Tied To Ruins

~Chapter One/Prologue?~

   Jonathan felt the wind get knocked out of him as his mentor shoved him behind a boulder, his legs crumpling beneath his feet. Adjusting swiftly, he held the wound on his side, and blood pumped around his glove to the point where it was hot to the touch. He winced, tightening his chest to try to ease his breathing. Jonathan wasn't taking in enough air- besides, whenever he tried to fill his lungs all the way, the fresh, stinging wound seemed to stab his entire right side and sucked the air right back out. The rock on his back was freezing and bumpy, but nothing had ever felt more soothing. He knew this was only because he was exhausted, and normally leaning against this boulder would have been extremely uncomfortable. But this was heaven.

   The war and chaos that raged on all sides of him seemed to fade into white noise, blending together like a watercolor sunset. A sunset. A nice, pretty sunset. I wonder if I'll ever see one again. Jonathan used his free hand to rip his sleeve off- a dangerous move, seeing as this was his only source of warmth in the cold, rainy environment. His hands shivered, but he wasn't sure what the cause was. Perhaps it was cold, or fear. But the real reason hid in the back of his mind like a hesitant bear not wanting to come out of its deep slumber- his hands were shaking because of pain. He sucked air in through his teeth, squinting as the wound stung, and he looked down at his ribcage.

   Blood had already seeped through the thick sleeve. Maybe he would never get back up. This is it. This is where I die. I bleed out- a hero- leaning against this rock that William shoved me into. William... his thoughts drifted off as he began to wonder where his mentor went. Last he saw him, he sprinted past the boulder and out of his peripheral vision. Jonathan tensed as another wave of soldiers rushed past him. Luckily the thick bearberry bush that crept around the boulder kept him concealed. Whether these were his soldiers or not was unclear, but one thing was certain- the war would surely go on for plenty more years if they kept this up.

   Jonathan laid his head back and sighed shakily, clenching his hands into fists so hard that his fingernails dug into his already dirty and scratched palms. He exhaled sharply and dug around on his shoulders until he felt the worn leather strap of his backpack. He yanked it off his back and unbuttoned it. Maybe if he ate a bit and found some bandages, he could get back up and fight again. Although he knew a few bits of dried elk jerky wouldn't heal him magically, the thought of him eating made him confident and strong-feeling. Unless, he found his friend in the battle, a Healer's apprentice. Maybe if he somehow found him- no. That wouldn't work. He chewed on the tough jerky and frowned as his probability of surviving dwindled like a clogged stream, until no more water flowed and simply trickled as mere drops.

   "William..." He sputtered, wiping the misting rain from his face. Strangely, when he looked at his hand, the rain was a light red. "William..?" He weakly looked around as smoke began to billow around him, and arrows of fire whizzed past the boulder. Jonathan held in a gag as an arrow hit a man straight through the chest. He sputtered and died, a trickle of blood on the corner of his mouth as the man hit the ground. Jonathan put his hand to his mouth to cover a noise of disgust and fear, when he too discovered a trail of blood along his chin and all over his nose. What made it worse was that the soldiers behind him simply leapt over the dead man.

     "Where are you..." He wiped his wet, black hair out of his face messily. No more messing around. He had to get up and find William. Besides, how hard could that be? All he had to do was get up and search. Maybe avoid some arrows and spears along the way. Narrowing his sepia eyes in determination, Jonathan propped himself up with a non wounded elbow and grunted, heaving himself to his feet. Rocking a bit before regaining total balance, he staggered and face planted onto the ground. Spitting out mud brusquely, he wiped his face with the rain that was beginning to pour even heavier, turning it to a light shower rather than a mist.