Katt's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Katt strode away from the ancient oak, her back to the languid chatter of the Walk as the last light of day dwindled to twilight. At least Meda had been in her hovel at Camp Leaf-eater, a small mercy in an otherwise shit stew of a day. The old girl still had her uses.
 
Muttering to herself, (of all the jumped up, self-important…), Katt kicked open the iron-banded door of Barren Hold, swiftly removing her cowl and mask, and stormed into the commons. Chestnut hair fluttering along and green eyes burning hot enough to melt cold iron, she seemed no less a Fury of the Field come to flesh, canvassing the battlefield for souls to claim.
 
Around her, the soldiers of the Argent Order were finishing the evening meal and settling into the usual: drinking, games, venting, and bullshit by the ton. Rank was loosely enforced here, but the few men unlucky enough to be within arms length offered nods and mumbles of “Captain” just to be on the safe side. Most simply avoided her path through the center of the grand room.
 
She didn’t see them. Focused solely on the double doors at the far end. The dorms. Her room. Whiskey and respite and forever damn this day to the nether. Nearly there, arm out-stretched to push through, a familiar voice boomed, “Missus, come school these pups, eh?” Katt paused and looked over her shoulder. At one of the larger round tables packed at the edges of the stone hall, a brute of a man with a face like a boxer on a losing streak flashed her a crooked grin. Reynholm. With a sigh, she all but stomped over to join him.
 
“Kick over, boys,” Reynholm rumbled, and the younger recruits did as instructed, opening a chair for Katt next to him. “How’s it runnin’, missus?” as Katt lit a cigarette. A winced, wordless response. Reynholm handed over the deck to the squire on his right, slid his mug towards Katt and refilled it from the bottle stashed under his chair. Downed in one. While Reynholm poured another without prompting, Katt surveyed the table. Pups, indeed, and not a one she recognized. Been in the field too long.
 
“Lads,” she managed with a brief nod and smile before attacking the mug. “Cap’n,” the crew murmured back in broken chorus. Cards were dealt and the room slowly recovered, although the soundtrack of the evening was muted to Katt. She smoked thoughtfully, flicking ashes into a nearby discarded plate, played cards in a practiced but automatic way, letting the day fade. Or tried to.
 
You left them, the silvery warble wafted across the back of her mind.
 
What of it? was her sneering reply.
 
Most unkind, my friend. They have no idea. Your assistance is needed.
 
I alerted Her Lady of Perpetual Nudity. What more is necessary? Let the Woods sort it.
 
…the girl…her protege…
 
…are not needed! They are totally expendable! Katt suddenly stabbed out her butt and reached for her pewter case. Empty. She retrieved the ratty tobacco pouch and rough black papers from her belt and began rolling another.
 
You don’t believe that, the words were kind and soft, but seared like a brand behind her eyes. Katt’s fingers trembled a moment, shreds of dried herbs falling to the table, floor. “No, I don’t,” she whispered, causing the recruits to shift uncomfortably in their seats.
 
“Y’alright there, missus?” Reynholm asked in a low tone. “Missives again?” A slight nod from Katt, followed by one from Reynholm. “At ease, ye scunners,” he bellowed. “Don’t let the cap’n rattle you none. Tricksy ones, these seeker-types,” offering an exaggerated wink to the table. “Now ante up, wastrels! ’Aven’t taken all your dosh quite yet.”
 
Several blessedly quiet moments passed, allowing Katt to believe it was done, finally done. It was a shit situation, and she was glad to be free of it. Maybe she fucked up…lost her cool a bit. Still and all, she’s no one’s nursemaid and she had her orders and who the hell do those…people…think they are…and further more…
 
Ren, another voice, darker and deeper but just as kind as the first, cut into her mental tirade. Fix this.
 
It’s hard. I’m in a tight spot. Too big, too many questions. She sounded weak and tired and she hated herself for that.
 
If it was easy, she wouldn’t have sent you, Ren. Make it right.
 
“Damn you both!” she snarled, standing and gathering her cloak and cowl.
 
A meaty mitt gently clamped on her forearm. “What’s the rush, missus?” Reynholm’s scarred face was lined with concern. “Don’t fathom we’ve taken this lot for their full measure. Been afield for a moon or more, yeah? Surely Her Grace could spare you a night. Bit of rest. More than just one of those infernal smokes for a meal. Give me some proper challenge at cards,” he added with that same wide, crooked grin.
 
Katt returned the smile, her first genuine one of the day, and patted his hand. “You overgrown nanny goat,” she chuckled. “I appreciate the concern, and I promise to be back soon, but I do have to go. I fu——skunked up something important.” (Reynholm had very definite Thoughts on ladies and Language.) “Gotta square it.”
 
“As ye say, missus,” Reynholm’s tone was resigned as he released her arm, frowning slightly. “Ohmbryn’s light guide and keep you.”
 
“And you,” Katt replied softly, backing away from the table towards the grand entrance before turning and moving briskly, throwing on her travelling clothes. Once outside, the night air just taking hold, she breathed deep and closed her eyes, inwardly groaning. Meda was going to love this.