Claws and Fangs

Please Don't Die

Mark is unconscious. There's an arrow in his leg. I can't just yank it out without risking his life, but I can at least stop the bleeding, right? I mean, there's not a lot. Arrows plug up most of the inside stuff, right? Not much is spilling onto the ground, at any rate. Mark probably passed out at the sight. I think. I'll stop it anyway. Everything is sort of mechanical, but I'll give it a shot. Ha, shot. That would be funny if this weren't so messed up. The arrow is about halfway through his leg. If it had come out the other side I might have been able to snap off the back end of it and pull it through, but that's impossible. Stupid man. Can't even get shot properly. For now, I have to make the bleeding stop, or he'll die. I don't want him to die. I tear off his shirt and pack it against the wound ass best I can, and hold it in place. Mark mumbles every now and again, and now and again I answer.

"I'm sure a patrol will be here soon. A friendly one."

"It'll be a mild winter, if the summer is this hot."

"Oh look, a butterfly, isn't it pretty?"

So useful. So clever. Really I'm just refusing to consider anything beyond the problem at hand. Make the bleeding stop. It takes over an hour, which I think is a bad thing, but due to the fact that I never learned serious first aid beyond one really gross day in the infirmary, I wouldn't know. With the sun blazing down on us I start to worry that the heat and sunburn will get to us before a patrol does, and I let my hand leave Mark's leg for once. I can't move him into the shade, but that doesn't mean I can't move some shade over us. A couple of saplings and a hairband later, and I've got a pretty nice arch of trees over our heads. Before I can get too proud of myself, Mark starts shivering. I check his forehead. Is it too warm or are my hands cold? No, he's definitely got a fever. For a terrifying moment I consider the possibility that the arrow is poisoned, that I'm killing him faster if I leave it in, but no. It can't be. Because if it's poisoned, it's too late. It must be infection. Not a whole lot better, but it gives us a longer time frame. Long enough for a patrol to find us and hopefully decide to rescue us before asking a lot of questions.

If Mark is going to make it long enough, I need some supplies. We've got water bottles from the cave, and a cloak, and a forest. Since he's still shivering, I give Mark the cloak and take the rest as inventory. I follow the sound of running water to a small, clear creek. I fill up our water bottles and dig around in the bushes until I find a trove of wild berries that I'm fairly certain won't kill us to eat. How does the saying go? Starve a cold, feed a fever? I have no idea how I'm going to get Mark to eat a handful of berries, but it can't hurt to have them.

I sit down next to my charge and use a corner of the cloak to coax water into his mouth, waiting until he swallows so I don't accidentally drown him. The slow, careful task isn't enough to hold all my focus, and my mantra starts hissing in my ears.

Stay calm, stay quiet, stay alive.

"Stay with me," I murmur, adding an almost-prayer to the phrase. It's ridiculous, I've only known the guy a couple of weeks, and yet I can't stand the thought of him dying. I guess when friends are hard to come by, you take what you can get, and Mark has proven himself a better friend than most. I don't want to see him go.

Night falls. I lay down next to Mark and pull the cloak over us both. He can use the warmth, and I can use the comfort. Waiting isn't my forte, and that's all I can do. Wait for help.

They slide out of the trees, six of them, quiet as shadows and armed to the eyes with all kinds of long knives. I really hope those are for show. One of them steps forward and gestures for me to rise with the tip of a sword.

"Who are you?" she demands. I can't place her accent, but with how sharp that blade looks, I'm not about to ask.

"Mona, Fang. First daughter and Alpha of Half Moon." I raise my hands to show I'm not armed. She squints and pulls out -- lo and behold -- a flashlight. She shines it on my face first, then on Mark.