....“Good. Now that that’s out of the way, tell me: what errand were you running for them?”
She pressed her lips together. He slammed her back into the tree. She whimpered.
“Ju-just a supply run. We were waiting for suh-some others from a near-by village. They were to bring supplies here. Just supplies.” She was crying now; she knew as well as he that her end was near. “Buh-bandages and food. That’s all I was told. Just supplies.”
“The ones bringing supplies, do they know of the Brotherhood?”
“No. Me and m-my companions went into town and placed the order ourselves. The others weren’t involved. Just bringing supplies.” She swallowed.
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Please. Don’t kill me! I’ve tuh-told you everything!” She sobbed. He could feel her trembling in his grasp. There was a weight in his gut as he pulled a dagger from under his cloak; her lip trembled and her eyes were wide. She uttered a little squeak as the knife slashed across her throat.
He let her fall to the ground. He felt sick. She had been a mere human, hired for a small task: a tool. Had she known why she had to die? Had she known anything about the war, anything at all?
He cleaned his knife and replaced in its sheath, and was about to leave when he remembered the girl. He turned slowly around, and looked at her crumpled figure. Her life was most likely forfeit, he knew that. But he couldn’t just leave her.
He went over to her, and turned her over onto her back. Her mouth was slightly parted, her lips discolored by dried bile. She was breathing, he was surprised to find. But it was ragged and labored. He touched her forehead and found it cool, but not cold. Maybe she did have a chance.
He tore her shirt, starting at the bottom and working his way up, attempting to be as discreet as possible, until the wound was uncovered. It was short and jagged, going from just below her breasts to her naval; it looked deep, but he knew it was not so, for already it had slowed its bleeding.
She did have a chance.
But he knew he couldn’t take her back to the pack; Tarani would have his head. He couldn’t return yet anyway, not before meeting up with Raccori and Luris, and that wasn’t for another fortnight. And he couldn’t go to a major city; there were spies everywhere, and the nearest town was days away; she would never make it without treatment.
He could stay with her, which was certainly an option. He didn’t know a lot about wounds, but he knew how to dress a wound. (And besides, his help was better than no help at all.)But because of the enemy, he couldn’t remain stationary for long periods of time. How long would it take for the girl to recover? And was she even worth saving?
Why should he stick his neck out on the line for a girl he didn’t even know? A human he didn’t even know? After all, it wouldn’t affect him if she died. Her life was of no importance to him what-so-ever, him or his orders. Orders always came first. Pack always comes first.
But still…
She let out a moan, and her head lolled to the side. She lay still.
No. He couldn’t in his right mind leave her for dead. Not when she had a chance. Not when she could be saved. Not when he could save her.
With chagrin chariness he slipped one arm under the bend of her leg, another behind her shoulders, and lifted her up.
He couldn’t stay in the clearing: what if they ambushed him? He would find a relatively secluded place: a hallow tree or an area of thick shrubbery and hide with the girl. Just for a few days. And if her condition worsened, or she didn’t recover enough to be moved within the week, he would abandon her and go along his way. Simple as that.
The hallow tree idea was discarded: it was impossible to find a tree large enough to fit them both comfortably inside. He also found that the dampness actually trapped scents; both the smell of her sickness and of his sweat would so strong any animal would be able to smell it. Caves posed the same problem, but a cave would have too obvious a spot, anyhow.
Finally, he found it.
They were in a thick part of the forest, with lots of shrubbery and weeds. Underneath the plants was a little air pocket, which by the smell of it used to house a family of foxes. And the space underneath was a considerable amount: almost enough to sit up in. Almost. But he could fix that.
Using his hands, he dug the den deeper. He dug until there was room for him to sit comfortably, the tip of his robe just barely touching the underside of the shrubs. And it was long enough for the girl to stretch out comfortably without her feet being seen. But the place was still damp, and somewhat enclosed, so that their scents would still be magnified. But he supposed that couldn’t be helped.
Once the den was complete, he had to crawl into the hiding spot and drag her in. she made no sound as he did so, but sneezed once after he had her completely in the shelter.
He had her all comfortable, stretched out on a pile of leaves, and wrapped in his blanket when he realized he couldn’t very well clean her wound inside the shelter: blood would get everywhere and attract all kinds of nasty things.
So he hauled her back out, and carried her around until he came to a small stream, which, thankfully, wasn’t that far from the campsite. She moaned and whimpered as he lowered her into the water. He watched with mild interest as the water turned a pale red. He pulled her out of the water.
He tore a strip from the bottom of his shirt and dipped it in the water. He wished for a bar of soap to clean the cloth with.
He dressed the wound best he could; his bandages were not neat, and they weren’t the cleanest. But he had done his best. And then there was nothing to do but wait, and hope.
Back in the shelter, she was once again snug in the blanket, and snoring gently. He, however, slept fitfully, having dark dreams plagued with feelings of stress and anguish. Oh, he hated leaving his pack. Especially at a time like this! What if there was an ambush? What if the pack needed help? What if he got back to find them all dead, slaughtered like cattle? He would never forgive himself.
Tarani had tried to assure him that he was doing the right thing. “The best thing you can do for the pack now is to follow out your orders, Fox.” That’s what Tarani had told him. “Track down the humans; it shouldn’t be too hard.”
But it had all been for naught! A waste! A supply run? He was sent away from his pack for a shitty supply run? Bah!
He rolled over onto his back, practically fuming. Damned Tarani. What did he know? He wasn’t a fortune teller. (And even if he was, everyone knew fortune-telling was all a load of crap, anyhow).
The girl let out a whimper, and rolled sluggishly onto her back. Her head dropped down against the ground, facing him.
That girl… she was a mystery all in itself. She had smelled of the forest, so she hadn’t come from a town. But she hadn’t been with the others, he was sure of it. Maybe she was insane…?
No, she wasn’t insane. She had given those three a run for their money, and had managed to leave some sort of mark on each. Hell, if she hadn’t fallen out of the tree (yes, he had seen that) than maybe she would have been okay. And the way she had launched herself at the female, and had actually beaten her… no, he didn’t think her insane. But she would definitely have some questions to answer when she woke up.
She stirred again, and her eyes opened.
They were green, the deepest, most serene green he’d ever seen. And, though cloudy now, they still held a fraction of their former clarity and brightness.
“Are they gone?” She asked him. “Are they gone?”
“Yes. All dead.”
She frowned. “Where am I? I’m not dead, am I?”
“No, you are not dead.”
“Then why am I so cold?”
“You were injured badly, and we can’t light a fire in here, lest we set the whole thing ablaze.”
She nodded. “Oh…okay.” Her eyes closed, and her breathing slowed, and all was quiet once more.
The morning sun was bright and lucid; it streamed in, filtered by the bush into little rays of dappled light. The world outside was just beginning to arouse itself; scattered, random snippets of birdsong could be heard from all around.
The boy crawled out of the shelter and into the cool morning air. But, though bright, he found the air damp and heavy. Was rain coming?
He slipped up the nearest tree, and perched himself near the top. Indeed, to his left he could see clouds billowing in, not dark but gray. If not today, there would definitely be rain tomorrow.
Down on the ground, he relieved himself before going back into the shelter. The girl was still sleeping. He knew she would need to eat today.
Back outside he went.
Would she be able to stomach meat? He wouldn’t be able to cook it without a fire, of course, but that shouldn’t be a big…did humans eat raw meat? He could ask her, he supposed, but what if she wasn’t in her right mind? To be on the safe side, no meat.
Berries were next on his list. They were soft, sweet, but weren’t very strengthening. Nuts were, but he doubted she would be able to swallow nuts. Tree moss would also be good.
Berries and tree moss. Those would both be good.
By noon, he had collected enough to sate her, at the very least. But before going back, he decided to hunt for himself. Rabbit sounded nice.
I was damp, I knew that much. And my stomach hurt. My limbs were stiff; how long had I been here, wherever ‘here’ was? Had I been taken prisoner?
It seemed completely likely to me, that last idea did. Maybe it was…was…Far? (Was that his name?) Or…that other guy? The one who stabbed me? Or was it Far who stabbed me…?
Wait. Stabbed…?
I threw off the blanket (it had smelled of sweat and blood, and I could tell by the softness that it wasn’t my own) I had been wrapped in, and found my shirt in tatters; it was torn right up the middle, all the way to the very bottom of my breasts. But the skin that would have been showing was wrapped in strips of cloth. The fronts of the dull-grey strips were stained brown.
So I had been wounded, that was the focal point. I suppose the identity of the woundee wasn’t really important.
The next step: should I try to get away? Maybe my rescuer was one of them, and his (or her) sole purpose for tending my wound was for torture purposes later on? Make me healthy before I’m broken?
Or maybe he (or she) wasn’t really a bad person after all. Maybe they felt compassion for me…
Or maybe it was a man? A psycho old hermit? Intent on making me his wife? And maybe this small dome-thing was his house, his humble -crude- abode, and I was in it. What would he do if he found me awake?
I have to get out of here!
I had begun to panic. I couldn’t see a way out! Nothing but the underside of little plants, nothing but leaves. I scrabbled at the shrubbery, but it was so thick! There were too many leaves! Too much green…my chest tightened. I choked. Were the walls shrinking? Or maybe I was getting bigger, and soon there wouldn’t be room for me in here, and I would implode-footsteps outside? The old hermit come to make you his bride, dear-y…!
I woke up face-down in the dirt, a crumpled leaf broken and stuck to my cheek, and feeling insurmountably foolish. (Ever since I had been a small child, I had possessed an inexplicable fear of enclosed spaces. When faced with such a place, I would have panic attacks that usually ended with fainting.)
But when I awoke, it was too late for me to attempt an escape: my captor/rescuer was sitting, cross-legged, a foot or so away from me.
He was the cloaked figure I’d recognized back during the fight, at least, I assumed it was him. In his hand were little red berries, and in front of him on the ground was a cup. He was squeezing the berries, bursting them into the cup; I could hear the innards splash. He popped the berry skin into his mouth, reached into his cloak, and pulled out another handful of the little red balls.
His eyes were so focused, so intent; they were a dark hazel, brown with a tinge of gold. I’d never seen eyes like his. They were eerie, almost feral; unnatural. People just don’t have eyes like that.
I couldn’t see his face; the cloak left it in shadow. I could see the outline of a nose, but not much else. Not even when he looked over at me. Just those golden eyes. And they gave me chills, they really did; one look sent chills up and down my spine.
“So, how do you feel? Still cold?” His voice was light, or would have been if hadn’t been talking so softly; he was young, not a man yet, but not a boy, either.
“Whu-…what?”
“Last night, you told me you were cold.”
“Oh. I don’t remember. I’m, not cold, though. Who are you?”
There was a long moment of silence, then : “Fox.”
“Then, tell me, Fox. Where are we?”
“Safe.”
“Ah.”
His fingers were stained purple by the time he had finished with the berries. He stuck each one in his mouth, one at a time. His mouth made a popping sound as he withdrew the last.
“We can’t risk a fire, so drink this.” He handed me the cup. It was full to the brim with a purple, chunky liquid. I sniffed it.
“What is it?”
“Water, tree moss, and some sort of red berry I discovered. The birds were eating them.”
I drank it- it tasted foul and bitter- and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Girl.”
“Yes?”
“Have you heard of the Dark Brotherhood?”
I shook my head. “Sorry.”
“Then what were you doing with those others?”
“I was lonely, and wished to join their group.”
“And you’d know idea where they came from, or who they were?”
I scratched at a bug bite on my arm. “I knew their names, but I’ve forgotten. I tracked them for a couple of days through the forest.”
“You said you were lonely? Why.”
“I…,” I swallowed, “you won’t take me back if…I tell you?”
He shook his head, I nodded. “I ran away from my home-.”
“Why?”
“The reason is my own.”
“Fair enough. And what is your name?”
I hesitated. “Danica.”
“Okay, Danica, you said you tracked those three. Did you learn anything from their conversations?”
“No. The girl talked about her sister a lot. She said she was looking forward to getting back to her, to ‘set a few things straight’. The boys…one of them didn’t talk much, but the other one asked the female about payment plans, as if she owed him something, and asked when they were supposed to return to, well, wherever it was they came from.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing else.”
He hadn’t seemed uptight before, but he appeared to deflate a little then. He sighed. “Good.”
Luna Kanamari Community Member 
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