A Rude Awakening
February 13th, 2015, midnight
The Northern Forest
The first sensation was cold. A summer coat amidst winter temperatures let the chill seep to his skin. It was followed shortly by pain. The initial inhale of awareness in the wake of bone deep bruising flooded his nose with scents that were at once familiar and wholly disorienting. Where...? The sharp scent of frost, the musk of disturbed earth, and dried blood. Blood. Opening his eyes did little to ease the confusion at his surroundings. Night shrouded the thickly clustered tree trunks at the edge of the clearing. Bare branches reached skeletal hands towards unfamiliar stars that swam in his vision.
There was a constriction across his ribs that shifted as he did, prompting him to look down. The soft thud that followed was the cold arm of the woman who had held him cradled atop her chest slipping to the ground. The blood was hers, matting down black hair that was tangled with dead leaves where she lay. Trailing across her face.
Shae...Shae?
Her eyes were closed, her chest was still. One ear tilted to press against her ribs. There, the muted flutter of a heartbeat calmed the panic that threatened to numb his soul. A peculiarity of her biology, his bonded could survive on one breath for so long, but why had she stopped her breathing? Fire? Void? He had no answer. There was an absence in his memory that was disturbing, but there were more primary concerns.
Eyes at last adjusted to the dark, Fox climbed down and surveyed the woman that had been his resting place. Bruises darkened her wrists and limbs. Small lacerations glittered darkly beneath rents torn in the fabric of her clothing. Her frame seemed sound, yet she refused to stir. The source of the blood in her hair, some unseen head wound, kept her from consciousness.
His first thought was to survey, to seek help, but the weariness in him only allowed him to curl against her for warmth. Sentinel, he remained, until fatigue claimed him.
Some watcher I am. I can barely move.
Hours later, morning broke. Fox was startled into wakefulness by a shifting beside him. The woman stirred, exhaling for the first time in a soft protest of agony. On her breath: blood, magic, and the last hints of the city and the war that he would smell for a long time to come. She didn?t gain her senses, but she breathed in the air of their unknown location. Wherever they were, it was a far distance from Ravenhold.
What have you done, Shaelyn?
February 13th, 2015, midnight
The Northern Forest
The first sensation was cold. A summer coat amidst winter temperatures let the chill seep to his skin. It was followed shortly by pain. The initial inhale of awareness in the wake of bone deep bruising flooded his nose with scents that were at once familiar and wholly disorienting. Where...? The sharp scent of frost, the musk of disturbed earth, and dried blood. Blood. Opening his eyes did little to ease the confusion at his surroundings. Night shrouded the thickly clustered tree trunks at the edge of the clearing. Bare branches reached skeletal hands towards unfamiliar stars that swam in his vision.
There was a constriction across his ribs that shifted as he did, prompting him to look down. The soft thud that followed was the cold arm of the woman who had held him cradled atop her chest slipping to the ground. The blood was hers, matting down black hair that was tangled with dead leaves where she lay. Trailing across her face.
Shae...Shae?
Her eyes were closed, her chest was still. One ear tilted to press against her ribs. There, the muted flutter of a heartbeat calmed the panic that threatened to numb his soul. A peculiarity of her biology, his bonded could survive on one breath for so long, but why had she stopped her breathing? Fire? Void? He had no answer. There was an absence in his memory that was disturbing, but there were more primary concerns.
Eyes at last adjusted to the dark, Fox climbed down and surveyed the woman that had been his resting place. Bruises darkened her wrists and limbs. Small lacerations glittered darkly beneath rents torn in the fabric of her clothing. Her frame seemed sound, yet she refused to stir. The source of the blood in her hair, some unseen head wound, kept her from consciousness.
His first thought was to survey, to seek help, but the weariness in him only allowed him to curl against her for warmth. Sentinel, he remained, until fatigue claimed him.
Some watcher I am. I can barely move.
Hours later, morning broke. Fox was startled into wakefulness by a shifting beside him. The woman stirred, exhaling for the first time in a soft protest of agony. On her breath: blood, magic, and the last hints of the city and the war that he would smell for a long time to come. She didn?t gain her senses, but she breathed in the air of their unknown location. Wherever they were, it was a far distance from Ravenhold.
What have you done, Shaelyn?