The Music Box

Chapter 7: Argon

Sparks of pain attacked his leg as he ran, but the stench of blood on his clothes made him mad and full of energy, egging him on to go faster. That and the fear swelling up in his chest. He zoomed with a spurt of sudden vivacity, racing over a hill covered in dead, wilting plants. The smell of the earth soon mixed in with the scent of gore, steadily attempting to calm his nerves, but to no avail.

Who was she? He asked himself as he remembered the look on her face when she saw him in the net. She was... very confusing to him. She attacked him, then let him go, and then hurt him again. Well, he admitted that the last time was all his fault considering he lashed out first. He hadn't really been in his right of mind due to all the fear and adrenaline pumping in his veins at the time, so when he was freed, his first instinct was to fight against flight. Now, he was debating whether he regretted that decision or not. He felt rather sorry, but at the same time, the guarded part of his mind told him that she deserved it. As much as he was telling himself that it didn't matter because their paths would never cross again, guilt and confliction continued to poor in his gut nonetheless.

While he dwelled back on it, his sleeve caught on a sturdy branch of a fallen tree, causing him to trip and fall. He tumbled down a steep slope, and continued to stumble until he flew off the mouth of a ditch.

Argon flailed and kicked the air, trying to grasp at anything that would stop his fall, before he landed with a loud splash in a pond, his back facing the water. He gasped as cold water enveloped his body, burning his cuts in a sinister greeting. The fish around him fled as he filled his lungs with murky water. He swam up, refusing to use his broken limb, and breached the surface of the pond. He coughed and sputtered wildly, flailing his arms in an attempt to stay afloat. When air began to wheeze into his lungs, he looked around, spotting shore not too far from where he was. With a deep breath, he dove underneath the freezing water and swam with great effort to land, slowing to a crawl as he could touch the soggy mud beneath him and lift his head up without having to swim to do so. He heaved himself up shakily, his body heavy and sore.

Argon shivered as wind hit his skin. He rubbed his arms, but it didn't really help all too much, so he put his hands under his armpits in an attempt to keep them warm as he searched the area for shelter. A cave of some sort was to his left, but once he started to limp towards it his knees buckled, and he fell onto his gut on a swing hanging from a tree that was next to the pond. For a moment, he just swung there, allowing the world to have another victory against his body before he decided to get up again. This time, he picked up a sturdy stick he had found to help him walk, and slowly but surely made his way inside the cave.

He shuddered from the cold again, hoping the cave walls would protect him from the wind as he sat down and slid off his helmet. He moved his hair away from his eyes and sat the mask down, before stripping his clothes off and laying them out to dry. Before he took off his shirt, he had to remove the painful blade from his back. He stifled a whimper as he threw the knife to the side, feeling warm blood drip from the wound. Ignoring it, he slipped off his own sword and continued to remove his clothes.

He felt pathetic as he sat down again, naked, on the cave floor, but ignored it and took his time to survey the damage on his body. He noticed a few wounds that were too deep to ignore--such as the ones on his right side where he had laid down--but for the most part, the cuts would heal in time. However, as for his leg, it looked bad. Argon knew what he had to do, so while he bit down on his leather belt, he grabbed the broken bone and cracked it in place. At least, so he hoped. His body jolted from the pain, and he had to wipe several tears away as his small sobs echoed against the rock. Looking around, he pulled out the spool of thread he always kept in his jeans pocket, as well as a needle that he had stabbed into the spool, and got to work.