Little Lamb

34 ❦ out of the fire

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I jolted awake in the middle of the night, the heavy scent of smoke filling my lungs.
Something was burning.

I sat up, my heart pounding as I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the sleepiness. The smell was too strong, too close. It wasn't just a fire from the campfire, it was something else, something wrong.

I stood quickly, the cold night air hitting me like a slap. I stepped toward the entrance of the tent, my mind racing. I had never smelled anything like it before, and it made my skin crawl.

Was something happening? Was it an accident?

Peeking my head out, I saw one of the guards standing nearby, adjusting the tent flaps. His movements were calm, almost detached.

"There's something burning," I said, my voice low but insistent.

The guard barely glanced over, his face unreadable. He shrugged. "Get back inside." His tone was cold, harsh, like I was overreacting.

But I knew what I smelled. I felt it in my bones. "No," I pressed, stepping further out of the tent. "It's real. It's close."

The guard stopped, his eyes flicking around the camp. He finally gave a reluctant sigh. "Just get back inside," he muttered, his patience wearing thin.

I didn't listen. Without realizing it, I took another step out, the chill of the night air biting at my skin. My eyes were scanning the camp, and that's when I saw it, smoke rising from a distance, curling into the dark sky. The fire was real.

The guard's hand shot out, pushing me back into the tent. But I shoved him off, a surge of urgency coursing through me. "Look!" I shouted, pointing in the direction of the smoke.

His eyes followed my finger, narrowing as he saw the growing cloud in the distance. His expression turned grim.

I didn't wait for him to stop me. I ran. I didn't even know why I ran. The fire, the smoke, something inside me just snapped and I found myself pushing forward, my feet moving before my brain could catch up. I didn't care about the risk, didn't care about anything but the burning tent and what might be inside.

The heat hit me like a wave as I neared the wreckage, the crackling of the fire filling the air. My heart skipped a beat. His tent. Was he inside? Was he—

Then I saw him.

Burns stumbled out of the smoke, limping, his body almost unrecognizable from the scorched skin and the blackened edges of his clothes.
His mask was gone, a mixture of pain and something else, something I couldn't place. He was barely holding himself up, every step a struggle.

"Burns!" I yelled before I even thought about it.

He didn't answer, his eyes barely focusing, his movements jerky and uncoordinated.
Men started rushing out to help, but I didn't wait for them. I ran straight to him.

I reached out, slipping my arm around his waist, but it was too much. His weight dragged me down, and I could feel the heat radiating off his body. He winced as I tried to help him, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.

Before I knew it, he was going down.
The ground seemed to swallow him, and I barely caught him in time, guiding him down to the dirt, his body limp and heavy in my arms.

Burns's coughing fit echoed in the air, sharp and ragged. He chuckled in between coughs, a dry, sound that made my stomach twist.

"What happened?" I asked before I could stop myself. My mind was racing, why was I so worried about him? What the hell was wrong with me?