Rowan

one

The first of his senses to come back was sight. The white canvas of the tent came into focus as Rowan slowly blinked open his heavy lids. The surroundings were unfamiliar. The next sense was sound. It was filled with groans and moans of pain, of hushed whispers that he couldn't decipher. Then the smell hit him. Of blood and alcohol and medicine. If his brain hadn't been muddled with sedatives he may have figured out his location sooner but it didn't hit him until he felt his whole body hurting as if someone had skinned him alive.

He let out a pained gasp, unable to move even his fingers as the memories came back to him. Gunfire. Blood. So much of it. Too much. Exhaustion. Fire. The blast. And smoke. So much that it choked his lungs. What had happened?

He tried to speak but a groan was all he got out. Someone was at his side, speaking to him. Rowan had to force himself to focus in order to listen.

"...body is still recovering, lieutenant," he was saying.

"What... happened?" Rowan croaked out with difficulty.

The man smiled at him, a bright blinding beam cutting across his face that left Rowan squinting. "We won the war."

Before he could continue and before Rowan could ask more a woman stalked to his side. She smiled although not like the man, it was a professional smile.

"I'll be checking your vitals so please bear with me."

After nearly an hour of checking his basic functions, the doctor finally moved away. With her went her assistant, Rowan had assumed him to be so. Within that hour he had gathered that after the blast that had injured many of their soldiers, including Rowan, the neighboring kingdom's missiles had backfired.

"You never know with those things," the doctor had tsked.

It was said to be from overheating due to extreme use of gunpowder that blasted their base to mites leaving nothing but ash. They had won due to pure luck, but they had won and that was a relief. A long war had finally come to an end.

Rowan also now knew of his injuries. His head had hit the rocks hard, nearly shattering his skull. The doctor said he was lucky to survive. Although they weren't sure he would since he was asleep for so long. Other than that his left leg was fractured. Shattered would be a better word, for it wouldn't recover completely. He would have to use a cane. His right hand wasn't much better and his right ankle as well as his ribs that had caved in and punctured his lungs. If one thing was for sure it was that he was never returning to the battlefield.

In the two months he had been asleep, Rowan had been moved from Rakina to Vershal the closest city to the capital they could transport the injured to before the men were deployed for other purposes. His casts had been taken off only two days ago and his physical therapy was soon to begin now that he was awake.

The people around him were no better. Most of them had been injured in one blast or the other. The few hours Rowan was awake, he saw families reunite, beds emptying. Someone commented how they wished their family would find them soon. Rowan tuned out the event. His family was dead. He gave in to the sedatives ruling his sleep.

Rowan startled awake from a nightmare. It was dark in the tent, the sun probably having set as he slept. His breathing came out ragged and he was covered in cold sweat. He couldn't move. He couldn't sleep. For every time he closed his eyes, fields of dead bodies flashed in front of them, some rotting with maggots eating away. He saw the blood on his hands. He saw what they could do, what destruction these hands of his could bring. It made him so sick that he heaved over the edge of his bed.

Rushed footsteps sounded. Cool hands were on his forehead, pushing his head back. Someone was saying something but Rowan could only hear a sharp ringing. A cloth pressed against his skin. The man from earlier, the doctor's assistant was standing over him with a frown. It didn't look good on him.

His hands were gentle on Rowan's skin. A gentleness he hadn't felt in a long time.

***

Continued