FIREFANGED

Chapter 2 (Stitching and blood)

I woke up well after sunrise. I drank the rest of my water and packed up what little I could. In the sunlight, my mind felt clear. The terror of the night's attack had bled away into the ground, leaving me alive but empty. My wounds had slowed to a trickle of blood, daring me to risk standing up. I feebly tied some strips of semi-dry beast skin around my thigh and left arm and began to stagger the five miles back to Lockrun.

I stopped about halfway at a stream to rest and drink, hoping that the extra water would make up for the loss of blood. I probably should have taken the chance to bathe and scrape off all the blood and gore, but I didn't want to pass out in the cold water and drown, and well, I just didn't have the extra energy.

The sun was well past noon as I approached the open eastern gate of Lockrun. I had begun shivering uncontrollably and chalked it up to a mix of blood loss, pain, and exhaustion. The sun had sufficiently warmed the late spring day, but my body couldn't figure that out.

I gave a small wave to the guard at the gate, one of the bailiff's men named Gareth, and with my head down, I kept walking on through. The town bailiff was a bully named Hector Sims, and I didn't need any more trouble.

"Wait!" said Gareth. He held a short staff to my chest.

I looked up at him without a word.

"Ara? Is that you?" he stammered, obviously shocked at my walking-dead appearance.

I gave a short nod and stumbled forward. Gareth reached out to steady me, latching onto my left arm. An inhuman shriek followed. Before I knew it, a crowd had gathered around me.

Had I blacked out again?

I was on my knees, trying to stand but failing. I was surrounded by prey. I could barely lift my head. A low vibration thrummed in my chest, almost a growl, and everyone kept their distance.

"Is it a monster?" someone yelled from the crowd, receiving a few nervous chuckles.

I must have looked the part, and I'm sure that I smelled like the Infernal. I was covered top to bottom in gore and strips of black leathery skin. My mangled arm, leg, and back all touted an unreal mix of red and black blood, some of it dry, some of it not.

A young girl with brown hair and hazel eyes pushed her way through the crowd and froze right in front of me. Tears were streaming down her face, and she was calling my name. It was my friend Cat.

What was she doing here?

Her real name is Enricata, and her father is the town's lord mayor. Being only eleven years old, she was simply Cat. We had been friends for ten years now, and we always watched out for each other. Both of us had lost our mothers. Her mom had died while giving her birth. If I had any sense of family, she would be a sister to me, and I hated to see her cry.

"Hey, Cat," I whispered. I tried to smile, but it didn't work.

The girl cried even harder, standing there, unable to touch me, unable to talk, just shaking and sobbing.

Okay, monster, it is.

The blurry crowd around us parted as Sister Kay suddenly arrived with a cart. Strong hands lifted me, and I passed out for good.

I awoke in the small attic of the rectory—my room. The window was open onto the square, and a fresh breeze brushed my face.

My thanks to Zephyr for waking me from the dead.

Stitches and bandages crossed my back, my thigh, and my arm. A sling clamped my left arm close to my body. Someone had done the world a favor by bathing me, and I'm sure, burned my old clothes with the Saint's blessing. Sitting up carefully, I was glad to see I could move again, and the pain felt much more subdued. There was a small bell sitting on the chest next to my bed, so I gave it a ring. That was enough strenuous exercise for one day. I laid back down.