FIREFANGED

Chapter 2 (Stitching and blood)

I awoke 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 soaked into the ground, leaving me alive but empty.

Not warm. Not cold.

My wounds had slowed to a trickle of blood, daring me to risk standing up. I tied a few strips of semi-dry beast skin around my thigh and left arm and began to stagger the five miles back to Lockrun.

I stopped after a mile 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 gore, but I didn't want to pass out in the cold water and drown, and well, I just didn't have the strength.

Every footstep had become a heated argument, a cajoling, or a decision to carry on that only lasted until the next.

Hours passed.

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. It was well into afternoon as I approached the open eastern gate of Lockrun—the one covering the town's backside.

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 no, 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.

I was on my knees. Had I blacked out again?

I couldn't stand up. I couldn't return the stares.

I could barely lift my head, but I knew I was surrounded by prey. A low vibration thrummed in my chest, almost a growl, and everyone kept their distance.

Someone yelled out, "Is it a monster?" and a few nervous chuckles emerged from the crowd.

I must have looked the part, and I'm sure that I smelled like a beast. I was covered top to bottom in blood, 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, most 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 streamed down her face as she spoke my name. It was my friend Cat.

What was she doing here?

I whispered, "Hey, Cat." 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 pushed her way through with an apple cart.

Strong hands lifted me.

I screamed and—

###

I awoke for the second time that day in the small attic above the rectory—my room. Its small window was open onto the town square, and a fresh breeze caressed my face.