Fugitive of the Sky

Chapter Thirty-Six: Not a Prophet, a Hoofsheep

Even the Larkwing wouldn't put him out of his misery.

Natan shifted his back so the stone didn't press into him as much and let out another cough. The pain wrenched badly and he clutched his side harder to keep from doubling over. How much longer he would hold on like this, he wasn't sure. He'd lasted hours longer than he'd expected already. Tampul wasn't one to make a non-lethal blow, so he must've pierced the lung or something to ensure he had a long and painful demise.

Of course Adonai would not let him die simply. Natan closed his eyes and took another shallow breath. His body kept fighting to live, even when he was more than ready to be done with everything. The world was against him. Adonai or one of the other gods had taken everything away. Cowards had no mercy and they and their families were drenched in everlasting shame. Maru would never accept him as a coward. It was better to die and get it over with. What was the point of pressing on?

Something butted into his side, making him gasp and choke, and he glared at the hoofsheep staring placidly at him. "Go away."

The hoofsheep mooed and butted him again, ignoring the blood matting its forehead. He risked letting go of his side to push the indefatigable animal away. "Go back to you master, stupid beast, and leave me alone. What are you even doing this far out in the forest anyway?"

The hoofsheep ignored his hands and stood there, calmly chewing a bit of cloth. Recognition sparked, fueling the irritation he was stoking with his dying strength. "How did you get the Larkwing girl's rag?" It didn't answer, but kept chewing, staring at him.

Natan tried to snatch the rag away. "Scared her off, did you? Good riddance." What remained of his conscience twisted, but he ignored it. The least he could do was die with a semblance of dignity. She was better off not seeing any more dead bodies anyway.

"Tha's where you got off t', huh, Tamber?" A man leaning heavily on a staff slowly limped into view. "Who're you pesterin' here, now?"

Not another person come to taunt him before he died. He gave up trying to snatch the cloth and held his hand to his side again. "Go away. I'm under a god's judgment."

"Are you now?" The man halted, stroking a hand through his surprisingly long beard. "Well, Tamber, we'd best get along then."

What kind of man named his animals? Tamber blinked and snorted, then mooed again and butted Natan's side. He gasped and started coughing, growing dizzy as more of his lifeblood seeped away. Good. Perhaps this would be the last time.

"What you got there, Tamber? What're you're tryin' t' tell me?"

He could barely see between his vertigo and the spots in front of his eyes. Finally. His death was interrupted by the man sticking his beard in his face. "Ay, Tamber, you'll be th' death of me yet. What do you expect me t' do for this one? He's half gone already."

Natan glowered up at him as best he could. "And I'll finish if you'll just quietly go away."

The man waggled a finger at him and reached for a pouch. "Ah-ah-ah, you're not allowed t' die yet. Apparently Adonai's still got a chance for you goin'."

Adonai? How much torture was left before the god considered it enough? "Go away. He's the one who condemned me in the first place." Natan gasped as the man pried away his good arm and stuffed something in his side.

The man stopped halfway through packing the wound and looked at him. He shook his head. "You jus' don't know how t' receive mercy when you're offered, do you?"

Mercy? Mercy was not in the gods' vocabulary, at least not for him. He wouldn't be here and Natik wouldn't have died if the gods, especially Adonai, had had mercy. And Adonai had made it clear he wouldn't be receiving mercy anyway. "You're addled. Just go away."