Snow ✓

Goodbye

A curdling scream brought the world rushing back into focus.

"Ah, the princess is awake," said the one who had slugged him. He had the smarmiest smile and blood was beginning to crust on his forehead.

Mat groggily struggled to lift the head that felt much too big for his shoulders.

The centaur hadn't moved and had the same conflicted grimace, the whip now slack in his hand.

Still gabbing, the serpentine man didn't like being ignored.

"Hey. I'm talking to you—"

Mat waited until he came close, then swung his torso around and kicked him in the groin with his free foot. The man crumpled with a guttural hiss and before the centaur could tighten his grip, Mat raised his legs and brought them down on the mouthy man's head.

Your turn to nap in the dirt.

Awaiting retaliation, Mat looked to the centaur who looked grim as ever. He dropped the whip.

"Why are you doing this?" Mat asked, though the words sounded garbled in his bruised head.

For a moment it, appeared he might answer before something near the woods caught his attention and he took off.

"Wait," Mat mumbled, then struggled up into a standing position.

His head hurt something awful. He gingerly touched where it panged hardest and came away with red fingers; evidently one blow hadn't been enough. The beating had scrambled his brain, he likely had a concussion. His knees shook and he fell, coughing and spitting up gobs of blood. Taking a couple of rattling breaths, he cursed his body and urged it to move with the speed the severity of the situation warranted. He heard the garbled sounds of a struggle and again stood up on wobbly legs. He turned toward the noise, distant and muffled like he was hearing everything from underwater, and saw Snow wrestling with the centaur, her face warped in agony.

Mat gurgled her name and started shuffling in their direction until a whole lot of red snagged his eye.

That can't all be mine.

His eyes felt heavy as they roved over the bloodied grass. A pang of horror shot through the fog of his mind as he noticed a crumpled heap and a part of him, a distant part that quickly began to taint the others, recognized it to be his grandmother, her neck smiling and head tilted at an impossible angle. All other thoughts and senses fell out of his head as he dropped to his knees.

"C'mere you little—" the hissy one garbled, having regained consciousness. He removed a dagger from his belt, wobbled to his feet, and stumbled up behind Mat, grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head back.

A scream dripped into Mat's head, no louder than a drop in a well.

The man with a face like jelly that had been left out in the sun too long shouted for his comrade to stop. Scowling at the demand, he obeyed before a sneer curled his lips.

"Suffered enough, boy?" he said, pushing Mat's head back into its slump toward the body with such force that he put out his hands to stop his toppling onto her. His fingers squelched in the mud.

The man stood up, pushed closed one nostril and blew blood out onto the back of Mat's head with a high, cold laugh.

There they left him, blood feeding on his trousers beside his grandmother, her eyes dusty with dirt and death, mouth open like a dead fish and oozing.

The airship powering up broke the spell that had laid claim to his faculties and his grief came crashing down. Mewls punched their way up his throat, punctuation for his sobs and a stream of garbled negatives and apologies.

"No. Nononononono. Sorry, I'm so sorry."

Flies were already starting to land.

He brushed her wispy hair back from her face, hoisted her into his lap, sure to support her head in as natural a position as possible, then rocked her back and forth, his thoughts curdling.