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Tranquil Waters: The Lead Crown Ch 7.3, Proclamations

Farika had spent many years establishing her routine, which was very important because the only staff for Arnswold manor were-- rather, WAS her. Yes, her father was also technically employed by the Arnswold estate but, as she reminded him time and time again, he spent far more hours of the day lounging by the gate than maintaining the grounds. Granted, there were certain things he couldn't do considering his eyes, but there were occasions when she grew frustrated with him for his lack of contribution.

She felt horrible about it every time it came to her mind, of course, but she couldn't help but feel that his commitment to the noble house of Arnswold was one she was left fulfilling. She hadn't even ever met any of the Arnswolds. Of course, each time she began to think that way she had to remind her that she owed her father everything... and not just because he was her father; she was the reason he had lost his sight.

He never held that fact over her head, and she only knew it because he had been open and honest with her years ago when, in a fit of childhood curiosity she had asked him why he couldn't see. Farika knew that she and her father had been members of a Tribe, but only then did she learn that they came to Vallara after their village had been sacked and the tents left to burn. She had been inside a tent at that time, and her father ran in to save her, shielding her with his body as it all came crashing down.

As he often explained, the fact that he ran back into the tent to save her was probably the only reason he survived as well. The collapsing timber had cost him his sight, but it also meant that the men who attacked their people considered him dead. Between the heavy leathers of the tent and the cover of hides they'd laid out on the floor, Ma'heed managed to keep them from burning, but her right wing had been horribly torn and his vision had been taken from him... a trade, he always stated, was worth it in his mind.

The bat woman paused in her sweeping of the stairs as she glanced to the grandfather clock near the entryway: she was actually ahead of schedule. Setting the broom down she took a few moments to flex her right arm; she still had her bad days. Although she was very young when it happened, Farika remembered bits and pieces of fleeing through the wood as Ma'heed guided her by memory to Vallara. They had stumbled into the town where many kind people came to their aid; her father had to keep her calm since she didn't know their strange language. It all seemed so long ago.

The two Bats were taken to Lucius Brownell, a kind Mouse physician. He had cared for them both and that was when her father had made the decision to help disguise her in case anyone every came looking for survivors from the Mist Tribe. Farika rubbed the underside of the extremity where the scar still remained. Sometimes the thought that she didn't have a say in the loss of her wings angered her but she always remembered that the injury she'd taken in the fire would have meant that she would never have been able to fly anyway. Sighing, she looked to the clock: it was time to polish the dining room's floor, and then she would go check on her father.

The impact of weight against the front door interrupted her schedule, however, and, a moment later, it opened. She recognized the traveling garb her father wore before she ever caught sight of even a snippet of his fur, but, what really caused her to pause was the fact that it was covered in blood. "FATHER!"

The bundle of cloth shrugged and shuffled, and she watched as layer after layer of clothing was shed until she could clearly see that her father was not alone... he carried a Human woman over his shoulder. It was her blood, Farika realized... and she was bleeding badly. Ma'heed's ears were focused her way. "Well? Don't just stand there, girl! Go fetch some bandages and meet me in the study!"

The study made sense, she realized since there was a sofa where the woman could be placed. Without more than a moment's pause, the young bat took the steps two at a time until she was on the ground floor, and sprinted straight into the sewing room where fresh cloth sat unused. It took little time for her to retrieve two bolts of linen and, from there she crossed into the kitchen where she pressed the ignition button for the gas stove. With a kettle in place over the flame, Farika exited the far side of the kitchen.

She moved quickly down the hall, and took the last door on the left. She finally came to a halt when she entered the study and saw her father leaning over the bloody woman. Stepping closer, Farika held out the bundled cloth, announcing "Above your left shoulder."

Ma'heed reached back and found the offered linen on the first try. He meticulously tore the cloth into several strips and, as she watched, her father began to gently search out the woman's wounds with a combination of touch and scent. She still never quite realized how he managed to get along so well without what she considered to be one of her most important senses but, then again, her father really was full of surprises. What he said next was one of them. "This is Nicole Arnswold."

She dropped the spare bundle of cloth. "Arnswold?"

Ma'heed nodded, tying off a bandage around several cuts on her shoulder. "This is her home... she is the one we've been waiting for."

Silence filled the room, disturbed only by the tearing and russling of cloth. It wasn't until her father was done administering aid to the woman that Farika asked. "So... she has come home..."

Ma'heed rose up and then sat on the arm rest of the sofa, looking down at the Human woman even though his eyes no longer worked. "Yes... she has."

It was as though a great weight had suddenly been lifted off of Farika's shoulders. All of the obligations... the duty... her father's promise... the fetters that tied her to the life he had selected for them both had suddenly been sundered. The young bat joined in in looking at the unconscious woman, and suddenly a sense of uncertainty filled her. "She's home... the Arnswolds returned to Vallara... now what?"

Her father stood up, moving slowly from the sofa, "She is weak, and is still gravely injured. We will need to fetch Dr. Brownell's daughter."

Farika nodded; her father was as much a creature of habit as she-- the Mouse physician who had cared for them when they first arrived at Vallara had passed on some years ago; his daughter, Christina, had taken over his practice. While Christina Brownell was a doctor in her own right, Ma'heed still referred to her as the doctor's daughter. The thought went through her mind in the second it took for her to locate where her traveling cloak had gone: it was waiting on the back of the chair where she'd left it. "I'll be back soon, father."

She was reaching for the cloak when her father spoke up, "Wait."

Turning, she looked back to the older bat, "If she needs a doctor then I should go now, Father..."

Ma'heed moved carefully toward her. "Farika... there is something I must ask of you first... and it is very important."

She picked up her cloak and tied it off. "It can wait until after I've summoned Doctor Brownell."

Her father's paw reached out and rested on her shoulder. "No... you can get her on your way back from the militia barracks."

Farika was taken aback. "Why? What's at the barracks?"

Ma'heed leveled his gaze at her; despite his cloudy eyes he still managed the paternal stare perfectly. "She was not alone when this happened to her. She was able to say a little, but most of it was rambling. All I could gather was that some of her allies are likely being held by the militia."

The young Bat gently removed his paw from her shoulder. "Father... if the militia has them then they'll be fine unti--"

Her father didn't let her finish. "Bartholomeu and his men did this."

She gasped. "I'll get them safe, then get the doctor."

With little time to spare, Farika bolted for the door. If Bartholomeu was involved then things really WERE dire. She stopped only long enough to lock the manor behind her and then sprinted across the walk and down the street. Bartholomeu and his men? She silently prayed that she wasn't too late.