On Broken Wings

Chapter 14

Lucifer

His body slumped in my arms, his skin like fire with fever. My stomach rolled on itself with fear.

"We must move faster!" I said desperately to the nearest centaur.

He seemed to be still young, smooth grey flank dappled in sunlight that fell between trees, hair long and ink black, a few strands sectioned off in small braids. When he turned to me, I saw his eyes were bright blue. "Faster?" he asked, tilting his head at me in a curious horse-like manner. When his gaze caught the unconscious form of Cassius, he pursed his lips.

For a heart-stopping moment of dread, I believed he would deny my pleaded request.

"Mount my back," he said at last. "I shall take you ahead."

Centaurs were proud creatures. Their type was ancient; it was through that where they sought their dignity. Intelligent beyond any means, they could not be tamed, and those who have tried have failed. The consequence was a brutal death by whichever means the centaur wishes. It was unheard of for any to offer their back to anyone, not wanting to be seen as mere horses. I found myself stuck to the ground when he lowered his legs.

"Unless you do not wish to?"

This jarred me from my amazement. Cassius's breathing became labored, and I quickly mounted the centaur's back. His gait was smooth as we broke away from the herd, some of them making confused shouts to the young centaur who had willingly allowed people to mount, their captives no less. He paid no mind, on weaving between trees with the grace of a fish in water.

With one hand I held his shoulder, the other clutching Cassius to my chest as if he were my lifeline. Each time his injured leg shifted, he whimpered in pain which I attempted to sooth by whispering sweet nothings into his ear and fluttering light kisses about his flushed face.

"How is he?" the centaur called back.

"Please, run faster." My heart seemed to be frozen, my voice unable to utter something above a whisper. My sole attention was Cassius, making sure he did not slip into a sleep too deep he would not wake up from.

The centaur kicked up his pace. Trees flew past in blurs of green; I did not care when stray, low hanging branches whipped across my face.

"We are almost there," he panted. Moments later we broke through the last row of trees and into a clearing. Fires smoked around the edges, some rolling meat on long skewers and filling the air with mouthwatering scents. Carrying us past the fires, the centaur called for the healer, rushing to a grass hut.

"You can lay him in there," a voice called. A chestnut brown centaur stepped out from behind the hut, her skin just a few shades lighter than her coat. "I'll see to him immediately."

The hut had no door. I eased Cassius down on a pile of hay, brushing hair from his closed eyes as the healer made some type of paste with a mortar and pestle. She bent her legs to lay down next to us, handing me the bowl of sharp smelling medicine.

"Keep crushing the herbs. I will remove the arrow—you did good in not removing it yourself. He would have bled out if you did." With a cloth in one hand and a long, skinny instrument in the other, she began to pull out the arrow with confident skill. She used the instrument to make sure no muscle nor skin caught the arrow as it was pulled up from Cassius's flesh. Blood swelled from the now open wound to which she pressed the cloth on.

"How is the wound?" I asked, handing her the mortar when she motioned with her hands.

"He is lucky. The shot was clean and precise. It just barely missed the major artery in his leg."