Jaws that bite, claws that catch

Part 5

tw: blood, body horror

***

The rushing water tossed Wild around like he was a rag doll. He didn't know which way was up or down. The few scant moments when he was able to pull his head up to the surface he was only able to get a single gasp of breath before being tossed around again. There was no light, leaving him in pitch black darkness, furthering confusing him. Wild was not afraid of the dark, but not knowing if his eyes were even opened or closed was terrifying.

It took all his strength to keep from drowning. There was no point in trying to swim to the edge if he didn't know what direction he was facing. All he could do was wait out the water before Wild lost all strength.

He had no idea when the water finally calmed. He'd no idea how far it took him. There was just enough light from the moon to tell him where the shore was and he swam for that. He struggled, his limbs jelly from sheer effort to keep his head above water. He gulped and choked, spitting out water with every inch he swam. The moment he found footing, Wild cried out in relief.

Pulling himself out of the water became the hardest part of his situation. The weight of the water dripping off his skin and clothes was suddenly impossible to handle. His shoulders sagged as if an invisible force pressed down upon him, and with every step he took out of the river, the more hunched he became. He fell to his hands and knees. He started hiccuping up water as he continued to crawl up the river bank's edge.

He was going to pass out. He could feel it on the edge of his consciousness, slowly seeping it to take him away. He had to get himself up on land or else he could fall right back into the water and drown. It was agony. Tiny stones dug into his hands and knees, tearing skin. He was drooling and still hiccuping. He'd no idea how far he crawled until he bumped the top of his head on a tree trunk. He looked up, realizing he was well out of the water and away from risk of drowning.

"Good," he muttered, then fainted.

***

When Wild woke, he wasn't on the edge of the riverbank anymore.

His memories of his time as a soldier were still hidden deep in his consciousness, but his body retained all of its training. The moment his eyes fluttered open, he knew he was laying on a cot. The barely-wielding fabric gave the sensation he was sleeping on curved stone: bad for the back no matter how much padding put down. Pain in his lower back greeted him as Wild sat up with a groan.

He tried to lift a hand to wipe away the gunk in his eyes and found he'd been chained to the cot. A thin iron chain wrapped around his right ankle. His feet were naked, his boots placed by the end of the cot.

There was a strange numbness inside as Wild tugged on the chain, finding it unyielding.

Looking around, it appeared Wild was inside a military tent. Not a lowly soldier's tent, but one of great rank. The tent was large and spacious, furnished with a bed, a desk, and a weapons rack filled with swords and shields. Coming from outside the tent the sounds of soldiers and war horses were clearly heard.

What happened? How did he even get here?

Memories of the night before washed over him. His jaw tightened painfully as he stared down at his still-healing wrists. Scabs dotted his skin, red and bloody. He startled when a droplet of water fell on his thumb. He touched his cheek and realized he was crying.

That couldn't be Twilight.

Twilight was the man who would chastise Wild if he tried to hunt too much at a time. This was the man who once found an injured squirrel and carried it around in a sling for three days, feeding it nuts and berries until it was strong enough to leave. When Wind came down with a sudden fever, Twilight was the one who stayed by his side all night, rubbing his back and patting his hot forehead with cool rags.