Gifted

III -- Return to the Apothecary

I was suddenly acutely aware of my own breathing. Something brushed against the back of my neck, a teasing finger mockingly trailing the flesh of its prey. Cool air drifted over me, and I felt the same sensation, cold and prickling, on my forearm. A leaf? My finger twitched. 

        S-p-a-r-r-o-w. The letters that etched out my name fluttered across the insides of my eyelids. Sparrow. It reverberated in my ears and echoed through the forest.

        The name became more urgent, more determined to be felt, or rather, heard, as it grew increasingly impatient and alarmed. Sparrow! My body seemed heavy and weightless all at once, as if gravity was toying with me. Was I dead? Surely I must've at least been in the process of dying. Yes, that must be it, I thought. I allowed myself to relax. 

        Silence shattered as a flock of birds fluttered and squawked, fleeing from a nearby cry. The distant sound of footsteps hitting the packed dirt approached in a fear-stirring crescendo. 

        I opened my eyes now, both curious and fearful of what I should see. I studied the twisted branches and trembling green. I stared up at trees I've always stared at, wondering.

        Why was I still alive?

        I rolled over and stood up, craning my neck and spinning, just looking. It was still early in the morning, and shafts of sun tumbled through the leafy canopy, illuminating the forest floor; I couldn't have been gone for more than an hour. Taking a tentative step forward, I tested the ground. Scanning for anything unusual, strange, or out of place. Anything to signal I hadn't returned to reality just yet. I narrowed my eyes as the routine call sounded again, staunching my pondering. I stiffened.

        "Sparrow!" A figure crashed through the underbrush, mid-shout. "Sparr--!" My brother gaped, horrified and white-faced. He stumbled backward in shock.

        I raised my eyebrows, but my tense stance eased. "Night!" I mimicked, waving my hands derisively. 

        He held my gaze. Confusion clouded his expression for a moment, before readopting his previous pallor.

        "I just... went for a walk," I lied. 

        "How did you-- What did--" he faltered, trailing off. Night looked as if he'd seen the ghost of our father. 

        "What?" He didn't reply. "Come off it," I said nervously. I spun around, checking if there was anything behind me. Nothing. 

        He took a hesitant step toward me, arm slightly outstretched. He hadn't dropped the façade. 

        "Night, stop," I scolded. My voice quivered. He kept coming forward until his fingertips brushed my cheek; I shied back. "What are you doing?"

        He pulled away, and his fingers were coated in a thick red liquid that dripped sluggishly, beading up on the chalky ground. The rivulets meandered together in the dust.

        "We're leaving," Night managed to choke out, wiping the blood on the hem of his tunic.

        "I'm fine," I reasoned. "It's not even mine."

        "Then whose is it?" He bared his teeth only a bit; his features were still plagued with the absence of color. "We're leaving," he repeated firmly. 

        "Night, really, I--" 

        With newfound determination, the hunter slung his bow over his back with more force than needed. He aggressively swept me from the ground, abruptly cutting off my protests. I kicked violently. "Sit still," he growled through gritted teeth.