The 2nd of Vhalar, Arc 717
Previously…
Night had fully set in, steeping the entire woods in darkness. The canopy above was too dense for the light of both stars and moon to slip through. Feeling like I was going to collapse, I came to a halt. White puffs of breath forced themselves from between my lips in rapid succession, lungs desperate to take in as much air in as short a time possible. My sides heaved, my legs trembled. In the back of my throat I could feel a burning sensation, and I imagined it was colored a bright red.
Still, I seemed to have lost him. Not a sound came from around me. Nothing that hinted at the presence of Tristan Venora. I was safe, for now. However, a price had to be paid for it. In this case, I found myself to be even more lost than I had been before. I could not remember what direction I’d fled into during my panicked escape. Had I gone to the North? West? East? South? Something in between? All of them? I knew I’d weaved through the trees, changing directions frequently to throw him off my trail. What direction I ended up traveling in though, I did not know.
A sinking feeling in my gut told me I’d probably ended up straying far from my intended path, extending the time it’d take me to get out of the woods by a significant amount. I was stranded here, alone, only a maniacal murderer to keep me company. One I’d rather stay far away from. I sighed and got moving. The lest time I wasted, the sooner I’d get to actual safety. Half of my attention was focused on keeping an eye out for Tristan Venora, the other on creeping silently through the underbrush.
Uncertain of his position, I’d rather not alert him, or walk into an ambush.
I slinked Northward for hours. Sometimes I came across a little clearing in the treeline, allowing me to observe the position of the stars and moon. They moved through the sky, I felt, though it felt as if I hadn’t been here for nearly that long. Possibly the stress messed with my perception of time. After all, during my crawl through the brush, I did not spot any hint of Tristan Venora, which put me on edge. I could nearly feel myself aging from it with each passing moment spent in the dark.
Until--
Aha! There, in the distance! A small cottage with the light on. Hope! Relief flooded my system. I must be close to the edge of the woods, I thought. Even if not, there’s light, there’s warmth. A roof above my head, and four walls to keep me safe. Subconsciously, I increased the speed of my movements, sneaking fast towards the promise of hope, warmth, and safety.
Not my first mistake that evening, but certainly not my last. Tunnel vision made me lose track of my surroundings, and in my haste to get to the cottage, one foot stepped on a metallic object. The next moment, a searing flare shot through my calve, and I had to suppress a roar of surprise and pain. Mostly pain.
A beartrap had clamped down on my leg, piercing skin and muscle. Its teeth rested on white bone. No, they were buried halfway through it, bone shattered from the impact. Blood ran freely down my ankle, soaking my trousers and shoe. I fell face forward in the dirt, gritting my teeth and hissing to cope with the angry ache assaulting my nerves.
I don’t know how long I lay there, rolling from side to side, tears streaming from my eyes, trying desperately to fight the pain. Eventually, I managed, sitting up to try and pry open the trap. Futile. My hands were shaking, blood made the metal too slippery. I had little grip. I couldn’t apply enough force to open the trap. No tools on me, nothing that could help nearby. I was stuck, so close to the cottage. A sitting duck for Tristan Venora to snatch up and kill.
Breaths came even quicker now I had a plan. I did not like it. I did not want to do it, but I did. My leg had almost come off. None of my toes responded to my will, nor did my whole foot. If I looked closely, I could see some of the trap’s teeth meeting in the center of the wound. I put a piece of wood between my teeth, braced myself, and tore. Functional foot holding the trap down, body pulling. I howled in pain, bit down hard on the wood, and fell over. My whole body trembled, I was drenched in sweat.
I tried again. And again. And again. Until the last connecting strand of flesh was torn asunder, and I was free. It hurt more than anything I’d ever experienced in my life, both on a physical and emotional level. Losing a limb is quite a big deal. My mind drew a blank when I glanced at the foot still stuck in the trap. No way that was mine, right? If I looked at my leg, I’d see a foot, right?
No.
Many tears were shed that night. Some of fear, some of pain. Some of grief. It sounds strange, doesn’t it, mourning when what you’ve lost is not a significant person in your life? Still, that’s what I did. I was attached to that leg. That foot. MY foot, MY leg. All the things I took for granted… walking, running, jumping… anything that required two feet? Now I would never do those things again. It took some time for me to come to terms with that. Days. Weeks. Back then, though, my survival instincts kicked in. They made me bind the wound tight, and move forward, to the cottage.
I limped towards it, stumbling many a time. I remember how tiring it was, way more so than simply walking ever was. There was only one leg left to do the work of two, after all. Perhaps it was the blood loss. Who knows? In the end I had to resort to crawling over the ground as my leg felt like it would give out on me. I reached the doorstep in that manner, seeing it slowly get closer and closer. Patience was my greatest ally there. The door was slightly ajar, a strip of light reaching out to me.
In a way, I think that beartrap might have been a blessing in disguise. On two legs I’d have run towards the cottage, have thrown open the door, and have been killed.
Sitting on a couch inside the cottage was Tristan Venora.
To Be Continued
