Hold me hostage? Bury your axe in my skull if they look at you the wrong way, then fight your way out into the blizzard? If you can. Is that your idea of honor?"

The snowball hit him square in the face, and it hit him as if it were a rock. As the pieces crumpled away, he stood there, glaring at her as the rest of the snowball's residue fell away. And he bared his teeth, much like a angered dog.

"I had no plans of that," he hissed. "Both options you give me are suicide, and if I were to take my chances on the snow or your friends, I'd choose the snow."
He'd have better luck with it! Snow can't stab you in the back... or so he thought. And he was no fool. He knew this relationship was only temporary.

But now that they had a possible way out...
How could he refuse?


But it was the route of more mages..
TRUSTING more mages, ad he felt himself inwardly panic at the idea.

"Fine."

Olive leaned against the rock of the cave, arms crossed, eyes glaring daggers.

"Leave then."

For the longest time, Kentamin simply glared at her before finally asking her, with some snappy, hesitation.
"What? You expect me to leave?"

"You said you'd rather face the snow and the wilderness than come face to face with any more mages," she said simply, though there was still an angry grit in her voice. "Then go. Face the snow. I'm obviously not going anywhere," she said with a gesture down to her broken, blue, splinted ankle. This whole thing was rankling her more than it ought to. Maybe that she had, for a small window of time, let herself think of this whiny priest as human at all. That she'd actually opened up to him. And for what? "If you don't want to be here when they find this place, you better go."

Kentamin grit his teeth. He was inwardly seething at her and wanted nothing more to do than charge out of there. But even he wasn't a fool. Prideful, but not a complete fool.
"You want me to just leave you here? As much as I hate it, I still owe you something."
Something.. but what?
"And if those men do not come..."
If he left, he'd be sealing her fate to die here- alone. And the idea of dying alone suddenly terrified him beyond all else.

That is not how he envisioned his life. He had much grander dreams than this.

"If they don't come and you leave, then what?" Olive asked, her gaze. Still hard but her tone just a little softer. A little. "You don't owe me anything. If they don't come, I can face whatever lies ahead for me. And what do you care what end a mage comes to? It's just one less of us."

Kentamin bit his lip. She was right. What did he care about one mage? Especially when more might replace her... More he'd have to fight when he got home. If they got home. His mind raced and whirled and twisted and gnarled into itself, until it was too painful and too confusing. And...
against his better judgement, he knew she was right. Right about seeking the help. And right about him not needing (or rather, shouldn't) care. But instead of answering her, he growled and moved to work at hefting up some of the charred wood, then began to take it outside, building a pit in a place he kicked open of snow.

Damn this. Damn this all!

Olive didn't continue goading him. She just watched, trying not to glare, as he built the smoky fire outside of the cave. And she didn't speak with him again while they waited. She didn't even return to the cave, despite the cold biting at her skin. The silence between the two seemed gaping as they waited. The only sound that broke it was the periodic whistle Olive gave to guide their hopefully rescuers.

It took a few hours, but eventually three figures appeared on the edge of the forest. Two horses riders, and a third, riderless horse. Olive's heart leapt. Wait. Olive looked again. It was four figures. The two riders, the horse, and a white wolf. The same one? Silently, she blessed it, either way. The riderless horse, Olive saw as they drew nearer, was Kentamin's and it followed nearby the taller rider without lead or rope.

The riders sighted the cave and, with a nod from the taller one, the wolf loped away, disappearing into the forest. It didn't take long for the riders to reach the cave from the forest's edge. They were both men, by their looks both in the mid- to late thirties. One was tall for a Connlaothian, and somewhat gaunt, with graying blonde hair and bright, blue-gray eyes. The other was of more typical Connlaothian build, with brown hair and eyes, and a more fiery countenance.

Once they were near the first man, Silas Greene, dismounted and in one motion pulled Olive into his arms. "Thank God," he muttered. "We feared the worst."

The second man, Roderick Alder, was off his horse only half a moment after Silas. But his attention wasn't on Olive. The click of him cocking his handcannon, which was already aimed at Kentamin. "Great to see you in one piece, Olive. Who's your friend?"

Kentamin remained quiet, as chilly and vacant sounding as the wind. The calls back and forth might as well have been the wolves' howling and when he saw the white wolf, he tensed only slightly. It was only appropriate such an animal was with mages, and he knew the sight of these men were only Angsar's way to punish him. So why delay? He had slept with a mage.. helped her when he should have left her to rot....

But even as he tried to tell himself that, it felt so hollow, and mixed sickeningly with the feeling of fear. So when the men appeared before them, his blue eyes went dull like the icy landscape, and he did not flinch when the gun was pointed at his face.

"Dhelsbar," he told them. "Kentamin Dhelsbar." And he paused before adding, "Templar in Training for the Order of Saint Agratha."

The air became electric and both men simultaneously tensed. A templar? Here? Alive and holed up with Olive? A mix of concern and mild confusion passed on Silas's face, silencing his inquiry about Olive's leg, and his blue-gray eyes turned to the young man. Roderick, however, only hardened. The hand cannon did not move.

Olive bit her lip. Conflict bubbling in her. But she turned towards Roderick, her voice low and serious. "He kept me alive," she said.

"Well, I'm very happy about that," Roderic responded, neither his eyes nor his gun wavering from, "but how many has he killed? And how many have died because of him and his 'order?'"

"Roderick, I-" Olive started, but she was cut off. Silas's hand tightened on her shoulder.

"No," Roderick said sharply. "I don't want you to convince me not to kill him, Olive. I want him to convince me." His eyes narrowed and the hatred and anger was clear, barely contained, on his face. "So you, 'Kentamin Dhelsbar, Templar in Training for the Order of Saint Agratha,'" he essentially spit the words, "I'm Roderick Alder, former father of twins who were taken by your Church. So tell me, why do you deserve to live?"

Kentamin's face remained placid, despite the emotions brewing within like a storm. But he kept his cool, and simply replied, "I want to survive the elements just as much as you. But I won't deny if you keep me alive, I won't have to hunt you again. But when the situation became dire, your associate and I have made a verbal treaty of sorts, but though you are not her, I would not hold you to her code of honor."

ANd if the man was going to shoot him, he'd better get it over with soon. Because the fear that was gripping him on the inside was intense, and he wasn't sure how long he could keep up this front and look brave.

He was not going to be killed crying or whining like a girl. If this was his end- so be it. He had at least gone out on his terms, and it would not be the storms and ice that took him.

"No, no, no," Roderick shook his head. "You haven't answered my question. I'm asking why you, Kentamin Dhelsbar, deserve to live. Any agreement you might have come into with Olive doesn't trump the hundreds or thousands your 'order' have brought misery upon. And I'm not going to wait for your answer forever."

Kentamin hardened his gaze, and tried desperately to keep his head level.

"Because I am a man like any other who wishes to prove his worth before his own God. I live to serve him, and only him. And I am merely following my calling, and his will." And here, the templar closed his eyes. "And if I am to die here, then so be it. But my life is not in your hands." ANd here he opened his gaze. "For I am but a servant of Angsar, and if he believes I am worthy to live, then you will not shoot me here."

And he could only hope that he would not, because, despite trying to sound brave and to try to use his God as his sense of justice and his shield, he was beyond scared and feared the pain and agony of death-
and the unlived life.

Whether or not he realized it, Kentamin was about to get his head blown off.

Olive realized it. And as she watched, a conflicting stew of emotions boiled in her stomach. She didn't, despite herself, want to see Kentamin die. Not here, anyway. Despite... everything. And she knew that neither Roderick nor Silas, both of whom she was sure had a solid moral compass, would spare him now. So it was up to her. What did that say about her?

"Wait!" Olive lurched forward towards Roderick and Kentamin and promptly and obviously fell on her injured ankle. Silas caught her, but it was enough to buy a little time for Kentamin.

"Wait," she repeated, breath heavy from the fall, her eyes first pleadingly on Roderick, before they turned to Kentamin. Surprising at least the two new arrivals, and a little bit herself, she told Kentamin, "Come with us. I don't think you know what you're fighting for. Come with us and hear our stories. See our scars." And with those words, Olive remembered with a leaden feeling what happened the last time she'd tried to protect a templar. How she'd gotten those scars Kentamin had asked about. "Come with us. And see if you really think the battle you've fought so far is in service of Angsar."

Kentamin was stunned, and it shown on his face. He stared at Olive for a time, then back at the gun.
"Go with you?" It was almost spoken with disgust, but the fear was evident in his tone, and his ability not to piss himself was waning. He knew she was going out on a limb here to save him, but he also knew choosing the path she offered him would eat him alive, from the inside out. And not to mention...
He still had a very, very grave fear of mages.

"Olive..."

A thick silence fell between the rebels, tense in the air, with Olive's offer to Kentamin. It was Silas whose grave voice finally broke it, his bluegray eyes firmly on the broken girl he'd caught in his arms. Even Roderick had glanced over at Olive in surprise, but only for half a second, before returning steelily to Kentamin.

"He can't come with us, Olive," Silas said, his voice sympathetic but firm. He had the calm, unassuming, and level-headed air of a natural leader about him. The sort that would never put himself in a position of power, but who people naturally listened to. Trusted.

No one responded. Both Olive and Roderick had their eyes fixed on Kentamin.

"But we won't kill him here, either," Silas continued, his voice more firm than sympathetic now. Though he sounded decided, he didn't sound very happy about it. "We won't kill him alone and unarmed, when Olive owes him her life, as she says."

Olive stared at Kentamin as if trying to communicate something. An apology? A plea for him to volunteer himself to their side? To protest that he would come with them? Or a realization of what he was: a threat and an enemy. Most likely, it was a combination of them all. Olive wasn't sure herself. But she wanted him to understand... something. Something to explain why she didn't argue with Silas now.

"Come on. Let's go. Olive, if you can't ride alone," he nodded to the riderless horse, Kentamin's, "you can ride with me. The other horse will follow us."

Kentamin shifted uneasily, peering at the group and still hesitant over his fate. Now that the topic moved to Olive and getting her a horse, he peered over at the remaining, empty horse- whihc he noticed was his horse by the army and church's emblems. And not sure what they aimed to do with him, he figure don approaching his own property, not thinking they'd leave him behind or-
leave him to walk in their caravan- even though his fate had not been outwardly discussed.

Perhaps to Kentamin's surprise, his horse whinnied, stamping its feet and backing away from Kentamin as he tried to approach. Silas was already helping a shaken, pained-looking Olive onto his horse, but Roderick's eyes hadn't left the Templar for a moment. Neither had his handcannon's sights.

"Oh no you don't," he warned, "just because Olive can't ride him doesn't mean he isn't coming with us. We need horses and you have two working legs."

The horse stamped its feet again, whinnied and shook its mane. Olive was on the other horse now, wincing and pulling at her injured leg. For the moment distracted by the pain shooting through it. But Silas looked at the horse, his blue gray eyes giving it the sort of attention one only gives to a conversation partner. When the horse was done, Silas gave a small, humored, 'hm.'

"Phileaus says he never really liked you, anyway," Silas told Kentamin, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You should be gentler with your next horse and he may serve you better."

Kentamin's face contorted at such words. Did they aim for him to follow and walk? And who was Phileaus? He had no idea his horse even had a name...

"So am I simply walk then?" he nearly spat, but his anger was still trumped by fear, and the fact the hand cannon was still pointed at his face. "Or are you just going to shoot me as you all ride away?"
Because that's sort of what it was looking like....
Shit.

He knew he shouldn't have helped her-
Angsar was really punishing him now. And to think- he had made love to that girl.
Wretched, indecent, tramp!

Olive stared at Kentamin. She was wondering if she was taking the easy way out. Letting Silas and Roderick dictate the Templar's fate. Or, at least his temporary fate. Uncertainty turned over in her stomach. Should she be arguing more for him? To let him take the horse? (Against the horse's will, apparently). They could at least take him out of the valley and leave him there. He had aided her, whatever his reasons were - Olive still wasn't sure she knew - and she had spoken as though they would get out of this together.

But then his spitting retort, laden heavy with his bratty whining, lashed out at them. Olive looked at him again, and whoever the actual, human being she had seen in him the previous night had been, that person was gone now. Replaced by the same pathetic, entitled Templar she had been chasing this whole time. For half a second, she considered taking Roderick's gun herself and ending this all right here. But that's what he would expect. And, almost above all else, Olive wanted to be better than him. Better than the whole lot of them. The betrayal of Mercuxio turned acid in her stomach again. No. She wouldn't defend the Templar. Let him freeze here if he was too proud to walk.

"Don't tempt me, Templar," Roderick told Kentamin as he mounted his horse in response to the younger man's whining. Roderick snorted, then turned his horse and began to trot away.

Silas was mounted behind Olive and he gave her shoulder one squeeze before following Roderick. Phileaus, formerly Kentamin's horse, also followed without being led by the mages. He had, apparently, defected from the Templar's side in this war.

Olive turned her head to look back at Kentamin as they rode away, her green eyes searching for his. Thinking what? She didn't know. She wanted to say something more to Kentamin, even as he disappeared in the distance. But no words came to her and then Kentamin was gone. And the temporary, fragile, peaceful agreement they'd forged dissipated with the snow on the wind.