Return of the Titans

[NEW] CHAPTER SIX

This chapter is simply an edited version of its older counterpart. There's not much that has changed, except some parts has been cut and replaced.

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I realized that I was back in the swamp before I opened my eyes.

The mist seeped through my clothes, causing them to stick. An ant crawled its way from the middle of my wrist and up toward my thumb. Its tiny feet tickled ever-so-lightly, which was what stirred me awake.

A familiar wet nose hovered right above me, inches from my face. Slimy, partially-chewed grass fell to hit my forehead. Blinking dew from my eyes, I groaned and rolled over, where I laid prostrate, hoping that the fog would absorb the aching in my bones.

"You've returned," the elk said.

I made a sound that was a cross between a grunt and a growl. My mouth was drier than Death Valley, and probably just as deadly, by the stale taste of metal that lingered on my tongue. My head was a pounding mess, and I could barely think, let alone form proper words. So yeah, I was pretty grouchy.

I heard a distant smack-smack before the elk spoke again. "Forgive our last meeting. I didn't mean for it to be in haste. Perhaps now, we may talk."

"What... Where am I?" I slurred. Somehow I had found the energy to raise my head up an inch from the ground. My arm slid over and I laid my head on my forearm. It acted as a cushion while the rest of me was brought back.

With my head now up, I could now see the elk, and I squinted.

I had to. There was no sun at all in the sky. It was too densely-packed with rolling clouds that were a choleric gray, but its pelt was so radiant that it gleamed like molten gold. It was thick, like a shag carpet.

Then, I saw his antlers.

Its rack was a dull bronze that spread out like the roots of an ancient oak. Its hooves were of silver that was on the verge of losing its luster, and his curly mane that led from his chin and down toward his chest was of the same color. It was like he was made entirely of metal, but the very thought of a mane made me remember Mufasa and his burning eyes. Even if I did kill the Twins, I wanted to curl up more than ever.

The elk must have sensed my rising fear. He stepped closer. "You are safe here," he said, chewed grass falling from his mouth. "Nothing will harm you."

His watery brown eyes were filled with distress, as if there was a hidden meaning behind his words that he wanted to convey, but couldn't. For a moment, I wondered if it was because this was a dream, before I remembered the last time someone said that to me. I was awake then.

You're safe here, Frankie. Doc's voice sounded so vivid, he might as well have been there saying them to my face.

But I didn't feel safe. My definition of "safe" was the crypt, where there was nothing but foregone stone boxing me in. It was a room that reeked of Death, used clothes, and vaguely Hawaiian Breeze to cover up the stifling mothballs. I was the only one who could free myself, and every time that I went over all that had happened, I regretted that I ever did.

I felt exposed and raw. I hated being told that everything was fine, even when it most definitely was not. How could I just get over the fact that someone I didn't even know, and vice versa, resented me so much that they sent a team of monsters to kill me? How could I relax knowing that one was still alive, and they wouldn't stop until I was taken care of, preferably with my throat torn to shreds?

And what about the people around me? Doc couldn't have taken down Mufasa without some trick up his sleeve, and now that I thought about it, he looked drained the last I saw of him. He always had a twinkle in his eyes, but when he looked at me, it felt forced. It was a tiny speck in his eyes so bloodshot, they resembled a jackrabbit's fearing for its life.