Of all things, it would be the weather.

[Diego Liberatore]

It was all a blur to Diego. Three bodies were on the ground, and none of them were his companions. He stared at them as he gripped his knees in pain, hurriedly pulled the helmet off of his face and staggered off a few feet to vomit. Pale and shaking, he held it out to Nicola, wondering if he would still want it to go back and regroup with his other Assassins to retrieve the girl's book, if it was really so important. Diego couldn't have cared less anymore. They were out of there, that's what he cared about.

Home? He looked up at Rahmil as she covered her eyes. Oh, how he wished he could go home. But not just yet, he couldn't. There was one more stop he had to make, and so did she. Grudgingly he finally admitted it out loud. "I need to get this bolt out of my back. And you can't go to sleep until you know if you've got a concussion or not." His eyes flitted to Nicola briefly, not sensing any immediate wounds from him. Although he had also been knocked out, he didn't seem to be suffering as much as Rahmil was.

[Nicola Rangé]

The battle had ended as quickly as it had begun, and left Nicola panting slightly. Wiping the blood from his blade with his fingers, Nicola's attention fell unto Antonnio as he vomited. He grimaced. As he held out his helmet to him, Nicola only tossed it aside and dropped to one knee next to him. "I can remove it, if you so desire," he spoke with a neutral expression. Though Nicola's medical knowledge was limited, he wouldn't have difficulty removing a projectile from the Templar's back. In a sort of twisted sense, Nico had removed bolts dozens of times--but they were from the corpses of his enemies. He knew well that this wouldn't be too different; he would just have to be more careful and slowly ease the bolt out.

Of course, if he didn't stand for that, he could just as easily escort the two of them back to the town, and find a doctor. At this point, however, Nicola couldn't care less about the book. He wasn't about to risk his life--or his companions'--in returning to the church.

[Diego Liberatore]

His gaze shifted uneasily to the blood on Nicola's hands as the boy knelt beside him, unwilling to make eye contact just yet. As much as he wanted to refuse the offer, uncertain as he was of Nicola's trustworthiness now that they were without a common foe, Diego had to admit it was tempting. As fearful as he had been before, and as nervous as he still was, the time spent with his wound had persuaded him that there was no way around it, and the sooner it was over, the better. As he gripped his knees, he stomach churned darkly at the thought of walking through the streets to find one of those bird-faced healers.

On the other hand, he didn't want Nicola or Rahmil to see him cry. Nicola didn't like him, and there was nothing Diego could do to change that. But it wasn't in him to appear a wimp or a weakling in front of his possible enemy. And Rahmil, while it was true that he had gotten the bolt in the process of protecting her, and she was more of a friend to him now, he still did not want her to see him like that either. He had dignity. Pride. And perhaps he feared the permanent pain of humiliation than he feared the pain of the removal itself.

He tried to straighten up, but the too-familiar scraping of metal on bone ground in his ears, sent shocks radiating from his shoulder and silenced his throat. He gripped his knees again, knowing his mind was made up for him by his situation. "Just do it quickly, and try not to cut anything else." he pleaded, and untied his bag of money and held it near his face, to muffle himself. But first he looked briefly up at Rahmil, who still stood with her hands over her eyes. He was going to ask her to walk away for a moment, but felt guilty asking her. "Rahmil could you, just, turn around and cover your ears for a second, please?" Just asking her, he felt like a wimp. His heart pounded and he bit against the coin pouch.

[Nicola Rangé]

Nicola gave a short nod of confirmation at his request. Gently, the Assassin pushed Antonnio onto his stomach, preferring to be able to work from a leveraged position. The first step in the procedure would be to remove his shirt. Using his hidden blade, Nicola cut straight down the middle of Antonnio's shirt. Once he eased it off and worked it around the bolt that protruded from his shoulder, Nico kept the scraps off to the side; he would use them to stanch the bleeding later.

And then came the most delicate part of the operation. Nicola had to hold his breath as he examined the wound, using his fingers to stretch apart the halved flesh. The bolt had only penetrated a couple of inches, at the most. But the biggest problem, it seemed, was the hooked nature of the projectile. By just yanking it out, he would do further damage to the surrounding muscle.

He offered the Templar no warning as he made his first tug on the bolt, just testing which strands of muscle would become an obstacle during the procedure. He pulled it gently at a slight angle, just to unhook anything that would have been pulled out otherwise. He then had to use a process of pulling with his left hand, and using his right to work around each area. He had managed to pull it out about an inch before he ran into problems. It seemed to be stuck on something. Nicola cursed quietly as he pulled it back further, to a smaller angle. He then yanked with a little more force this time, and the bolt slid easily from Antonnio's shoulder. Nicola desperately held back the urge to vomit as he discarded the projectile, of which was covered in unpleasant gore. He reached for the scraps he had set aside earlier, and pressed them firmly against the wound. "It's done," he breathed.

[Rahmil Binachi]

Rahmil uncovered her eyes at the sound of her name, and blinked slightly at the request. What? Did he think she couldn't handle a little blood?
Yet when the dark cloud cleared, she saw the soft plea in his eyes, and she understood.
Giving a slow nod, she turned her back to the two and walked a few paces to another tree to lean her head against it to cover her ears.
There was a long, torturous moment of silence of holding her breath and forcing her eyes closed.
Then it started, the low tearing screams of a man in a world of pain.
Goose bumps crawled up her arms and her jaw clenched as guilt ate away her insides. It was her fault he was having to go through this, if she wasn't so damn clumsy and ignorant to her surroundings...

The yells eventually stopped. Either the deed was done or he had passed out from the pain, she didn't know, but with a slow exhale she moved back from the tree and opened her eyes.
After a few blinks she turned around and peered through the trees, only to see Nicola holding the arrow and Diego on the ground.
" _{Oh God, I am so sorry} "

[Diego Liberatore]

Every muscle in his body tensed as Nicola did his best to help him, even through his pain Diego could recognize that. But it seemed a quick and easy procedure was not as possible as he had wished. The first jerk felt as if it pulled his whole body with it, and he let out a sharp cry which caught in the fabrics and metals of his pouch. His teeth clenched into it, tearing at the sturdy material and he fought tears from his eyes as Nicola worked. Somehow, perhaps on some strange level of subconscious, his body remained perfectly still and rigid after that, as it knew it would only do itself more harm by twitching. But the agony remained, and his world began to spin and blur with tears. He wanted to swear, but he couldn't even think of the words and all that came from his mouth were shorted howls that shamed him.

When at last his burden was gone, his body relaxed and he buried his face into the cold ground, mumbling a word of thanks as he unclenched his jaw from his coins. The inside of his mouth was bleeding, which he only knew by taste. The rest of his body lay still as tremors of pain traveled randomly and his shoulder blade throbbed. But it was much less now as adrenaline made its way a little later than was ideal into his blood stream, relieving him to some capacity. It also heightened all of his other senses, as if he were in danger, and Diego shut his eyes to try to blot it out, as if it would redirect it towards soothing his pain.

He heard Rahmil walk closer again and say something about being sorry. "Don't be." he said, turning his head the other way so he could look at her. He was ok, after all. And it wasn't her fault. "Given the choice to do it over, I'd still take it again." He meant it, too. What was the alternative? Stand there and watch her die? "That's what friends are for." he said, a little more quietly than before, not truly knowing, but hoping, that she and he were indeed friends, but it was still audible. He thought quickly to avoid an awkward moment. "How's your head?"

[Rahmil Binachi]

Rahmil let out a shaky laugh and crossed her arms.
She didn't know what to say. She felt a thank you would be too mild for the gratitude that she felt, towards both Nicola and Diego. They both pulled more than their own weight, walked the extra mile, put their lives on the line..
" _{If we can find my bag, I've got some things to help ease the pain.} " She said softly, offering them both a weak smile.
" _{After that I'm going to sleep for about five years.}"

[Diego Liberatore]

He returned her weak smile. It was so difficult to read her, to understand what she thought. She had avoided his question about her wound, neither augmenting nor quelling his concerns. But after a while, he supposed if she had regained consciousness once after being knocked out, she would do so again after she slept. And yet it still worried him, as was his nature. So he masked it with a sarcastic remark, "Just make sure you get up again after those five years, Donna." And he left it at that.

Her offer for medicine was turned over in his brain as he weighed the options. No, he thought. He was done searching for things in the rain today, and wanted to stay far away from the old church. "I will replace what was in your bag, and we can probably buy medicine closer." And with that, he knew he had to get up.

He motioned to Nicola to stop applying pressure. It would be easier to stop the bleeding if he was standing, anyway. A proper bandage would do. Awkwardly he drew his sword with his left hand, and dug it into the ground at an angle to help him stand. It was something he wanted to do for himself, and gritted his teeth as he slowly, painfully struggled to his feet. But he just growled lowly under his breath, determined not to make any more noise than that. Besides, compared to what he had just went through, this pain was nothing similar. He stood, doing his best to at least appear in straight posture. Bare-chested now, wet and cold, he shivered slightly as he retied his coin pouch and retrieved his sword. Blood oozed darkly down his back, but the rain droplets disrupted its path, washing it away as it surfaced.

Diego turned to face Nicola, glancing at the discarded bolt briefly before looking him in the eye. He wasn't really sure what to say. He was grateful, of course, and glad that the assassin hadn't simply killed him with his opportunity. But this didn't, he feared, make them allies. And Nicola would probably continue to be a problem in the future. Probably. So he just nodded to him. He would pay him back, some day.

He chanced a glance over his shoulder at Rahmil, returning her weak smile to her again before walking forward. The rain fell down on them more rapidly, making his hair cling to his forehead. Thunder rumbled steadily overhead, and he couldn't help but think to himself. Of all things, it would be the weather.