by Billy Wong

The tall yet stockily built young woman lay on her back in a spreading pool of blood, great broadsword resting forgotten in hand. Gray clouds obscured the sun, a small respite for eyes stung from crying. Wet, gasping breaths escaped loudly past cracked lips, and blood tickled her cheeks. Though frightened she might die, she felt just as flustered at the familiarity of her situation. Why did she have to end up in such a sorry state again, and how bad would her new scars be if she survived today?

She raised a shaky hand to the sword jutting from her belly and pulled. Cries of agony she knew were hers hurt her ears. The blade slid from her guts, and she half sat as her body curled involuntarily around the wound. Then she flopped back down, coughing red droplets, and closed her eyes.

A boot nudged her splayed arm, and she heard her partner's deep voice. "What are you still doing down there, Rose? We won, time to go back to town and celebrate."

As worried as he certainly was for her, he did not show it except in his gaze. She hardly needed to be coddled, and he knew her well enough not to. Without moving but for the opening of her eyes, she replied in a weary tone, "Three mortal wounds, Finn. That'd hurt anybody's inclination to get up." The spear in her liver she'd tried to ignore, fighting on in spite of the pain and nausea. But after receiving a sword and second spear in her gut, she felt very much like taking a nap.

Rose saw growing concern, even fear, in Finn's eyes. She tried to sit, but the spear shafts in her torso impeded her and she only managed to raise herself on her elbows. Gritting her teeth, she ripped both spears from her body. She sat up, gasping and moaning as blood and gore poured from her wounds.

Dizziness assailed her, and her vision dimmed. Damn, could this be the end? She had felt this alarming weakness many times in her life, and her enormous constitution had always saved her. But there was a first time for everything . . . She reached out blindly, taking hold of Finn's sturdy shoulder. "Shit, it hurts."

"Here," Finn said as he offered his wineskin, "this'll help the pain." Gratefully, Rose took a long sip of the spirits within. Her mouth felt very dry, despite the blood inside. As her giant lover began to bandage her wounds, she brushed dirt from her great black mane and surveyed the corpse-strewn field around them. At this point, she saw it as little more than a grotesque blur of mixed green and red. She took deep breaths and blinked to clear her vision. Though every moment was excruciating, she felt a little steadier now. She would live, she thought.

"Are you alright?" Finn asked, his face white.

"No. But I will be. Trust me."

He nodded. "So how many did you kill?"

Even now, he wanted to compare deeds. She hesitated. She wasn't proud of her ability to slaughter, though she knew she was remarkably good at it. The two of them had just fought a small army intent on sacking the tiny village of Coren, all by themselves. Rose hadn't wanted the untrained townspeople risking their lives. "Two hundred, maybe." Saying it made her somewhat guilty, their villainy notwithstanding. Perhaps they could have been better men in another life. "You?"

"A little less than you. The rest ran away. But you were in the thick of things." He plucked an arrow from Rose's left breast. She hissed in pain, and he asked softly, "Why do you always get hurt so bad?"

"Because you weren't there to help me." She had sent him off to deal with the enemy artillery, while she took on the rest.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize, it was my idea. Didn't expect those spear twins to be so skilled, though."

"Oh, Rose. This . . . this really isn't the way I like seeing the love of my life."

Rose grinned, exposing bloody teeth. "I only have holes through my liver and guts. I'm great."

He smiled as she stood slowly, jaw clenched with pain. "Damn, Rose. You need a bath." But his voice was still tense.

She tried to play along. "I needed a bath long before getting skewered. And you, doubly so. Your hair looks three shades redder than it's supposed to."

"Didn't we pass a nice stream getting here from Coren?"

"Yeah, if by nice stream you mean turbulent river."

"It wasn't that bad. A gentle current like that, I could have swum when I was ten."

"If you haven't noticed, I'm injured."

"So am I. I must have pulled half a dozen arrows out of myself before I found you."

Rose stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he was lying. Deciding he probably wasn't, she sighed. She had never thought she could fall for such a braggart, but found that his affection more than made up for his faults. "Fine, let's go to the river. I would like my wounds cleaned."

#

They made their way back across the hilly countryside, Finn making many a jab at Rose over her slowness and complaints about pain. Their relationship had started as one of rivals, and that element of competition had withstood their love. Soon, their false cheer became real. Watching him outpace her mockingly, she took comfort in reminding herself that she was wounded worse than him. If he had taken the wounds she had, he would be dead or dying. She was glad he only had a number of flesh wounds; nothing serious, by their standards.

The "stream" came into view, its waters rushing like a god's pee around the many large rocks within. Admittedly, the bright meadow they crossed did appeal to Rose's sense of natural beauty, lush grass punctuated by vibrant flowers swaying in the breeze. It reminded her of the hometown fields she had spent her childhood playing in, as a tomboy with dreams of grand adventures to be had. For all the friends lost and pain suffered over the years, she did not regret following those dreams.

The river itself, however, was hardly the place for a comfortable bath. "When you were ten, Finn?"

He considered the current. "Okay, maybe twelve. You want to go first?"