RELENTLESS || NEWT, TMR [1]

[002]: EVANESCENT NIGHTS

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CHAPTER TWO;
[ EVANESCENT NIGHTS ]
[RELENTLESS || NEWT]

     WHEN LUCAS AWOKE, HE WAS MET WITH THE FORCEFUL SHAKE of calloused hands and the livid stench of dried blood. Lucas jumped backwards in his bed when a boy he did not know appeared before his face, the male covered in crimson-colored smears and what looked like amateur woven stitches. He had tan skin and a mess of curls sitting atop his head, perfectly shaping the sharp jaw that was slacken to the side. The boy looked rather annoyed and obviously displeased with Lucas for a reason unknown, causing him to quickly sit up on his elbows attentively.

"Clint told me to wake you as soon as the bonfire started," he stated bitterly, eyes keen on Lucas' wounded figure as he attempted to rub away all evidence of sleep from his eyes, "interrupted my bet on the fighting ring just for this."

Immediately, Lucas sensed a growing dislike behind his words. So with all intentions of making things favorable, Lucas pulled his legs off to the side of the bed with a nod of thanks. He sucked in a deep breath, the pain within his ribs still very present as he moved along the crumpled sheets. Lucas placed his hand over the bandaged wound as his gaze fell upon a pair of boots placed near the bedside. His eyes shifted, Lucas' gaze then landing upon what looked like a handmade cane resting sturdily against a nearby counter. He turned to the boy for an explanation, but this action only seemed to annoy him more as he frustratedly stood up from his sitting position and walked towards the door. Lucas' watched as he disappeared from the hut, leaving Lucas alone once again with his tedious thoughts.

When he found it rather hard to stand, Lucas' common sense returned to him. He grabbed the cane from its resting position, the handle seeming oddly worn out: as if someone had once before been an owner to the tool. He wondered who, but Lucas didn't dwell on the thought as he found himself remembering about the bonfire and all the fun that Clint had promised him hours prior.

As expected, night had fallen. The day was no longer crisp with broad sunlight or graced by the sharp breeze that had once whipped against Lucas' pale skin. Instead, the air was quiet, or at least he had briefly assumed so, for Lucas realized that the Glade was far from such a thing once he staggered out the front door. It was the absolute complete opposite, and the sight before him was proof of the mayhem that had taken over the once calm glade.

In the near distance, a fire larger than Lucas had ever seen before sputtered and cracked against the night sky like a whip, each orange toned flame gleaming more vibrantly than the last. Lucas could spot a herd of boys crowding around the large pile of burning sticks and twigs, their hands dancing with rusted cups and mouths slippery with obnoxious chatter. Lucas felt a smile run across his face at the thought of joining in, perhaps even being granted a glass of whatever they were drinking themselves. The urge caused him to move forward, his weight transferring into the wooden cane as a source of support and reliance. Though the pain was large in his ribs, it was tolerable enough to leave the comfort of his new bed for what sat before him. Clint wouldn't have granted him an invitation to his own bonfire if he had for one second assumed that it would only worsen Lucas' condition. In a way, he knew that at least a few boys had to like him. After all, he was one of them now. A member of the Glade.