The drums were retreating back into their hiding places. Urzoth could not say she was sad to see them go. Cub seemed to be calming, and she pressed a hand to his broad back before turning to Marassa. “I’m not going to ask what that was about, but let’s not kill the people we’re travelling with. There’s already a lengthy enough list of people who are already trying to slay us to add more to it. Besides, if we tried to kill everyone I verbally sparred with, I’m pretty sure nobody would have made it alive across the Jerall Mountains on our way to Imperial City.”

The orc was thankful that she had to offer no explanation. The feelings that welled up—indignation, blind rage, loyalty like a rabid dog—they frightened her, reminding her of darker days when she had little to fight for and much to fight over. 

“It’ll take more than words to besmirch my honour; I don’t need you to rise to my defense over words. The gesture is appreciated, however. Just don’t make it a habit.” Marassa smiled, if only slightly, and the pain of Urzoth’s wounds came into further clarity. Her boiling blood settled, and now all she could feel was the discomfort of mud being settling it shouldn’t and bruises and cuts peppering her body—mainly her face—like the creation of a chef who had only just learned of the many applications of spice. “It is nice to know that loyalty was built over the course of our journey that had nothing to do with my brother, however. Come, sit.”

She rubbed at her jaw, and could swear she heard it pop when she worked it a little. Her whole face felt both numb and tender, and blood still poured into her left eye from the cut above it. Just another likely scar. She followed Marassa to a large rock underneath a small overhang that kept the rain away, and glanced warily upward at all the reddish outlines cresting the hill when Marassa all but ordered her to remove her armor. Marassa had to know of Urzoth’s reservations about being so unguarded. At least without a weapon Urzoth could to a hell of a lot of damage, as Blade could attest. But no armor meant pain, meant being dispatched like an expendable little foot soldier just when the battle was at its thickest. What if Blade opted to attack her? She scolded herself quickly—Blade was not the one to begin the fight, and besides whatever honor he had surely had to think poorly of attacked an unequipped, injured ally. 

She was jostled out of her thoughts with a good bap to the back of the head. Her hair had fallen loose in the struggling, and it fell down upon her face and reached toward the ground in wet, ropelike clumps. She pushed it out of her face and peered up at Marassa from under her eyebrows. “What in Oblivion were you thinking attacking an armed man without a weapon? I am not worth dying over, no matter how much of an unbearable shit Coin Purse is. We stopped the Emperor because we thought each and every one of our steps out, not because we rushed into situations rashly like a bunch of dogs.”

To that, she had an answer. Somewhat. “I did not plan to die, Marassa.” She wiped at her forehead and her hand emerged red. “I have herbs in my pack. I don’t know how well they might work, but I don’t need to waste a potion on this.” 
She couldn’t refuse Marassa, not when she’d just viciously attacked one of their few allies. The armor had to come away if she expected to be healed properly and checked for broken bones. She gingerly peeled away her armor piece by piece until she was down to her greaves, boots and a sleeveless woolen shirt that was stained with blood. She itched at her bare arms, wiping away the mud and staring up at her allies in caution. She was being foolish, fearing injury or some random assault just as she was in a weakened state. But random assaults, in her experience, were never, ever out of the question.

“Blade is like an Orc in the body of a lizard. You should have felt his blows.” She huffed. “I don’t want you to think I stormed blindly into a fight. You know that a warrior like him faces the best counsel when such counsel is actively breaking his snout.” She rumbled with a laugh, immediately regretting it as sharp pain echoed throughout her aching body. She shook her head, feeling like she was telling a lie. Yes, she wanted to teach Blade to respect his allies. But that was not the only reason. She had her back against the wall, shoulder-to-shoulder mainly with strangers, facing an enemy they could only wield a miracle against. She was anxious, trapped in the armor she was frightened to shed, soaked and cold, and had to listen to griping at a time when she could almost relax. She needed something to destroy, and Blade just happened to give her an excuse.