Joren took a moment to stare after the horse, fixing its direction in his mind as it galloped away, and he absently leaned the pitchfork against the wall of the barn.  Horses were valuable, if costly to keep, and if the worst was true for its rider he would see it sold at the market.  He did have the eye for horseflesh of his father, or surprisingly, his sister, but he was certain that he would be able to get a good deal for what seemed a quality, if spirited, mount.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting as he sprinted toward the downed figure, but he called a greeting, working to keep the bitterness out of his voice that was appearing more and more of late.  "That was quite a spill, are you alright?"

As he got to the rider or was a rider, Joren slowly move it onto its back. Its a young girl, covered in mud and dirt and has several scrapes, blood and bruises. Her clothes are torn and she seems to be unconsious and she has a satchel attaches. A slight wheezing sound comes from her.

In a flash, all thought fled and he stood still over her; his limbs frozen and head feeling feeling thick, like he'd been turned into a wooden doll.  He felt like one of Mistress Resari's tailor figurines, posed in a stance of shock to show off the new clothes she was sewing.  He listened to the wheeze of her breath, and saw that she was injured, but for a brief moment-that-was-forever all he could do was stare at her.  The very next thing he knew, she was light in his arms, and he was flying over the ground.  He had a thought to stare in the direction from which she had come, in case it was an enemy, or a group of them that had been the cause of this.  He did not, because while he felt like his feet were barely landing on the ground, her satchel on its long strap banged on his legs as he ran, he was terribly afraid of a trip and a fall and what that might do to her.  So he ran to the house, hoping that he did not feel an arrow in his back, or hear the sound of hoofbeats behind him.

"MAMU!"  He realized he'd been shouting, "MAMU COME QUICK!"  He called his mother in the old tongue, one of the only phrases he knew.  It was a joke between them, a family joke so old that it became her name, and he shouted it without thinking.  "MAMU SHE IS HURT!"

No response comes from his mother or anyone else. Its silent as Joren carries the woman inside. Sitting at the table is his father, slumped over and un-moving. Across from him is his mother. Her head is raised upwards. No emotion on her face and her eyes are closed. Resting between them is a pitcher with two cups. One close to his father is on its side and has some brown liquid across part of the surface of the table. Same as the other but its straight up. Some breakfast items are near the pitcher as well untouched. Motionless. just motionless.

"...Mamu?"  Joren took in the scene in a single glance; their silence, the inanimate quality of their limbs, and somehow he just knew.  "Oh, Mother."  If he hadn't had a task, someone relying on him, perhaps for her life, he'd have sunk to his knees and been lost in the overwhelming strangeness of it all.  Instead he carried his young charge into his room and laid her carefully onto his bed.  He would deal with the awful reality in the kitchen when he was done here.

He straightened her limbs, laying her hands gently down next to her small body, and placed the satchel that was looped around her shoulder on the bed next to her.  He was too shocked by the emotional turmoil he felt to suffer any of the expected awkwardness between a young man and a young woman alone in his bedroom.  However, it was with a certain lack of confidence that he examined her.  He knew next to nothing about medicine, the herbs and poultices that his mother would craft in her workshop, despite his fathers urging that she pay someone else to do it and take her ease.  Before the... before the Darkfriends, she'd even had regular patients despite her status as the Admiral's Wife, those friends of hers who trusted her potions more than the apothecary, and some local poor folk who couldn't afford anything but the pittance she charged.  She was fiercely proud of her knowledge and the trust of others that she'd earned.  But when the Dragon's fang appeared painted onto their door, the patients had stopped coming immediately, and never returned.

He filled a bowl with water from the cauldron that his mother kept on hand, carefully not looking at the table, and took clean rags from the basket. Then he went back into his bedroom and started to clean her face and hands of the mud and blood that covered them.  He was numb, and having trouble thinking clearly, and he didn't know what else to do.  When she was as clean as he could manage without disturbing her clothes, he covered her in his blanket and went back downstairs to find a shovel, so that he could dig some holes.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:09, Thu 18 Apr.

As the man was outside digging the holes, the girl wakes up. Startled, she looks around and bites her lip. Not seeing anyone, she grabs the blanket and covers herself up. Looking down ather petite form, she sighs and stands up. Grabbing her satchel, she starts to head downstairs. Not seeing anyone but realizing something was wrong, she pokes her head out and sees Joren outside with the two bodies. Her eyes open wide and she just stands there dumbfounded. The girl goes to say something but no words come out. She looks petrified seeing Joren and his dead parents lying there. As he works, she steps forwards and grabs a rake holding it out in front of her as the blanket comes off. Her eyes narrowed, she looks like shes ready to fight.

Joren stopped digging abruptly, failing like a gleeman's puppet with a broken string, and only his bare chest moved, heaving like a bellows and gleaming in the sunlight.  Sweat poured down his face and stung his eyes mercilessly, so he reached for his discarded shirt to wipe his forehead, and he just appreciated for a moment how much his back ached, and his arms and shoulders burned.  The pain was a very welcome reprieve from his thoughts, and if he could have lifted the shovel again without a rest, he would have continued.

The graves were deep enough and then some, he knew, but acknowledging that fact meant that he must move onto the next step; if he stopped digging... then it was time to bury his parents.  He glanced up to the sky to judge the angle of the sun and caught a glimpse of her, defiant in the doorway to his house.  Even his his stupor of exhaustion, he took in her shocked face, and the rake she wielded like a spear, and the sudden understanding made him want to laugh.  Instead, to his surprise he found that tears were washing away the sweat from his eyes, and he didn't know for how long they'd been streaming.  He dropped the shovel to the ground, and put up his arms, even though they shook slightly from his exertion.

"I am Joren Nawaz," his voice was rough from dust and choked sobs, "and by the Light and my hope of rebirth you are not in danger from me, unless you be a Darkfriend.  You are free to go if you like, I will not keep you.  I found you fallen from your horse just over there," he nodded his head to indicate, "and brought you into my house to have my mother look after you.  And then..."  His voice broke and he had to fight to continue, "...then I found them sitting at their own kitchen table, with their own cups in their hands.  They waited until I was at my chores and gave me no warning of their plans."  He sank to his knees, and he couldn't see her any longer, the world was too blurry.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:12, Mon 22 Apr.

Dropping the rake, the woman moves to him and kneels down. She watches him for a moment and goes to place her hands under his chin so she can look at him. With narrowed eyes, the girl bites her lip. She looks at Joren, with cracked glasses and just sits there, not sure of what to do. Can she trust him? She stands up and speaks "I was travelling to Tar Valon.  But got attacked by darkspawn. Trollocs. I'm Bella."

Joren shuddered as she spoke to him.  She sounded kind, in a way he hadn't heard ever since his family's fall from grace, and it felt like a balm.  He wiped his eyes and replayed what she'd said, and though he was exhausted, he finally started to think instead of react.  "Tar Valon?  You know that you are in Arad Doman?"  He studied her, looking for clues to her origin.  "Bella, you are no Domani, what are you doing here if you are on your way so far east?  Or maybe you can not tell me that.  Tell me about the Darkspawn instead.  Where were you attacked, and by how many?"