The strawberry harvest had come to a close, picking season was several weeks past gone. The heat of the summer was draining and sucked the all the local farmers of energy but in a deeply satisfying way. The last dregs of the harvest from one young farmer's personal and private strawberry field were packed loosely into baskets and huddled onto the back of a yellow wooden wagon, being dragged along by the steady pace of her only horse. Today was the last day of harvest and Annette was living, a woven straw hat rested over her face as she leaned back on her elbows, trying to ignore the ache of hard work in her body. She was set high in the ornate Ordonian saddle, reins held with slack in her hand. Her horse knew where to go, so she wasn't much concerned with directing it.

She was saving the last bit of water in her flask for the ride home, now instead looking forward to washing the freshly picked strawberries in the cool water of the fresh spring. Always using the trail along the river, the brunette headed upstream as she always had as long as she had grown strawberries. The breeze felt nice and Annette stared absentmindedly at the shimmering water from under her hat, soaking up the smell of greenery and water.

The farmer was so entranced by the lazy flow of the river that she had almost failed to notice a lonesome horse standing at the riverside, stamping its feet and huffing impatiently. It was mostly a chestnut color but with a white star marking on its face, an Ordonian saddle reminiscent of her own was fastened to the mare. Her hand twitched, ready to pull on the reins at any sign of something alarming. She quickly looked around to be sure that there were no riders to be seen walking around. The horse, still far off down the riverside, hadn't seemed spooked as if it had run away from its owner and was rather calm.

Had the rider walked off into the woods? Had the rider been killed and the horse had just wandered here by chance? Was the owner close by, ready to mug and steal from anyone who took the horse as bait for a diversion? Annette couldn't be more careful, she knew the tricks of thieves in the area like the back of her hand and she looked at the ground for any traps or likewise. Slowly, her own dappled mare approached the other and then she was able to make out what was on the ground near the lonely horse.

It was no bomb, no trap, no baggage that had been carelessly left there. It was a man cloaked in green, his head and shoulders the only thing touching the bay where the sand was damp. The rest of him was in the river water, the current flowing around him. It took her a moment to notice the arrow in his left shoulder, the hastily put together and unrefined arrow of a bublin archer. Her blood ran cold but yet she was still relieved. This was no thief's trick and a mindless bublin wasn't clever enough to set a trap like this.

After a few seconds of hesitation due to her own shock, she tugged on the reins and swiftly hopped down from her saddle before her horse could talk back. Still casting wary glances over her shoulder, she quickly dashed over to the man for a better look. Approaching the green-clad man wasn't at all what the chestnut horse wanted and the animal reared up and whinnied, obviously concerned for the man. Must be the owner of this horse then, Annette concluded. She shushed the horse and slowed down, the horse becoming visibly calmer when it realized she meant no harm.

He was injured far worse than just an arrow to the shoulder. Upon closer inspection, the arrow was scorched black and the shaft had cloth wrapped loosely around it. Where it had entered the man's shoulder there was a place where the fire had burned away a hole in his green tunic to reveal tarnished and severed chainmail underneath. This man was no Hylian knight or common criminal from his the look of his clothing, but something distinguishably different.

Standing over him, she tried to get a better look at his face to see if she recognized him but she did not. His chest rose and fell to her relief and his face, though with one terrible gash across his cheek, was primarily untouched and only had the disgrace of being smeared with blood which also had found its way to stain his blonde hair. His hair was tucked under a green, impish hat which was almost comical had the situation allowed for humor. She noticed that his left arm not only had been struck by this arrow but was also limply bent at an angle that made her cringe.

His arm was definitely broken.

Worst yet, his torso was marked up with slashes and the water he lay in did nothing to help his blood clot, the red tinge lingering around in the flow of the water much like a steeping tea bag. One further thing she noticed was that on his right arm, a Hylian shield was strapped, it's surface littered with dings and scratches.

She wasn't quite sure how far gone he was, but his injuries were bad enough for her own concern. She swallowed and took a deep breath, debating if she should try to help or just get on her horse and leave. She didn't know what kind of man this was and she didn't want to face the consequences of trying to help a criminal that should have died on the riverside. However, she didn't want to leave a good man to suffer and die when she could have helped. Whose brother was this? Whose partner was this? Whose best friend was this? She didn't want to abandon someone who didn't deserve it.

Shakily, she decided to at least try to wake him up, if he wasn't unconscious. She made a promise to herself there and then that if he didn't wake, she would do something about this, her own safety be damned. It was the right thing to do and she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep if she left.

Holding her breath, the farmer reached down and shook the man's right shoulder, careful not to jostle him too much.

"Hey, um sir? Hey, get up. Can you hear me?" she tried, her voice more stable than her insides. His only response was a low, pained groan but his eyes didn't budge. Lifting her hand and standing up, she looked around again and bit her lip. Since he didn't wake, a promise was a promise so she had to do something.

Looking to the back of the yellow wagon, she thought of the linen that she used to strain the masses of strawberries with when she washed them. That could dry him off at least and maybe be a temporary sling? He didn't look too heavy so maybe she could get him on the back of the wagon? She silently thanked the goddess and ran over to her horse, pulling the reins down to lead her horse and wagon over to the man's unconscious form. Once she determined it was close enough, she released the reins and rushed over to the baskets and found the one basket that held her usual supplies. Among the typical, the folded and strawberry stained linen lay and a small machete. Perfect.

She slung the linen over her shoulder and snatched the knife, hurrying to kneel down close to the man. She set the machete down and did her best to lift the sopping wet and bleeding man from the water, underestimating how heavy he would be. It was dead weight, proving he was indeed unconscious. Groaning with effort, she managed to drag him until the only thing in the water was his boots, not failing to also become sopping wet and bloody. She hadn't noticed the two swords the man had strapped to his back before, as he must have been laying on them.

So he was a swordsman.

She decided that the swords and shield would only get in the way so she unstrapped both and set them to the side. Surveying the damage, she decided to make a sling and at least wrap his torso, the source of most of the bleeding. For now, it was all she could do and she would have to do better later. Ripping strips of cloth with the machete, she managed a temporary sling and wrapped another strip around his torso rather tightly, hoping it would help stop the bleeding.

Taking a look at the wagon, she was very grateful for the fact that the strawberries were scarce today and so not many baskets lined the wagon's surface, giving sufficient room for her to lay the man down. Readying herself, she bent down and with a lot of strain and difficulty, she barely managed to lift him to the edge of the wagon. Using the little bit of leverage from the edge of the wagon that she had, the farmer rolled the man into the spot that was available.

Panting from the heat, her effort, and her own racing heart, she took a breather and without much care, did her best to toss the two heavy swords and metal shield into the back with the fallen swordsman. Contemplating what to do with the swordsman's horse, she put the machete up and lamented her bloodstained clothes. She was sure that Cordial, her own horse, wouldn't mind sharing the space with the new horse for a little while as the swordsman heals up.

Slowly and carefully grabbing the reins of the chestnut mare, Annette led the horse to the wagon and tied the reins to the side, making sure it was strong enough to keep the horse from running off.

Sighing and trying not to doubt her own actions too much, she hopped back on her saddle and headed home, once again thankful for the small number of strawberries that would go unwashed today or even perhaps the next day. It was not a total loss to her and she could focus more on what she was going to do with the fallen man in her wagon.

Annette just hoped she had made the right decision and wouldn't regret helping a man in need.