The Midnight Storm (A New Dawn #2)

Chapter 42 - Fox

Fox murmured. Uncontrollably, he bounced on hard, uncomfortable leather. The stench of old vomit dominant. Beneath him, horse's hooves drummed, shaking him, swaying his bruised and battered body against another human being. Four legs with the sound of a thousand galloping stallions crunching twigs and kicking up pebbles. His head was too heavy to hold, too painful to keep his flickering eyes open for much longer. Above him, a panting breath in cadence with the loud beat of the hooves. An arm around his waist, sweaty and sticky, firm yet protective. Katla, not Storm. Safe.

"You came for me," Fox muttered to his master. "They're all dead. And then Storm..."

"Worry not, son. There are miles between us and Storm."

Fox's lips trembled. If there was any strength left in him, he would have cried. Let all the tears flow. For not being able to save Wolf. For Hawk's grief that had buried King Ariel, Queen Cobra, and Prince Felix beneath the stones of their own castle. And for Storm, who had saved him, then betrayed him in the worst way possible.

If Katla hadn't returned in time... He didn't dare to finish that thought, and he didn't need to. His master had come to rescue him.

"Hey." Katla pressed a bundle of dried-up leaves against his mouth. The mouldy yet sweet fragrance was strong. "Eat this, son. You'll feel better soon."

Fox took a bite off the leaves. At first, it was as bland as unsalted potatoes, then, as chunks got stuck between his teeth, came a bitter aftertaste that made his stomach churn. Before he could protest, he grew deaf and blind to the world around him. His pain dulled, replaced by warmth.

He floated through the water, soared through the air as the earth closed in on him. Sparks that turned into flames blasted from his fingertips, splintering the shell of ground before it wrapped around him. 

A maneless, limping lion approaching, growling.

Fox summoned his sword and shield. 

The lion clawed. He ducked. Then pushed his sword vertically through the lion's head.

A final roar of death accompanied by Wolf appearing from a cloud of fog, cheering, an oversized crown slipping down to one side of his face. In his hands, a red fox on strings, dancing. Shrill laughter, then shrieking that turned maniacal. The child's eyes flared up. Brown, blue, red, and a bright white light.

Fox shot awake, breathless. 

Just a dream. He was no longer sharing the saddle with Katla but lying in a dark cave. A bitter taste lingered in his mouth. His stomach growling, his throat demanding water as if forgotten the excesses of the Left Twin.

A faint glow peeked in from the corner, from where voices sounded, a clattering of cutlery on plates.

Supporting his fuzzy, foggy head, he rubbed his eyes and sat at the edge of the bed, or what had served as a bed. Pressed ground for a mattress, warm where he had lain. He kept the blanket around him, until he realised where the dry rotting odour came from. Moss.

Where was he? Roots were sticking through the walls; some small, crawling out like dirty pink worms, others more snake-like, only missing a head. The cavities filled by single flowers in minuscule clay plots, like a little girl's collection. Somewhere water trickled, but there were no puddles. 

Pain flared through him as he rose, expected yet still agonising. His left shoulder hurt most of all, moons of healing undone in a single day. A crust on the wound, surrounded by traces of dried up blood. His arms, legs, and chest more cuts and bruises than actual skin.

He limped towards the light, towards the noises, feeling every bruise and scrape. Each step a victory in itself. 

Thicker roots draped over the rock walls, united over the years or centuries. Beneath his feet, spiky moss and yellow flowers popped up from the trampled earth.