WITHIN HIS REACH | garroth ro'meave *REWRITING*

CHAPTER THREE

FEELING INCAPABLE of breathing, Claire stared in wide eyed shock at the the limp body that lied just a mere feet away from her. Using the last of her strength, Claire pulled her body forwards, wincing at the sting in her thigh. Reaching her arm out, her thumb only managed to graze Erika's hand before two hands hooked under Claire's arms and dragged her away.

Claire screamed out, squirming in their grasp as they dragged her further from Erika's lifeless body. Claire was dragged deeper behind the walls, finally safe from the bandits that itched to get inside just as Lord Aphmau came running towards the scene. "Please!" Claire pleaded, hating the desperation in her voice. The guard only tightened his hold on her.

"What's going on?"

"Bandits!" A guard replied as he dragged another wounded man behind the wall.

Claire blinked down at leg, watching in horror as the blood stain on her pants steadily grew bigger. Head lulling to the side, Claire heaved as she stared up at the sky, squinting up at the sun. The air felt thick and painful in the way scraped itself in and out of her lungs. Claire's eyes rolled back as she heard a brief exchange:

"Garroth...!"

"Now?..."

"No time...I'll send..."

"I can't..."

"Go!"

Claire groaned as someone hooked their arms under her legs and hoisted her up. Her body shook through their effort to jog and she settled on closing her eyes in an attempt to fight the pain of the jostling arrow in her thigh. When Claire opened her eyes again, she was indoors and laying inside a bathtub. Ro'meave was there, kneeling down and frantically rummaging through a chest. Claire looked up at the ceiling, feeling the exhaustion take over her body.

She heard Ro'meave mutter a quick apology as he approached her, using a knife to cut the pant leg and sleeve that covered her wounds. Claire couldn't find the energy to care, laying eerily still as he poured something on a small rag. It's not until he pressed the rag on the cut that Claire is crying out, shoulder's tensing and more tears slipping down her paled cheeks. Ro'meave had to hold her down by her uninjured shoulder  to try and keep her from writhing.

"Look at me—Hey, look at me." He ordered.

Claire winced as looked up at the man, meeting bright, blue eyes that were trying a little too hard to mask their fear. Any coherent thought was ripped from her brain as he wiped the cut on her arm again. "I can't." She swallowed dryly, shaking her head and trying to pull her arm away from him. "I can't do it."

"You can," He insisted as he set the rag down to unravel a bandage and begin wrapping it around Claire's arm. "Take deep breaths." He instructed, before getting up and leaving the bathroom. Deep breaths, Claire hummed internally, letting her eyes flutter shut. She felt herself drift—whether she was just falling asleep or dying, she couldn't tell. Her peace was interrupted by something being dumped on her legs, her eyes flying open to see Ro'Meave standing over her with a bucket. The water on her wound made her hiss, back arching as the guard worked on cleaning the area. There was more than one voice now, and Claire's blurred vision only allowed her to see the outline of two others in the bathroom along with Ro'meave. With a sigh, Claire shut her eyes, the voices growing more and more muffled.

"We'll have...an incision."

"Will...make it?..."

"Unlikely..."

"Other way?..."

"Bleeding out...passing."

"Alright..."

"...Hold her..."

Claire's brow furrowed when she felt two sets of hands on her, one pressing her shoulders down and and the other firmly holding her legs. Before she could ask what was going on, she felt something cut into the skin of her injured leg and she screamed out for them stop. It only took seconds for her to go unconscious.

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Claire awoke several hours later in a bed. She stared up at the ceiling, half expecting to be at home but the ceiling's texture wasn't quite right. It all came flooding back to her. Ruth was still dead. Erika was still dead. Claire couldn't find it in herself to cry anymore, not over the loss of her family or the dull ache of her thigh. Blinking up at the ceiling, Claire internally asked Irene for some sort of explanation—any reasoning for what had just unfolded.

"How are you feeling?" A voice asked. Claire looked to her side to see the guard—Ro'meave— sitting in a chair at her bedside.

Claire simply stared at him, swallowed her urge to yell, "No."

"No?"

"I don't want to talk. I want to leave."

Ro'meave sighed, "I understand, but you won't be able to leave any time soon. They had to perform an emergency surgery to remove the arrow from your thigh. You lost too much blood and...your heart stopped." Claire lied in silence at the news, feeling anger seep into her at the fact that they had brought her back to this. "You're still at risk of infection, so we're keeping a close eye on your condition. The medic concluded it was safer to expose your immune system to just one person, I was chosen since I had been the one to give you CPR. Even if your leg heals without complications, it'll take months before you're able to walk on your own."

Claire shook her head, "Why?"

"Why?"

"Why would you bring me back?"

Ro'meave looked distraught by the question. Instead of answering, he stood up and left the room with: "I'll go get you some water."

Claire stared at the door after he left, weighing her options. She couldn't be here, not in this house, not in this village. She was stupid to think this place could be different—that she could be happy. Throwing the blanket off of her legs, Claire sat up and placed her feet on the ground. The pain was minor, nothing but a sting when the foot touched the floorboards. Standing up with a little too much confidence, Claire immediately buckled onto the floor with a scream. She looked down to see the blood begin to stain the bandage wrapped around her leg.

Ro'meave rushed into the room and cursed, picking Claire up off the floor and into her bed. When he ran out the room, Claire took it upon herself to unravel the bandage, grimacing at the bloody wound. Through the blood, she could see where she had torn the stitches. Ro'meave had come back at one point, saying something about how help was on the way but Claire wished he'd stop calling for help. Closing her eyes, she came face to face with Erika's fear-filled eyes staring straight at her.

"Claire, I'm gonna need you to keep your eyes open. Come on, look at me." Claire let out a shaky sigh and listened despite wanting nothing more than to be greeted by Erika's sweet smile. "Good job—great job, Claire." He praised softly, his tone making the tears well up in Claire's eyes. He shushed her gently, hands reaching up to take off his helmet. He set it aside and grabbed one of the blankets to put pressure on Claire's wound. "Just keep your eyes on me, alright? I'm gonna ask you some questions."

Claire only groaned in response and he took it as a sigh to proceed. "My name is Garroth, what's yours?" Even in her pained state, Claire rolled her eyes at the question. "Come on, work with me here."

"Claire," She wheezed out, struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Good job, Claire." Garroth nodded, "Do you know where you are?"

Claire knew exactly where she was. She yearned for nothing more than to be anywhere else. She figured this was her karma for all the times she rendered Erika as defenseless or week. Perhaps instead of dismissing her, she should have set time aside to teach her, even if it angered Ruth. Perhaps today would've gone differently if she had made an effort to guide Erika. Now, Claire was all alone in Phoenix Drop, being kept alive against her wish to be reunited with her family.

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