Eighteen

Chapter 2

      The woods are quiet. Peaceful as he leans against a tree and tries to breathe. Pressed tight against it, he doubles over, fingers clawing at his neck as he gulps in air.

      It's not enough.

      Each inhale brings with it something that isn't air. Something thick and musky and it clogs his airways, keeps him from being able to pull in the oxygen he desperately needs.

      'It's just the smell of the woods,' the rational part of his mind tells him. But that part is small and so very, very far away. 'Stop panicking.'

      He's not sure when he sits on the floor. One second the world is a bleary mess as he gasps, doubled over in exhaustion. The next his rump is pressed firmly on the cool forest floor.

      Just a suddenly, there's a hand in his hair.

      It runs through the blonde locks, attempting to comfort him. Another hand rubs at his back, occasionally patting it, as the owner says, "Breathe, just breathe."

      The voice is soft, soothing. A melody on the wind that caressed his ears. He tries to follow her order, he really does. But his throat is still blocked by that musky smell and what has driven out here in the first place. What has caused him to seek shelter in the woods.

      Away from the world and all of its troubles.

      Grief.

      It chokes him. Sits heavy in his throat and constricts his chest. Making it impossible to draw in the air he desperately needs after such a long run. Having run without a thought, feet flying over dirt and fallen leaves, he has no idea how long he's run. Or how far for that matter.

      All he knows is that he's winded.

      "Breathe with me now," she says, crouching down in front of him. He tries to focus on her but his gaze stays blurry. "Inhale."

      All he can make out is blue. Icy blue eyes that promise a storm is on the horizon. They all but stare into his soul, searching for something as he struggles to do as she asks.

      He pulls in a shaky breath that's still thick and musky but finally brings with it the relief of oxygen.

      "Good. Good, now hold it," she tells him, holding her hand in front of him. With the rush of oxygen, his vision clears enough for him to make out three, pale fingers. One goes down as each second passes. "Exhale."

      It's just as shaky as his inhale but it helps clear his vision and eases the panic. So he keeps it up, inhales at her command and holds it until she tells him to let it go.

      His eyes roam over her as he does. Taking her in pitch-black hair, long and flowing and so, so thick. With her crouching, it skims against the floor but it doesn't seem to bug her as she takes a moment to brush it away from her face with a pale hand. It looks almost white against the black of her hair. Her wrist is thin, lithe, and so fragile, as is the rest of her.

      "Who...who are you?" he asks once he has the breath for it. The words come out breathless and shaky but at least they make it out past the lump in his throat.

      "Just a lonesome traveler passing through your neck of woods," she says, standing now that it's clear he'll be alright.

      She's young, small, and petite. The thick leather and cloth that all but swallow her thin frame backs up her story. Its meant to shelter her from the harshness of the wilderness and the state of it proves she's being out here for a while.