Chapter 5 — What Lingers
The blade still pressed into my throat.
Cold. Sharp.
The rainwater slowly streamed down the side of the steel, while blood dripped from the shallow cut against my skin.
"Last chance," he rasped, his voice sounding faint, like everything else. The rain. The trees. The slight tremor in his hands. I heard it all far too clearly.
Something was wrong. Not painful, not brutal, just… awake.
I very slowly tilt my head back. Just a tiny, almost imperceptible motion.
But all of a sudden he collapses hard against the mud behind me with a gurgled gasp.
They freeze.
"What the hell—?"
The blade pressed harder against my throat reflexively. I look down at it.
Then I bite down.
The snap is surprisingly loud, metallic, breaking the sound of the rain. His eyes widen. The blade snaps cleanly between my teeth. A piece clatters into the mud.
Silence.
No one moved.
Blood gushes into my mouth immediately from the cut against my lips. Warm. Metallic. He stumbles backward in horror.
"What the fuck are you—"
I spit.
Blood splatters across his face.
A scream, piercing, tears through the forest.
"My eyes—!"
He falls directly into the mud, clawing desperately at his face, writhing against the wet ground. The remaining bandit scrambles backward in blind panic.
"No— no, that's not right—"
He suddenly lunges forward with another knife. Before he can reach me an arrow flies from the woods, piercing straight through his leg. The impact throws him sideways into the dirt, his scream echoing again between the trees.
All three of them turn, immediately.
I do too.
Someone stands several feet behind me. On a horse. A dark horse. Dark brown hair hangs around her shoulders, damp from the rain. Another arrow is already halfway drawn against the bowstring. Ready. The horse beneath her shifts slowly. The forest has fallen utterly silent.
"Run," she says calmly.
They don't hesitate.
The blinded man scrambles after the others, the wounded man hobbles away from him, stumbling through the downpour as fast as he possibly can. They vanish into the darkness of the trees within seconds.
Only the rain is left.
She doesn't lower her bow. Not at all.
I turn fully to face her slowly. The rain mixes with blood that is slowly streaming down the side of my face. One side of my lips is still slightly torn apart from the blade. She watches me with wide eyes. Cautious. Calculating. Trying to assess if I'm a threat.
Perhaps I am.
Slowly I raise both my hands slightly.
"I'm not your enemy," I say, my voice sounding much softer than I had expected it to be.
Her eyes narrow slightly, not in recognition but in concern. "You're hurt."
I touch the side of my mouth. Blood coats my fingertips.
She lowers the bow just slightly. "What are you doing out this late?"
I look away for a moment. "Traveling."
A poor excuse, but it seems to be enough. She gazes at my mouth again, at the gash. And then she sighs, a quiet, drawn-out sound.
"Come on. Ride with me. I can take you home and treat your wound."
Home.
The word feels distant. Foreign. I don't answer for several seconds. The rain continues to fall softly between us. She waits patiently. Without fear, without revulsion. Only caution. And a quiet kindness.
It somehow hurts more than the rest of it all.
"Why are you helping me?" I ask the question before I know I am even going to.
She looks genuinely confused for a moment. "Because you are injured."
It is a simple, obvious statement.
I stare at her. And then, slowly, I step towards her horse.
The ride through the woods is silent. I sit behind her on the horse, moving carefully as we travel steadily along the wet track. The heat from another person this close feels foreign. Dangerous. I keep my distance as much as I can.
She glances back at me briefly. "You can hold on if you need to."
"I'm alright."
Another lie.
We emerge into an opening in the trees and in the distance, through the driving rain, a faint glow appears.