Ffion remained lying there in the mud. Hand still between her legs, she tried to reach the state of ecstasy she had before, but the inclination and the desire vanished alongside the beast. Somehow disappointed to still be alive, Ffion rose from her position and scanned the forest. Perhaps a bigger monster came to kill her and simply scared the fox away. But no, even as vulnerable as she was, not even a fly came to finish her off.
Standing naked and alone, Ffion scanned her surroundings properly. The rush had gone and her less corrupted instincts took over. The stream was crystal clear, with a plethora of little stones paving the river bed. She hoped the water was safe to drink. Spring blossoms dotted the soil on the other side. And from there the forest furthered, presenting a new maze to get lost in. Her gaze then lowered to the water. It ran from East to West, judging by the position of the afternoon sun. If she went east, eventually she would find a town or road. All she had to do was survive until then. A clear head was what she needed more, and with it, she examined her belongings.
All her clothes were soaked in mud and dirt. Her crossbow really was broken now, crushed by the fox when it approached. She kicked the scraps of wood and metal, cursing herself for being so stupid. The moment, no matter how enticing, was stupid. She messed up. She should have gone for the kill. What could she have used? Her teeth? Her fingers? The thought of her ravenous tearing into the monster with fingernails and fists brought back the pleasure. She had to think about anything else. The more time she spent in the mud the less time she spent surviving. However, the conflict in her mind was not entirely dominated by the seriousness of the situation.
Ffion kept her ears open for any noise, any trace of the fox. She watched the brush. No sign of anything but a brisk spring breeze. With a forest floor full of fallen branches and leaves, the distant crunches of a far-off giant creature would still be audible. Respect grew alongside confusion. Even when she looked right into its eyes, Ffion could not glean a single thing about the beast's motives. She felt almost insulted, in a twisted sense. Was she not good enough to be prey? Was she not good enough to hunt and kill? The only time she spared a creature was when it wasn't worth the chance of breaking the arrow.
Maybe she had no room to judge. Her crossbow and arrows were long spent. And now she truly did have nothing. Her clothes were soaked with sweat and mud. They needed a wash before she continued beyond the river. She stripped off the last vestiges of her clothing, just her boots and socks, and began to scrub. Soaking the clothes did little to clean them. Without soap, it was a fool's errand. And when she did manage to get some stains out, all she noticed was rips and tears. Her shirt and trousers were more ribbons than clothing. The brambles had torn them to shreds. It'd be impossible to repair in the wilderness. She would constantly be trying to keep the rags intact and cover what needed to be covered. It'd be a nuisance. Every five steps she would have to fix or readjust something. Would it be easier to go without?
No. That was ridiculous. Maybe she could use the cloth scraps to tie together some grass or leaves. She had seen hunters use suits woven with plants before, and they were extremely effective. The camouflage could be a way to continue the hunt too, if she so desired. Of course, she desired it, she snapped her attention back to the mission, refusing to let the more undisciplined parts of her triumph.
She left the usable cloth scraps hanging on nearby branches to dry. Completely bare, Ffion braved the cold wind and rough ground to search for plant fiber. She did not have to go far. Maybe Lady Luck took some pity on her after all. For when she timidly pushed through the brush on the north end of the river, where the fox once stalked her, she found a vacant field. No trees grew here. This land belonged to dogbane and dogbane alone. The little white plants were perfect for cordage. And from cordage, she could make a cloak. It would be flimsy and fragile, even if she had all the time in the world to craft it, but it would be something when right now she had nothing.
So, Ffion sat down in the middle of nowhere and began picking at the dogbane, retrieving the fibers, and began coiling them all together. It must have been years since she last did any kind of weaving. Sure, she stitched together her clothes from time to time to help patch up holes. But how long ago did she actually make something? It must have been when she was a kid. Her mother was so strict, telling her that she had to practice the domestic chores of the fairer sex. Commanding she cleaned, cooked, weaved, and looked after her baby brothers. Instead, Ffion wanted to swing axes and shoot crossbows. So one day, she ran away. A mercenary had to clean, cook, weave, and look after dying comrades. But they never hit her with a spoon when she walked towards the sparring yard. Of course, if you didn't go to the sparring yard you were whipped. Out in this field, with nothing but the dirt between her toes, she had no one to dictate anything. No mission, no punishment, nothing but choices and places to go. It was terrifying to be free.
Ffion eventually fell asleep in this field. Nightfall snuck up on her too fast, and darkness ceased her work entirely. She did not remember closing her eyes. And she did not dream in the interim. So when she awoke in the morning, it came as a sudden surprise of daylight and warmth. And shielding her from the cold was a woven cloak, finely made and comfortable against her skin. The inside had the cloth scraps she left by the river sewn in with fiber from river reeds. She knew she was nowhere near finished when the sunset, and there was no way she could continue in her sleep. It clicked the second a cold rush went down her spine. She scanned the surrounding wilderness for people, for friends or foes. Nothing. Whoever aided her had long left the field and abandoned Ffion in lonely confusion.
With the dogbane cape draped over her shoulders, Ffion retraced her steps back towards the river. Whoever made this new gift had to go by there to get the cloth, so maybe they left a clue there too. It was a warm blanket, finely made, a wonderful shield against the wind. The mysterious creator must have been experienced in using dogbane, maybe another hunter in a cabin nearby? Her cheeks flushed red when she imagined someone finding her in her current state. She didn't mind being seen naked. She was used to battle camps and barracks, communal spaces full of tired soldiers with no spare time for gawking. She saw men and women washing in the open all the time. But she knew those people, and they knew her. A stranger, however, they could be anyone with any intention.
