#nothing ever lasts

Rowan kept her distance from the prone man, watching him carefully. He’d come out of the fight worse for wear, but she’d seen enough to know that the same fight would have gotten her killed. She leaned on her staff, silent as the tip ground into the dirt beneath her, considering where to begin. 

It was true that she was trying not to let lost in her vendetta. She’d found the men that lay dead around her mostly on accident, but had made the choice to pursue. The wounded man had gotten to them first, saved her an unpleasant and dangerous encounter. Leaving him bleeding in the dust wasn’t right.

“No, I’m not one of them.” It was obvious enough, she didn’t carry a gun and her clothes were patched faded. Falling into a crouch, she slid her staff into the makeshift harness she wore underneath her backpack, and shuffled closer. Still out of arms reach, but nearer, trying to take stock of the wounds he covered.

“You’ve saved me some trouble, I was after them too but I see now that would have ended badly for me.” She didn’t see the sense in keeping a secret, if he wasn’t affiliated with the dead men then he shouldn’t know who - or what - she was. Why not be honest, when she risked so little? Slowly, she slid off the backpack and set it in front of her, shifting down onto one knee.

“If you want, I can patch you up. That is if you don’t mind a little backwoods medicine.” In truth she’d prefer to try to heal him first. Since she was uninjured and not too tired, the chances of it working were in her favor. And it didn’t involve using a lighter and a fish hook to patch him up. “Or something unorthodox.” She added, recklessly offering something she didn’t fully understand to a man she didn’t know.