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The horn woke him. Loud and thundering and all too familiar by now.
With a low groan, Wambliska forced his eyes open. It took even more effort to push himself up into a sitting position, where he allowed himself another moment to slump over and try to rub the tiredness out of his eyes. There was a strand of hair caught in his mouth, the texture making Wambliska stick out his tongue until he finally got hold of it to pull it out.
It was way too early for this. Or late. Whatever. He wanted to sleep.
Instead, Wambliska dragged himself out of bed and grabbed his shoes. They were still lying on the floor in the same position he had kicked them off before going to sleep, instead of neatly placed at the end of his bed like he usually did. At least they were the only thing to put on - he hadn’t even bothered to change out of anything else for the night.
Outside, the usual commotion was already starting. Dozens of feet hitting the ground in a run, men barking orders and instructions at each other, and the first gunshots ripping through the air. Hurriedly, Wambliska grabbed his weapons to join the others in the more or less coordinated chaos. Quiver in hand, he made his way out of the hut, sliding it over his shoulder and at the same time kicked the door closed behind him.
Wambliska let his gaze wander over the inside of the fort, taking in the current situation and positions of the man, and, while he was at it, searched for the broad red figure of Shadrach. He spotted him to his right, making his way toward Wambliska with rushed steps while fighting his belt into a knot over his only half-closed coat.
“Don’t these damn things ever sleep?!” Shadrach grumbled, at last getting his belt tight enough to hold the weight of the hatchet at his side. As he got closer, Wambliska could make out the dark shadows under his glassy eyes and that his hair was even messier than usual. Shadrach looked like he had just fallen out of bed. He looked just the same as Wambliska.
It was the third night in a row, after all. Catching up on sleep during the days had been next to impossible, too, with the number of men currently down from the first nightly raid. No one had been prepared for how great an advantage the dark was for the Sunka. There was still the same amount of clean-up, preparation for the next onslaught, and the daily chores to take care of - just with fewer people. Wambliska was pretty sure no one had gotten more than seven or eight hours of shut-eye in the last three days. It felt like even less.
“They are testing our endurance,” Wambliska said. He jogged towards the ladder leading up the southern wall, where more people were needed for a solid defense.
“They’re testin’ MY temper,” Shadrach growled, hot on his heels.
I'm actually impressed there hasn't been a fight involving you yet, Wambliska thought. To say the lack of sleep had everyone in a foul mood was an understatement, and it wouldn't have been a surprise if one of the men's usual quips had rubbed Shadrach the wrong way or vice versa.
Wambliska waited a moment until Akira in front was a couple of rungs ahead on the ladder before he followed him swiftly. The wood was slick from the rain that had persisted until late in the afternoon, and behind him Shadrach cursed as he nearly slipped.
At the top, the battle was already in full swing. With practiced movements, the men reloaded their muskets and aimed at the approaching enemies. The volley made Wambliska’s ears ring, and the smell of gunpowder and smoke stung his nose. So far, none of the Sunkas had breached their defenses.
“There you are!” Corn briefly interrupted his reloading to glance at the late newcomers. “Over there, they're starting to cut down the trees - the others could use some backup. We've got it under control here.” He pointed towards the nearest watchtower.
A brief nod, then Wambliska pushed past him and threw himself into the nightly chaos.
The string hitting his forearm was like the lash of a whip, and Wambliska grimaced at the pain. His coat had offered some protection, but the stinging and throbbing already told of the hefty bruise that would form. Wambliska couldn’t remember the last time he'd gotten string slap - it had been ages. He didn’t know if his general tiredness was to blame for his poor form or the gash at his left upper arm, probably a bit of both.
A Sunka had managed to get his claws on him during the fight, but Shadrach had been quick enough to grab the beast by its fur and yank it back before it could do worse. Its corpse lay forgotten on the muddy ground further down. While the sliced fabric of Wambliska’s coat would definitely need stitches, he hoped his skin wouldn't too. The wound ached and drenched his clothes with blood, yet luckily didn’t hinder his movements.
In the east, the sun started to set the sky ablaze. Even though Wambliska knew it probably promised more rain, it was still a beautiful sight. It also told him the fight had been going on for two to three hours. A while ago, the men had managed to gain the upper hand, and now the raid was starting to fall apart. Wambliska gave the Sunkas about ten to fifteen minutes until they'd retreat.
It was wishful thinking to be going back to bed the moment everything was over. There'd be repairs to do, corpses to get rid of…
He cut off his thoughts. His head was needed here and now, in battle.
Wambliska pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it. The movement was so familiar and natural that he'd long ago started to use the timeframe to search for his next target.
His gaze passed Shadrach a couple of feet to his right, who was catching his breath with heaving shoulders, and then caught the smear of brown.
Immediately, Wambliska whirled around, raising his voice to a yell.
“Watch out!”
Just a moment too late, Shadrach realized the warning had been meant for him. He didn’t get to turn before the Sunka barreled into him full speed, and there was nothing Wambliska could do except watch as the other fell over from the force and crashed face-first into one of the pillars of the watchtower. The impact was dull and heavy and apparently enough to knock even Shadrach out, for his body went slack and he dropped on the planks.
Now towering over him was the Sunka. One of those bulky, brown ones reaching the height of an adult man while standing on all fours, with claws as big as knives. It bared its teeth, ready to sink them into flesh.
In moments like these, the bow stopped feeling like a weapon to Wambliska and instead became something more. Something akin to an extension of his very being. He didn’t remember pulling the bowstring back; it must've happened somewhere between turning and now. Aiming was instinctual, and the arrow left his fingers without a trace of hesitation.
The moment it hit its mark, the beast froze. It managed to turn its head to catch a glimpse of Wambliska and the arrow between its ribs, shaft buried all the way to the fletching, then collapsed onto Shadrach.
Every moment your back was exposed in battle was one too many - Wambliska was aware of it, even if the fort's corners usually were the safest spots because of the cover the towers provided - but he'd be damned if he didn’t check on his friend. With a brief glance, Wambliska made sure there wasn't any other immediate danger, then hurried over. It was alarming seeing Shadrach motionless like this, face hidden behind his hair and hat, and specks of blood on the planks near his head, but panicking wouldn't help anyone.
First things first, he had to get the Sunka down from him. It was still alive - while lethal, even an arrow to the heart didn’t kill immediately. Up close, one could see the occasional spasm of limbs. Could focus on the dying breaths accompanied by sharp whistles and gurgles, sounds otherwise buried beneath the noise of battle, as pierced lungs filled with blood.
At the thought of having to touch it, Wambliska swallowed down a wave of nausea. He laid his bow on the ground within reach to immediately take in case of danger, then grabbed the beast by its scruff. It took all his strength to move the body, and when he was finally able to roll it aside, Wambliska was panting and from the effort, and pretty sure the Sunka was dead by now. The gash on his arm burned like fire.
“Hey! Shadrach!” He went to pat his cheek, then decided it probably wasn’t the best idea with a head injury and settled for firmly yet carefully shaking him by the shoulder. “You hear me?"
Another shake was necessary to finally get a reaction: a low groan followed by the twitch of his left hand. Wambliska hadn’t expected Shadrach to get up like nothing had happened, yet it was still unnerving to see there wasn't even a raise of his head. But it was a sign of life, and that had to be enough for now. Body protesting and eyes heavy, Wambliska grabbed his bow and took position at the wall right next to his unconscious friend.
Three arrows later, he was back in the flow of battle.
The fight continued without further incidents. Only once did Wambliska have to pause his rain of arrows as he felt Shadrach shift at his legs in a fruitless attempt to get up. He was still in a daze, movements sluggish and uncoordinated, barely able to press his palms flat against the planks. Wambliska was ready to order him to stay down, but before he could open his mouth, Shadrach collapsed once more, likely blacked out.
Carefully, Wambliska nudged the other's arm to the side with his foot before anyone could step on it.
The first signs of the battle coming to an end were the shouts of encouragement, although they were few in between. Just another small thing showcasing the endless exhaustion everyone was feeling. A moment later, the howl split the air, piercing Wambliska through the bone like usual. While the sound was similar to a wolf’s howl, there was something off about it, just enough to distinguish between wolf and sunka. Wambliska didn’t know if he was the only one aware of it; if the eerie feeling it evoked inside of him was merely the doing of his mind or something else.
Yet, right now, it was a relief to hear.
He didn’t fire the last arrow he’d nocked, letting the brown, dark spotted sunka that would’ve been his next target retreat into the forest, and instead focused on resisting the urge to join Shadrach on the ground and take a nap.
Zeke apparently lost that fight. From the other end of the scaffolding, Wambliska watched him lean his rifle against the railing and then lower himself onto the planks. He placed his head on the ground, hands under his cheek, causing his trusty hat to tilt to cover his eyes, and curled his knees up to his chest. Peaceful - that’s what he looked like. At least, until Buck and Boston spotted him after three seconds. The next instant, the two of them were standing next to Zeke, kicking him with grumpy faces and loud claims of “Not fair!” and “If we must suffer, so do you!”.
Wambliska didn’t get to see how the whole thing ended - if Zeke simply got up or if everything escalated into a full-blown brawl - for Jonathan called out for him, and he turned around. The marksman was oblivious to his surroundings as he hurried over, nearly smacking Elli in the face with his rifle.
“I saw what happened! Are you two alright?!” he asked, eyes rapidly switching back and forth between Wambliska in front of him and Shadrach at their feet, who was stirring once more.
“Just a scratch,” Wambliska answered. He knelt down next to his friend, carefully watching as he sat up. “But he hit his head.”
“ ‘m fine.”
He was definitely not, and the words were slightly slurred, but Wambliska still felt a surge of relief wash over him at hearing the familiar grumble.
“You don’t look 'fine'.” Jonathan deadpanned.
Shadrach’s face was indeed … quite the sight. Blood matted his hair and the fur at the front of his hat, the source of it a cut over his left brow. His nose was bleeding heavily, the liquid running over his lips and finally dripping from his chin. Worst looking of all, however, was the bruise. A deep, dark, purple splotch that covered his left upper cheek and merged into an impressive black eye.
“Quit staring,” Shadrach huffed. With his sleeve, he wiped his mouth, and when he flinched at the initial contact and continued more cautiously, Wambliska knew the injury was even more painful than it looked. It didn’t stop him from making a move to get u,p though.
“I don't think that’s a good idea,” Jonathan cut in the exact moment Wambliska said “Take it slow,” and placed a hand on Shadrach’s shoulder to keep him seated.
Dark eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.
“Ya two got some mother-henning competition goin’ on or what?”
“I mean it, Shadrach.” - Wambliska gave his shoulder a firm squeeze, voice stern - “That was a heavy hit. I tried to wake you earlier, and you were basically unresponsive.”
It did the trick. Shadrach was stubborn, not stupid. After Wambliska removed his hand, the man’s movements were much more considerate and careful. Still, Jonathan and Wambliska watched mindfully as he got his legs under him and finally stood up. A bit unsteady, but otherwise everything seemed fine.
And Wambliska was very glad for that, because to be honest, he had no idea how to get his friend down the scaffolding otherwise, if he couldn’t do it himself. While Shadrach’s size was an advantage during the battles, hauling around over 250 pounds of dead weight certainly wasn’t an easy task.
“Samson should take a look at you, just to be sure,” Jonathan said, once more examining Shadrach's face.
“I’m fine, Jonathan,” he growled. Shadrach spat out some blood on the planks, then bent down and picked up his dropped hatchet. No one missed the stumble when he straightened up again.
“A little dizzy, maybe. And damn tired,” he added then, softer.
“I think we all are.” Wamblika let out a deep sigh. The bow and quiver felt way heavier than normal on his back, and without the battle for life or death overshadowing everything, the cut was stinging more and more fiercely. “Let's get down.”
Together, the three of them made their way over to the ladder.
Wambliska was the first to climb down. His feet hit the muddy ground with a soft splash as he jumped from the last rung. Cold and wet, just like the beginning day promised to be. Just as he looked up, the first drop of rain hit him square in the eye.
At the top, Shadrach was starting to make his way down. A lot slower than usual, and when he got to set foot on the ground, Wambliska was actually worried he might pass out again. Because Shadrach was shaking. Shadrach didn’t shake. He was also gripping the end of the ladder way too tightly, as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.
“Shadrach?” He got closer. “What’s wrong?”
There wasn’t an answer; instead, Shadrach hunched over and heaved. Blood splattered on the ground, followed by another retch. Stumped, Wambliska grabbed his arm as he stumbled.
“Yeah, you’re getting looked at,” Jonathan called from above.
This time, there wasn’t any protest.