Now that Silva had paused from disembarking, she squinted from her vantage, trying to gleam something from the wreckage. The shattered frame looked to be some kind of shipping container, the original shape still discernible.
Silva guessed that it was a common, good-laden crate, one that had been smashed to pieces as the result of some past trauma inflicted. As the group continued to stare, details came to light. Hannah pointed out the delicate spools of fabric that spilled out from the site, draped across tough shrubbery and the dank forest ground.
But it was Basil, looking further into the forest, who had seen the capsized handcart. It was the implications of this sight that had been the true cause for his dismay, and it was Silva who caught on first.
Silva, who hissed involuntarily when she saw the state of the pathetic craft. Her eyes glazed over on their own accord, some primal self-defense mechanism recognizing the streaks of rust-colored residue that splattered across the front. She forced herself to resist her own body's shutdown, willed her limbs into spurning action.
It had been a long time since she'd seen this much blood.
Silva shouted at Basil to stay there, don't move, already unfolding the ladder, unhinging the cockpit's exit hatch. Hannah and Basil sat there in stunned silence, watching her scramble down. Hannah's exuberant mood nose-dived into a strange, fuzzy feeling, the scene in front of her reduced to some artistic rendering. Basil looked wide-eyed, but alert. They hadn't realized yet, hadn't noticed the dried, shriveled gore that littered the crash site.
Silva picked her way through the brush, careful to step around anything that looked slick, or encrusted, or torn apart. Upon arrival, there was a frustrating moment when she gripped the edge of the cart, and realized there was no way a single person could flip it right.
Silva had a moment of hesitation, but urgent rationality left her waving to the others.
"I need help down here!" She called out. "Someone could be trapped underneath!"
Basil finched into action, looking back at the still-dazed Hannah. With a low, worried moan he stood, and shakily made his way down the strider. Hannah, after a moment, followed suit, but her body felt sluggish, subject to the instincts within that curdled at the thought of getting closer.
They trundled into the woods. Hannah was the first of the two to spot the rough bloodstains on the cart. Her brow furrowed, a sense of clarity returning as she struggled to identify it. Then, she glanced down, and saw the stinking, decaying mess of something once alive.
The girl retched, curling into herself, heaving, horrid gasps. Basil gasped at the sight, while Silva shook her head. Bringing them closer had been a mistake. She looked to Basil, words already rising in her throat: to turn back, to take Hannah with him. She'd have time to deal with their emotional wounding after rescuing the victim- or bringing back whatever was left. It was a guilty thought, but the idea of abandoning someone who could still be fighting for life, just out of reach- it felt shameful, disrespectful to their struggle.
And yet there was rueful, almost proud smile on the old woman's face when she saw her apprentice's pale, still quavering face. He zeroed in on the remains, a perverse fascination.But he was moving forward, taking one shaking, shuddering step after another.
Silva and Basil worked together to lift the creaking hulk, to reveal the sight of whatever may lay beneath. Silva called back, telling Hannah to return to the strider. She obeyed, miserable, queasy and sick, carefully averting her eyes to the blood, the remains, her own bile.
With his hands solidly against the cart they began to lift. Straining against the wood, Basil allowed his eyes to squeeze tight against whatever gruesome view would be laid bare underneath. Finally, with a last, shuddering breath, they flipped the cart, letting momentum finish the job, accompanied by a moan of old timber.
"Hmm. There's nothing there. No body." Silva kept her voice neutral, but there was palpable relief in the air- then sudden fear, as they realized what it could mean.
Basil was looking now, and there was nothing there, just a displaced mound of earth where the cart had tipped and fell.
"Maybe one of them left, went to find help themselves." He offered dully.
Silva nodded, but her attention waned. "It was probably some merchant- or multiple." Silva was speaking to herself softly. "One who couldn't afford a strider, or couldn't use one at the time. They must have hauled the stuff themselves with this cart."
Glancing back at the wreckage, her voice faltered. "The lack of an... intact body is strange. If this was some sort of crash-" she suddenly stopped. Basil followed her gaze, startled by the silence. But then he saw it too. There, to the left of the cart, were imprints on the ground, deeply grooved markings. They were deformed, rough shapes, but even to the untrained eye, there was a sense of patterning. These were not dried puddles, random grooves in the ground.
They were prints.