A HENRY STORY 1: Memories Of The Fallen Prince

XII. Jungle

That at Cleaver's neck marked the final strike Henry had to make. Once their ringleader was dead, no gnawers remained.

Hadn't Thanatos reminded him that he should probably bandage his shoulder at one point, Henry would have suggested they flew on at once. But he was right. With as much of his shirt as he could afford to sacrifice, he bandaged the throbbing wound tightly. He knew he had to clean it properly soon, but he had no water. Sizzleblood's claws had torn three deep gashes into his flesh, and even looking at it now, he knew it would soon be a vicious scar. If he didn't die from infection first, of course.

Then Henry sheathed his sword that he had dropped on the floor to let the flame go out. "Did you see that?" he cried, eyeing the blade. "That was incredible! They were a dozen, and we sent them running with their tails between their legs! I did not know that swords could actually burn!"

The flier, who had settled on a hanging spot, looked at him with keen eyes. "No. But Henry, we should—"

"Oh, how I wish I could do this on purpose!" he cut Thanatos off, pacing back and forth. "It could be such an incredible aid. I would never have to fear fighting in the dark again, and it is, as we saw, effectively intimidating!"

Then the fatigue finally kicked in, and he leaned on the wall next to Thanatos, sliding down to sit with his legs pulled up. Henry raised a hand to wipe his blood-speckled face and blew out a breath. Suddenly, he thought he could fall asleep on the spot.

"What those gnawers said about you . . ."

Henry barely listened when Thanatos spoke. His head spun with exertion.

"You did not make the mistake of believing that, did you?"

"What do you mean?"

"All that they said." Thanatos scoffed. "About having nothing to live for anymore."

Henry laughed. "Says the flier who told me the same thing, not so long ago! "We are the forgotten, so we pine." Did you not say that?"

"That—!" Thanatos paused. "That does . . . Forget that I said that. I do not want that to apply to you."

"I do not want it to apply to anyone," replied Henry. "There is always something to live for." With shame, he recalled that he had not argued with the gnawers' claims, not even in his head. "If I have nothing to live for, I do not want to live at all. And because I have decided that I will live, I will make something for myself to live for."

Thanatos did not reply, and Henry went over his words in his head. Was that not what his challenge actually was? His challenge was not to survive; it was to live. To find something out here that made his life worth living.

"That is what you do," Thanatos said eventually. "What you ought to do. You ought to search. You ought to . . . throw yourself at life until it throws you a purpose back."

"And so I will; just you wait. So," he said, turning to the flier with a grin. "You came back for me. Despite our rule, you did."

"I did not put myself at risk," Thanatos hissed. "I came after they had already dropped you down."

"And where did you hide before? You overheard what they said, so you had to have been here." Henry looked around; the cave they were in was not spacious. It had only two exits and not many opportunities to hide.

"I was . . . out of sight."

"But not out of danger of being discovered."

"What is it that you want to hear?" hissed Thanatos. "You should already be familiar with how I sometimes have a tendency to risk my life for others. And you . . . needed me."