Sapienophobia

Chapter 12

The sandy one aimed for my legs again, seeing that its leader had let go. I let it pull off my left boot as I stood.

That would distract it for a while.

The mixed one was still a few clicks behind on my other side, but it was charging at full speed, planning to succeed where its siblings had failed.

I started in my fastest hobble to the branchy tree.

I knew I wouldn't make it.

I swung my bloody leg upwards so that when the blended wolf snagged my right leg, it would only snag my right leg.

This one aimed lower than its commander, confirming why it wasn't one. I squirmed out this shoe too.

The alpha had recovered and took off towards me again. I had already thrown my injured leg over the first branch using it as a foothold.

It's too late, you literal son of a bitch.

Or daughter.

My feet had more than cleared the first rungs of the uneven ladder the branches made. Each half-climb oozed blood out of my wound. I grunted and scraped my arm reaching for the next branch.

I reached one of the beefier limbs to rest on. The tree was taller than most trees with low branches; I could've kept climbing if I wanted.

I looked down at my pouty pursuers as they circled the tree after pawing at the lowest branches. I wanted to throw something at them.

At most, it'd take half a day for them to give up on eating me before they moved on to other prey. Wolves, unlike foxes, were impatient.

This wasn't fair. I didn't have the chance to use what I learned because they got the jump on me.
Maybe that's a lesson too. Be ready for anything.
I didn't need to be almost mauled to learn that.

I sat back to inspect my wound. Blood gushed down my leg to warm my bare foot. I feared pulling back my pant fabric to check the full extent of it.

So I didn't.

I fished out all my herbs. The sharp tools were upside down in the inner folds so that I wouldn't cut myself looking for them. I could identify which herbs were which based on their appearance, but I couldn't match their specific properties with their names because they had no descriptive label.

I had assumed that I could trust my memory when I left Father's study.

I could not.

Three of the herbs looked the same, brown, dry grasses, and all had more or less similar effects, some variations of pain relief and blood clotting. But one would have a side effect of potential delusional and dizzy spells, though.

So mix all three and definitely be a little high? Or guess on one and possibly be high as a kite?

The probability was higher with the latter choice, but I didn't want to risk falling into a heavy spell, off the tree, and into the hereafter. Not to mention, my wound would have remained the same. At least if I got a little loopy, I could trust my body to snap me out of it if I began to slip.

I removed my sweater to tie it around the trunk as a safety measure. The knot was purposely tight and complicated around my stomach. I mashed the grasses with Father's now chipped mortar and pestle. The application stung unexpectedly, but that's how I knew it was working. The bandage I wrapped around it squeezed my leg to the point I felt like it was cutting off my circulation.

After a few minutes, I sat forward.

No, wait out the high.
Nah, I'm doing great. It doesn't even hurt anymore.
I confidently fiddled with the knot.
I can't even see straight.

My sweater bobbed through my depth perception. It came into and out of focus, reflecting itself as if a prism in a kaleidoscope.

At least it isn't changing colors.
Stop. Just wait a little while longer.
This is waiting.

I stood, shaving off some bark at the wolves below. They growled and barked up at me.

Watch this.

Somehow my shirt was on. My legs wobbled, but not out of fear. My injury was soaking my tourniquet; I hoped it hadn't continued bleeding that whole time.

I feel like a fawn.
Let's go to that other tree.

The jump was about 5 feet. It was possible with a running start. But that was under the assumption that this tree branch would hold up at the ends until my lunge and the other could withstand my landing. The limbs were more shrouded with leaves. It was in close proximity to the surrounding trees too, I'd be able to navigate reasonably far away from the wolves without them suspecting.

It's not like they can smell this far upwards.

No, don't. I don't know that. And falling means I die. I'm not getting eaten because of a doped-up fantasy.
Yeah, it's a terrible plan, but it's better than nothing.
No, it's not.

I had backed up to the trunk, digging my toes into the wood for grip.

Stop.

The friction gave me unnoticeable splinters. I didn't feel the hole in my leg as I ran.

Don't do it.

I made it to the edge of the departure branch, and it endured my launch.

The arrival branch did not.

It snapped, hanging by a torn wood for some inconsequential seconds before tearing completely.

And I fell.

The drop to the wolves' den wasn't slow, but it felt like an eternity. It was enough to rescind my high. Regrettably.

Maybe the fall will kill me.

It didn't, I hit the ground with a thud, breaking my fall with the neck of the anticipating sandy wolf. My shoulder bone snapped. I curled into a fetal position, protecting my neck as the other two attacked.

The pain medication wasn't enough.

It hurts. I want it to stop.

I screamed, louder than I had before in my life. The trill of my voice reverberated in my ears.

Fangs in my stomach, my legs, my arms, but not my head. Not my jugular.

It hurts.

Isn't this when I'm supposed to be getting a sudden burst of power when I'm at my breaking point and everything's on the line? Or is that only for the brave as well?

The blood that seeped felt warm like the blanket of death.

I heard unintelligible muffles and saw a blurred silhouette.

Omnipotent? No, that's the grim reaper coming to exact my punishment.

My breathing was ragged. My consciousness wavered before it left me completely.

I've lost.