A dull throb in Gregory's shoulder dragged him from unconsciousness. For a moment, he was disoriented, memories of the forest and the bandits swimming hazily through his mind. But this wasn't the cold, hard ground of the cave he'd found. This was... a bed?
His eyes flew open. He was indeed lying on a simple but comfortable bed, inside what appeared to be a small cabin. Sunlight filtered through a single window, illuminating rough-hewn wooden walls adorned with various tools and weapons. A fire crackled softly in a stone hearth, filling the room with warmth.
Gregory tried to sit up and winced as pain shot through his shoulder. Looking down, he saw his wound had been cleaned and bandaged with expert care. His shirt was gone, replaced by a clean linen wrap that encircled his torso and left shoulder.
From outside came the soft neighing of a horse—his mare, he realized with relief. Someone had found him, brought him here, tended to his wounds, and even cared for his horse.
Fighting through the pain, Gregory swung his legs over the side of the bed. The cabin was filled with the tools of someone who lived off the land: hunting bows hung on one wall, alongside several well-maintained knives. Dried herbs hung from the rafters, and pelts were stacked neatly in one corner. A small table held mortar and pestle, along with various jars containing what looked like medicinal powders and pastes.
Whoever had rescued him was clearly skilled in wilderness survival.
Gregory spotted his saddlebags resting against the wall, along with his cloak, which had been cleaned of blood. With considerable effort, he rose to his feet, fighting a wave of dizziness. He needed to gather his things and continue his journey. Bryce was counting on him to find Abigail, and he'd already lost precious time.
He had just managed to reach his belongings and was attempting to lift his saddlebag with his good arm when a voice spoke from behind him.
"Leaving so soon?"
Gregory spun around, nearly losing his balance in the process. He hadn't realized anyone else was in the cabin with him. In the far corner, seated in a chair partially obscured by shadow, was a figure he hadn't noticed before.
The figure leaned forward, revealing a woman with a slight, amused smile playing on her lips. Gregory caught his breath. She was stunningly beautiful, with sharp, intelligent features and eyes that seemed to see right through him.
"I... uh..." Gregory stammered, caught completely off-guard. "Thank you for your help. I'm grateful, truly. But I need to go. It's important."
The woman raised one eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "You're in no shape to go anywhere," she said matter-of-factly. "That bolt was buried deep in your shoulder. I had to dig around quite a bit to get it all out. Another day or two of rest, at least, before you should even think about traveling."
"I appreciate your concern," Gregory replied, trying to inject confidence into his voice despite the pain radiating through his shoulder. "But my business is urgent. Lives may depend on it."
"Is that so?" The woman stood, moving with the fluid grace of a predator. "And what urgent business brings a man with Lord Halvorn's gear and supplies into bandit territory? Running from something? Or someone?"
Gregory tensed. "I was attacked by bandits, yes. But I'm not one of them."
The woman chuckled, a sound without much warmth. "Of course you'd say that. The city watch pays a decent reward for bandits, you know. Not a fortune, but better than nothing." She gestured around the cabin. "And I'll be keeping your gear. Quality stuff like that fetches a good price."
Gregory's mind raced. He couldn't afford to be turned over to the city watch, nor could he lose the token Bryce had given him. But his wound made him weak, and this woman was clearly capable in ways he couldn't match at his best, let alone now.
"Look," he said, desperation edging into his voice, "I'm not a bandit. I was attacked while traveling to Huster on an important mission. I'm carrying a message for someone... someone important."
The woman's lips twitched, and suddenly her entire demeanor changed. The hardness melted away, replaced by genuine amusement.
"I know," she said, laughing openly now. "I recognized Lord Halvorn's sigil on your gear the moment I found you. You're either working for him or you've stolen from him, and thieves who target the Halvorns don't generally live long enough to enjoy their spoils."
Gregory stared at her, stunned. "You... you know Lord Halvorn?"
"Grew up not far from his estate," she replied with a casual shrug. "My father did business with him occasionally. I'm just having a bit of fun at your expense. You city folk are so easy to rattle."
Relief flooded through Gregory, followed quickly by irritation at being so easily manipulated. But relief won out—if she knew the Halvorns, perhaps she could help him find his way.
"Then perhaps you can help me," he said. "I'm looking for someone. A Ranger named Abigail Thorn. It's vital that I find her."
The effect of his words was immediate and dramatic. All humor vanished from the woman's face, replaced by a guarded, almost hostile expression. She straightened to her full height, suddenly seeming much more imposing.
"Why?" she demanded, her voice sharp as a blade. "Why are you looking for Abigail Thorn?"
Gregory blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. Then understanding dawned on him. The red hair, the skill with medicine and survival, the confident bearing...
"You're her," he said softly. "You're Abigail."
The woman—Abigail—crossed the room in three quick strides, stopping directly in front of Gregory. Her eyes, which he now saw were a striking green, bored into his with an intensity that made him want to step back.
"Answer the question," she said, her voice dangerously quiet. "Who sent you to find me, and why?"
