Iskra leaned against the wall of the alleyway and slid down until she was sitting on the floor. She rested her forehead against her knees and clenched her teeth, letting out a muted cry of anger mingled with pain. She lifted her head and turned her face up to the sky, letting the rain that was falling in large, heavy drops fall on her face and wash the blood and dirt away.

She was covered in blood, most of it someone elses. It was a fight she hadn't planned on having. A small group of drunken men decided to jump her on a dark street. They'd picked the wrong girly to try and tumble but she'd fought tooth and nail. They were big men and brawney. She'd landed some good cuts on most of them, enough to make them scatter, but one decided to try and force himself on her. She'd gutted him, unleashing her fury on the would be rapist.

She hadn't come out of it unharmed though and now a long cut on her forearm bled heavily and she could feel cuts and bruises on her face and over her body.

She gripped the wound with her good hand and tried to stand up but her head spun and she found herself on the floor again.

"Damn," she cursed, she was loosing too much blood.

Sam paused momentarily at an odd sound that he knew well enough: pain and anger. He turned toward the alley and found a woman hunched in a corner covered in . . .blod.

He was still human and something like that couldn’t go unattended. He dropped to his knees. “Hey.” He started. “Are you still alive?”

Iskra lifted her head to look at the person who'd addressed her. She moved a knife in to her good hand but was well aware that in her half swooning state she'd never have enough energy to actually lift it. She moved it in to plain sight though.

"Dont..." she stopped to grit her teeth through another wave of pain. "Don't touch me!" She warned. "What do you want."

Her head was swimming with the loss of blood now. Perhaps, the little nagging rational part of her brain said, you're actually going to have to let someone help you for once.

Sam raised his hands to show he meant no harm. "I'm not gonna touch you, I promise. But, you're a mess, lady and I don't think in really any posistion to stab me or so it looks. But I know that looks can be decieving."

He lowered his hands. "It looks like you could use some help."

Iskra's eyes blazed defiance for a few seconds and then her head lolled back against the wall. She looked sidelong at the young man kneeled next to her, then slowly lowered her knife, mostly because she didn't have the energy to hold it up anymore. She fought against her eyelids trying to slide shut.

"This blood. Not all mine but enough to matter. I need to get home..."

Sam looked at the woman. "I should hope not. I'd start to think you were a god or something. Here, let me help you up." He offered Iskra a hand.

The ghost of a smile appeared on Iskra's face at that comment. She took the hand that was offered with her good hand and braced her feet against the ground, hauling herself up. The black, sick dizziness was worse standing up.

"Tanners Way, my rooms are above the leather workers shop." Leaning against the wall she fished a small gem and a key and passed them to Sam. "You'll need these to get us in in one piece...warding spells. I can't guarantee how wide awake I'll be when we get there."

She slung her good arm around Sam's shoulder, clinging to his shirt for support, her knees were weak and wobbly. She must have bled more than she thought.

Sam tucked the key and gem into a pocket and helped Iskra up. “Dammit, what the hell happened to you? Well, other than the obvious.” He slipped an arm around Iskra to support her and began walking at a pace he figured that Iskra could handle. “Or is it one of those things that I better not know about.”

"Ordinarily I'd say yes, but this time...not down to my usual line of work. Some pond scum jumped me in the alley. Thought t'be having some fun with me. Picked the wrong girl because now his insides are on the outside....I'm just sorry I didn't get more of them." She stumbled a little. "Unfortunately 5 on 1 are not the best odds."

"No, I'd say not." Sam agreed. It was probably much the same situation his mother had found herself in, but unfortunately she hadn't known how to fight. He looked at her. She looked vaguely familiar.

"You're the Scanaran assassin," he said finally.

Iskra laughed horsely. "My reputation preceeds me....who have you been talking to? "

The pain in her arm was getting worse. Iskra could have kicked herself for picking up such a stupid injury and worse having to rely on a complete stranger to get her home. She blanched, her face going a deathly white.

"I need to stop for a second."

Sam obeyed, stopping in midstep. "A couple of people. Generally, anyone who scares some of the people I know has a vast reputation . . . and a reason for earning it.

"Need to sit down?"

Iskra swayed on the spot and put her hand to her forehead.

"Best I stand up. Just keep talking to me." She leaned against a nearby wall and checked her arm. "We'd better keep moving."

She leaned against Sam once more, aware that she was becoming more and more of a dead weight. She groped through the fuzziness in her head for a new topic of conversation.

"What leads your path to the Dove? You one of Lasser's folk?"

Sam snorted. “I’m not a thief if that’s what you mean. In a way, I guess I am. I’m in the Rambling Roses, the Dove’s official entertainment. The only real connection I have to his majesty is when he pays me.”

"In that case we'll get on just fine then. I've met one of your number before. Silly girl who came very close to having a very short life. Someone needs to teach her when to keep her nose out."

They were nearly at Tanners Lane now, thankfully, because Iskra could barely keep her legs moving.

Sam shook his head. “Eulia, was it? She is prone to annoying bouts of curiosity and sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong.” He would have shrugged, but figured that might be a bad idea.

OOC: Thank yee very much! Hmph. Naw, it's cool, she is really curious. Well I am too, but I doubt I would mess around with someone like Iskra... Feel free to bash Eulia as much as you like. Hehe

I know I was just messing with you.

((OOC: Well it is in keeping with the characters' history and interactions with each other. ))

"She's young. She'll learn, especially in the Rogue's line of business. "

With relief Iskra saw that they'd reached her door.

"This one here. I need your help for a little longer...and thank you, I.."

Iskra would have carried on but at this point her eyes rolled back and she was suddenly swimming in darkness as her vision went black and she passed out.

Sam swore and caught Iskra. He lowered her to the ground and took out the key and gem from his pocket. He quickly opened the door and picked up the assassin again, half dragging half carrying her into the room.

It was an interesting sensation for Iskra as she groggily came round, hearing before she could see anything. As her eyes flickered open the room blurrily swam in to focus.

She was in her rooms, being carried to the bed by the unknown stranger who had helped her from the alley.

She attempted to speak but it came out as a croak.

Sam looked at Iskra. "This could be bad," he muttered and began to fidget uncomfortably. He knew the bare bones of tending wounds. The croak issuing from Iskra was a relief. It meant she was awake again.

"Can you talk?" He asked. Stupid question.

Iskra tried again, a little bit more awake now and able to form actual words.

"Yeah." She replied gruffly, attempting to sit up then thinking better of it.

"There's a flask on the shelf. Silver. A wooden box too. Pass it here."

She closed her eyes again to try and stop the room spinning. She still felt dizzy and sick and painfully aware that she needed to get patched up to stop the blood loss.

Sam paused for a moment letting his eyes roam the shelves before spotting the wooden box and the flask. Sam pulled the flask down first, uncorking it and handing it to Iskra and then pulling the wooden box down. He hesitated, “Should I get a healer?” He asked. "I'm a great deal useless, completely useless when it comes to healing."

Iskra raised the flask to her lips and took a long drink, it was filled with the best brandy she could buy and the burning liquid brought her around a little more, not to mention dulling the pain.

She raised herself up on to her elbow.

"No, no healers." She snapped. "To many questions." She added by way of an explaination.

"I've patched myself up plenty, but I'll need your help. I can tell you what to do, how's your sewing..." she paused, "Did I ever get your name?"

“No, don’t think you did. I think you were a bit busy ble.eding. I’m Sam.” He paused. “I’m all right with a needle, haven’t had to use one in a while, but still I can stitch.” He’d done it enough to his own clothes once he was old enough to handle a needle without hurting himself or anyone else.

"Okay Sam," Iskra took another swig of the brandy. "In the box there's some gauze, bandages and a fine needle and thread. We need water too, should be a jug by the fire."

Iskra knew the wound needed stitching. It was the best way to stop the bleeding. It would hurt like hell without a healer to take away the pain but it was necessary.

She gingerly rolled up the completely blood soaked sleeve of her her shirt so that the cut was exposed. It ran across her forearm from elbow almost to wrist and criss crossed numerous old scars. It was deep, muscle showing through the cut. She grimaced at the prospect of stitching it. The blood flow was sluggish now but still too much to be healthy and she was sweating feavershily from the pain and blood loss.

There were some shallow cuts on her legs and belly and rings of bruises around her wrists where her attacker had tried to pin her. They could wait.

"First we need to clean this up and then, no matter how much I swear, moan or pass out, you're going to have to stitch this up."

This’ll be fun. Sam thought looking at the cut, going slightly pale, but taking a deep breath and reminding himself he’d seen worse. Calmly, he pulled out the thread, measured it against his arm and snapped it off. After three failed attempts he managed to thread the needle. “ Passing out might be a good thing. Do you want something to bite?” He asked Iskra.

Iskra shook her head quickly. "No. I can take the pain. It's something that I was taught. Take it, describe the pain to yourself and it becomes almost exquisite. Either that or you'll black out and be none the wiser."

She gave a quick smile and leaned back against the pillows of the bed. Her face had gone starkly white now and beads of sweat stood out on her forehead and upper lip.

"Right. Do it...and Sam...sew quickly!"

Sam nodded and took Iskra's arm and began stitching. It wasn't extremely fast, but it was steady and as quickly as he thought he could manage without the possibility of him screwing up.

There was something oddly disturbing yet fascinating, watching a needle dodge in and out of skin. He was half way down the slit.

His hands were starting to sweat. He readjusted his grip and kept stitching. "How do you tie a wound off?" He asked, as he noticed the end of the slit wasn't far off.

In her mind Iskra was reciting a poem she'd learned as a kid it was something she had done as a child when she was first on her own and things began to get a little too scary. It was habit now, and she barely noticed her lips were moving as she did it, trying to block out the swooning darkness that was trying to edge in from the pain of the cut and the needle.

Sam speaking stirred her out of her little trance.

"What?"

Sam paused and finished sewing and then repeated his question, "How do you tie off the thread on a wound?" He stared fixatedly at the thread. "Is there a special way or just like the normal one?"

Iskra repressed slightly hysterical laughter, she was feeling distinctly lightheaded between the mixture of blood loss, pain and alcohol.

"Just...tie it off, any way you can.....and when you're done, help yourself to brandy, you've earned it." She looked down at her arm, the stiches were relatively small and neat. She was impressed.

"Well thats one slightly prettier scar I'm going to have." she muttered.

Sam tied in a knot that would split in two fairly easily when she wanted the stitches to come out, but would hold until then, he thought or hoped.

He looked at the brandy and helped himself to a sip, a small one. "You look like you could use it more than I need it." He offered the flask back to the assassin, licking his lips. It was good brandy. The little he knew of drinks, was basically to the extent how well made it was.

Iskra gave a quick smile and took the flask from Sam, gulping down most of the contents. It helped to dull the pain in her arm to a steady throb. She shook the flask then upended the remains of the contents on to the wound to steralise it. She swore proficiently in Scanran as the liquid burned where it touched.

When the pain subsided she raised herself up on her good arm to get a proper look at her unlikely rescuer.

"I'm in your debt." she said sincerely. "I don't often need help and I seldom rely on the kidness of strangers, but in this case I'm damn glad you're were passing. In Scanra we repay our debts of honour, despite what the rumours might tell of us, if theres anything I can do...." a wry smile appeared, "alas my skills are....of limited purpose."

Sam shrugged and then grinned a little crookedly. “It’s not damn often that I’m nice to strangers.” He shook his head. “Nothing I can think of. My life is generally . . . not in the need of an assassin.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Should I ever find need of your services, I’ll let you know.”

Sam's dry comment made Iskra laugh out loud.

"You'd be surprised how many people would take advantage of that offer. People get remarkably callous when they don't have to do the dirty work themselves and choosing death becomes easy when they can justify it to themselves and blame me for it."

Sam shrugged again. "Well, my life is rotten, but not everybody's is. I think everyone deserves some sort of happiness and far be it from me to try and take it from them."

Iskra leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes for a second, she was begining to feel more human now and less like a walking talking wound.

She opened her eyes again and looked at Sam. "A strange kind of philosophy! Life IS rotten Sam and so we either sink in the mire or keep our heads above the slime in whatever way we see fit."

"I'm a strange boy," he replied. "Grief is like quicksand. It pulls you under faster than anything. Even hatred or need for revenge keeps you alive and happy to be like that. It's not much of a life, but you still want it for awhile longer, until you can take care of business. Grief you don't care any more."

"Vengance. Grief. Anger. Pain. They all keep the heart beating and if your lucky, alive to see another day. Believe me, it been my bread and water these 13 or so years past. I believe at my grand old age now I may be approaching numbness. Live off your vengance Sam and enjoy that emotion, it's better than feeling nothing."

She paused to close her eyes for a second, as if talking this much was exhausting. With her eyes still closed she continued.

"Stay in the land of the living for as long as you can. Have friends and company. It better than being like me and then you have a choice, let it go and join the world for good or exact your revenge and be prepared to say goodbye to everything you were before."

She frowned and opened her eyes, staring at the cealing above her. She had no idea why she'd just said all that. The loss of blood must have made her giddy.