Herewith a short fic in response to today's page. Still can't use A3O, so trying this.
GONE ASTRAY:
A few hours past noon, as the sun begins to decline, Lalli's bursting bladder finally gets the attention of his drifting mind. He crawls from under Tuuri's bunk, staggers upright, pulling himself up by the bedframe, holding on until the world stops spinning. Then, leaning on the walls to keep from falling, he makes his way to the head. He manages not to pass out from the effort of pissing, though it's a close-run thing. He leans on the wall for a moment, trying to see through the jagged splinters of pain in his head, slowly realising that the tank is silent.
That's strange. Normally it's noisy, with his crewmates moving about, banging doors, dropping things, shouting to one another. Five people breathing, talking, arguing, giving and receiving orders, working, interacting. Mikkel rumbling a tune to himself as he washes clothes or cooks, Sigrun yelling for Emil, Tuuri and Reynir chattering incomprehensible Icelandic to one another, the kitten demanding its mother, Emil fussing and babbling Swedish nonsense at him...... and where is Emil? Lalli's last clear memory is of Emil's concerned face, leaning over him as he faded into a haze of weakness, pain and exhaustion. He had somehow not expected that his friend would leave him alone.
He can't think. The aching void in his spirit where the lynx should be gets in the way. How long? Still less than a full day, as far as he can tell: no need to panic just yet. But it hurts.
He realises that part of the discomfort is thirst and hunger. That's odd too. Surely Tuuri or Mikkel would remember that he'd need water after motion sickness and blood loss? He must have slept through the evening meal. And breakfast. He staggers over to Mikkel's food preparation area, finds the crock of filtered water, drinks in slow cautious mouthfuls until his head clears a little. Not too much at once, he doesn't want to start throwing up again. Food. He finds a piece of hardbread and a handful of dried berries, and goes to sit on the driver's seat while he eats.
The view through the cracked windscreen tells him nothing. He remembers scouting this courtyard, pushing on through his exhaustion to find them a safe camp. The strangely empty buildings. Those weird spirits. Over by the building where he had seen them, he can perceive a change in the feel of the place, but his mind is still too blurry to get a clear reading. He narrows his eyes at the churned-up snow, the spatters of blood nearby, the much more defined blood trail leading up the steps of that building. Something happened, then. What? Why didn't they try to wake him? And where is everyone?
Fear and worry begin to niggle at the edges of his mind. Even in his current condition, Lalli is sure he would know if Tuuri were dead. In some distant corner of his mind he can still feel the connection to her, the awareness of her breath and spirit that only family share. His fear eases a little as he realises that she feels whole, and ......calm-but-excited? He doesn't understand, but is relieved. Then Tuuri is driven out of his thoughts as he realises that he can feel Emil too, in the same way. That will bear thinking about, once he is able to think clearly again. But Emil is not calm. Wherever he may be, his spirit is agitated, afraid; his breath is erratic.
Lalli makes up his mind. He has to go. The body is still shaking with weakness, the absence of his luonto aches like an open wound. He wants nothing more than to go back to sleep. But his team, and his family, and his chosen family, need him. He goes back into the bunkroom, picks up his puukko and rifle. Drops a flask of water and another piece of bread into his pocket. Goes out into the slanting afternoon light, closing the tank carefully behind him.
He follows the blood trail cautiously, finding only a small dead troll, its head smashed, its spirit ....gone? Good. But the previously passive spirits are restless, their attention turning to him in a way he doesn't like. He edges out of the building, turning his back on them only when he is out in the full sunlight.
Lalli can make little sense of the confused mess of churned snow, half-obliterated tracks of the tank, the troll, and his team. He catches the rank stink of troll blood, mixed with the fading sharp sweet scent that has to be Sigrun's blood; sees where the troll broke away and dragged itself up the steps. Follows yesterday's tracks back toward the tank, noticing the unevenness of Emil's footprints. Sigrun and Emil are both hurt, then. Those tracks are partly blurred by a later light snowfall, but there are two new groups of footprints, not more than four or five hours old, leading away from the tank. Mikkel, Tuuri, Reynir, together: long energetic strides, even Tuuri. Deep even footprints, heading off toward that weird star-shaped structure he had seen on the map. Those three were okay.
The other group: Sigrun and Emil. Older tracks, maybe by an hour, heading in the opposite direction. Shorter, uneven paces, especially Emil, whose tracks looked as if he were limping badly. Even Sigrun's steps wavered a little. Yes, both injured. So where were they going, and why? And why would Mikkel let them go? Whatever they were doing, it had to be urgent.
Follow Emil and Sigrun, then. They seemed most likely to need his help, such as it was in his present state. Lalli turns his attention inward, to mind and spirit. No, not a flicker of magic, just emptiness, weariness, confusion, pain. Well, he could still pray. And shoot.
In the fading light he sets out after his captain and his friend.
