She had not thought that death would hurt quite so much.

Her head gave a throbbing ache as she groaned, aware of it this time although she’d been groaning in her unconscious state ever since she had arrived. As her mind started to rouse, she became acutely aware of everything that hurt with even the slightest of movements. The subtle rise and fall of her chest especially so, but it was not as if she could stop breathing. She didn’t want to stop breathing. Something cool lay across her brow, removed and replaced whenever it started to grow too warm.

A stranger’s voice spoke somewhere, sounding further away than it should have. A shadow passed through the light she could see from behind her still closed eyes, and slowly she began to come back to the realm of the living. The light was soft but it still hurt her eyes after so much darkness, so she squinted as she groaned again. Her first instinct had been to raise her hand to shield herself, but that was certainly a mistake because now she was on fire. Her eyes adjusted, focusing on a sandy-haired man who was leaning over her, pressing something cool to her forehead.

She was relieved to see someone who could only be Greek, his fairer complexion and the shape of his features giving him away. Where was Phaedra? Had her commander made it out of the battle too? Her eyes closed as a wave of fatigue crashed over her, threatening to pull her back down amongst the dark depths but she was rather afraid to go back. Escaping Hades had been far, far too easy and she was reluctant to give the soul stealer another chance at her. Her lips parted, struggling to form a word as she opened her eyes again.

She turned her head, wincing at the pain of it and feeling the cold cloth slide off of her face. So that was what had been on her face.

“What…” She began, freezing at the sight of an Egyptian, her eyes going wide. ”Watch out!” She shouted to the Greek, jerking and then flinching as the movement caused a sharp, shooting pain across her shoulder and side.

”Stay back, sand rat!” She hissed at the man in the robe, between clenched teeth and biting back a gasp of pain. She glanced between the Egyptian and the Greek, waiting expectantly for the latter to pull a weapon and defend them both. She tried to sit up, but it was proving difficult. She didn’t dare look away from the enemy, not even for a weapon.

”What are you doing, fool? Do you want to die here?” She barked at the Greek, clearly flustered.

The Egyptian was a smug bastard, that much was clear to her after even just a few moments of being in his company. She winced as another tremor of pain surged and traveled down her back. Gods, this was bad. Zosime snarled at the Greek, but he did little more than flinch. A traitorous snake, she thought. How could he stand aside let alone stand beside an Egyptian? They were an enemy she had met twice now on the battlefield and she could not understand why the sandy-haired man was so calmly accepting of this. She drew back, pushing through the pain as it seared across her shoulder and back -- her face wary and guarded as the Egyptian approached, a glass in hand.

She was practically growling, injured and cornered -- it was not a good look for her. She felt dishevelled, probably looked it as well given how the dark tight curls of her hair were everywhere in her line of vision. Everything hurt, radiating from the slash on her side mostly. That’s rude, not at all the way one should speak to their rescuer The man said, causing Zosime to narrow her gaze. He could speak Greek? He’d rescued her? From the battlefield? Bits and pieces of the fight were coming back to her, but she could not recall anything beyond being down in the sand and unable to move.

”I didn’t ask to be saved.” She said sharply, giving a weak flail as his manservant pushed down on her good shoulder. He was trying to get her to lie down, to stop moving so much but it was exactly the wrong thing to do. She grabbed his clothing with her good hand, unable to lift her dominant fighting hand at all thanks to her wounds and the subsequent bandages. Her head turned towards the man’s hand, her teeth clamping down on the skin hard enough that he yelped and pulled away. She bared her teeth, shuffling the best that she could manage to huddle on the far side of her cot.

She was pale from blood loss, feeling the weakness creeping up on her like a heavy blanket. She was too weak to fight her way out of this, but...she could not allow herself to be captured. Her mind flashed back to a dark place, a place she did not speak of to anyone. Not again. Never again. The Egyptian spoke again, and she had to bite back a laugh. ”Your Greek is terrible.” She said, daring to look away. Her bright blue eyes roved over the tent, looking for anything that might be useful. Fighting was not an option, but was running?

He promised her that there would be no deaths, but how could she trust the word of her country’s enemy? He mentioned the Greek, giving away his name and Zosime could not help but be shocked by the fact that he’d been here for ten years. Did that mean he was a captive from the last war? The woman clenched her teeth. No, no way in hell would she be left to die in this sandbox. Rafa was murmuring to her now, but not bold enough to put hands on her again just yet. Her good hand pulled the blanket higher as she tried to sit up, aware that her wounds had been dressed because of the pressure on them but without being able to look down at herself -- she had no idea at the state of her dress.

What’s your name?

Her gaze flickered to the dark man. He was muscular and shades darker than her own skin. If he weren’t the very thing she hated most, she might have found him attractive. It was traitorous thought, and one that she pushed away.

”What is it to you?” She asked in Egyptian, the accent of it surprisingly well indeed. Not perfect, but well enough. Her grandmother had fled Egypt as a young woman and despite her lack of loyalty to the country, she had insisted on teaching her daughter to speak it as well. And her daughter had taught it to her daughter, which had been Zosime. It was useful sometimes, between women to be able to speak without the prying ears of men. Her blue gaze was burning as she met his eye, staring without flinching.

”What do you want from me? Why did you “rescue” me, as you say?” She asked, trying to divert the subject from her. As Phaedra’s second, she was indeed privy to some information -- but she would be damned to give it up. And keeping her identity quiet was the easiest first step to keeping all of her secrets to herself.

”He’s no countryman of mine. He’s a traitor if he stands beside you.” She spat, her features twisting in disgust. She might have taken pity on him if he showed any sort of spine, if he were willing to fight back now that his true countrymen were so close but he’d simply bowed his head. She looked down at the man in question, finding him sneaking a look at the hand that she’d bitten. She could see her teeth marks on his skin, and she knew that she’d do it again if given the chance. Her eyes flicked back up to the Egyptian, all broad muscle and dark skin where it peeked out from his robe. Dear Gods, was he so confident in her infirmity that he’d be so defenseless?

He laughed, the sound deep and smooth. Any other time, any other man, it might have been attractive. He asked for her name, persistent in his pursuit. To her, that meant that he either had no idea who she was or some inkling of who she might be -- which wouldn’t be unheard of. Zosime was rather infamous for her attitude, notoriously outspoken and obnoxious for a woman. She simply disregarded the gender norms, and leapt headfirst without thinking of the consequences which was precisely how she had ended up in the situation before her now.

Her eyes narrowed, focused intently on Oso. ”Zosime. Her name was a hiss between her teeth, her free hand creeping up to tenderly touch the wound at her shoulder. Her right arm felt practically useless in its current state, and she cursed under her breath. She dared to drop her gaze long enough to take a look at herself, finding that she’d been bandaged up -- presumably stitched up as well, although there was no being sure of that. She couldn’t feel any stitches pulling, but there were a thousand different pains to pay attention to. Her shoulders were bare, save for the bandages on her right shoulder, and upon further inspection -- it appeared her clothes from the waist up were gone. More bandages covered her abdomen and someone had bound her chest to preserve her modesty while still giving access to the wounds for future treatment. Her skin crawled with the idea that someone had seen her naked without her permission, but...at least she was still breathing. @athena be praised.

When Zosime looked up again, the Greek man had moved away to refill drinks. One was passed to the Egyptian, and the other was offered to her with a look of distrust. ’I don’t drink.” She said in Greek, switching back to her native tongue. Zosime was a terrible lightweight, and when she drank -- her tongue loosened and every personal secret she ever had just seemed to fall out of her. It would not be wise to take the cup that he offered. ”I would like water.” She muttered, feeling weak for even daring to ask. Presumably, he went to fulfill her request -- likely taken aback by her lack of venom for once.

Her gaze met his as he explained himself, snorting at the absurdity. It was not the first time she’d been mistaken for an Egyptian, thinking of the times that she’d been bullied or discriminated against because of her skin color. Even on the way here, she’d been accosted by a young woman in Taengea whom she’d subsequently shoved into a display of sweets. Usually it was her eyes that gave away that she was not completely Egyptian, a second generation born Greek -- but that often did not stop those that saw her skin as something dangerous. ”It’s better than your Greek. My grandmother was Egyptian. She fled this wretched place when she was fifteen.” She wasn’t sure why she shared it, why she even bothered to give this man a glimpse into her family. He raised his glass to her, a faux toast as the man -- Rafa -- returned with water.

Her fingers tentatively wrapped around the glass, taking it from his grip. She raised it to her lips, her tongue heavy and dry as she sniffed first before allowing herself to take a drink. She prayed to @athena that it wasn’t poisoned. She took all of it, gulping it greedily in a manner that was most unlady-like. She pressed the back of her hand to the corner of her mouth when she finished, holding on to the glass even when Rafa reached to take it from her. It was a shoddy weapon, but a weapon nonetheless.

She turned her attention to Oso, shuffling to sit up higher. ”Blending abilities?” She asked, frowning because she had no idea what he meant by that. ”Why in the name of the Gods do you think that I would help you?” She was skeptical of him, her features wrinkling in disgust at the idea. ”I would rather die than offer you any kind of assistance…”rescuer” or not.” She tilted her chin up, defiant and eyes flashing. ”I’m no traitor, and I’m not going to be some...some pet.”

She was fighting her way to her feet then, the world already tilting sideways as she gripped the glass in her good hand. She just needed something hard to break it on...like his face. Her injured arm hung at her side, tucked against the slash in her side. Everything hurt, but she pushed on anyway. She bared her teeth, unsteady as the blanket fell away revealing her bandaged torso and shoulder. She still had the lower half of her uniform, though they were bloody and dirty. She edged along the side of the cot, glancing for an exit.