I walked through the woods, humming a soft tune. It was quiet days like this I enjoyed, away from the wartime stress. I had even left my signature cloak at home, and put on short pants, boots, and a loose black tunic. My tail and ears weren't visible; I looked pure human apart from the sharp teal eyes.
Suddenly, I heard a small groan from some ferns near the path. I jerked my head towards the sound, hand reaching for the knife at my belt. A low warning growl rumbled in my throat. "Who's there? I'm warning you, I'm armed."
I received a small whimper in reply. "P-Please… help."
I pulled aside some bushes to see the wounded man lying there. Had it not been for the redcoat, I'd have already approached. "Don't try anything funny, Redcoat bastard," I warned, holding my knife in his line of sight. As I drew closer I could make out his facial features. A short dark brown beard lined his jaw and he more of the dark brown hair on his head. His eyes were a fern green, and they were scared.
He gasped, trying to drag himself away as he saw the knife. "No! P-Please! I mean no harm," he pleaded, then winced, curling around his belly. "Please! T-The pain! It-it burns!"
I saw his gun lying on the ground a few feet from him. I quickly grabbed it and threw it a good 10 yards. It landed some ways away in a clump of thick ferns. If someone passed by they wouldn't see it. Turning back to the wounded man I said, "I'll take you back to my cabin, but if you try anything..." I let the threat hang in the air.
His eyes widened fearfully as he swallowed nervously. "I won't, I swear!" he promised, voice frantic.
I simply snorted. "I hope not... for your sake." I let the unsaid threat hang in the air again before I slipped his arm over my shoulders and helped him back down the trail to the cabin. I noticed his hand was covered in his own blood, and it was a slightly alarming amount. "Dónde está la herida?" I asked, before I realized I was speaking (probably incorrect) Spanish. Damn these Earth languages. "Damn it, that's not English. Where is your wound?" I corrected myself, slightly annoyed with myself.
He gave a small laugh before wincing and pointing to his belly.
My eyes widened. He was shot in the belly?! How was he still alive? I walked at a faster pace. "Belly wound?! Damn... I gotta act quickly," I whispered, worried now. I was no fan of the British, but I had a soft spot for wounded or scared men; this man counted for both.
He swallowed heavily again, wincing. "I d-don't want to die," he whimpered softly, sagging against me.
I staggered slightly with the new weight. Was he helping at all? "Shut up, you're not going to die," I growled, adding a silent 'I hope'. Then again, being a Patriot, I should be letting him die. "Just keep breathing and don't pass out on me. You're heavy enough as bloody is," I muttered as the cabin came in sight. Praise the Sun!
I felt the man beginning to shaking a little. "Thank you for doing this," he said softly, a slight pant in his words now. He was losing blood fast.
I grunted in response to the thanks. "Yeah, count yourself lucky. Normally I don't save you bloody backs," I growled at him. Lie, for if they were hurt and begged for help I would always help them.
A cry of pain passed his lips and he winced in pain.
"Ok ok. Hang in there... who exactly are you? What's your rank?" I asked as we walked onto the cabin's front porch.
"I-I'm a captain," he said between pants and gritted teeth.
Oh goody. An officer. Should have guessed from the coat design. "Alright. Don't expect me throwing any sirs your way," I said as I drug him through the door and to one of the spare rooms I used for medical procedures. There was a small cot which I could use rope and large straps with if I needed to restrain a wriggler.
He shook his head. "D-Don't bother. I never did not like being called sir anyways. M-Makes me feel old," he said, a slightly playful tone in his voice despite the tremor.
At least he's trying to stay positive, I though offhandedly. "Right then," I said, lying him down gently on the bed. "Now, what's your name, mate?" I asked as I lifted his legs onto the bed as gently as I could.
"M-my name is Henry Stevenson," he stuttered, giving a pained gasp. His face was starting to turn pale; I needed to tend to his wound and quick.
"Henry, huh? I knew another Henry once," I said, then growled as I remembered him. I would kill that son of a bitch the very next second I saw him after what he had done to me. "Part of the reason I don't care for your lot." Then again, Henry was such a common name it was ridiculous. No need to get angry with this Henry for another man's action.
Henry gulped. "W-What did he do?"
"Our meeting wasn't overly pleasant for me... still got the scar," I snarled, eyes going hard.
Henry blinked, uncertainty and fear in his eyes as my temper noticeably went left. "W-Well," he began, voice trembling. "I can assure you I am not like him and m-may I know your name?"
"That remains to be seen, Henry, and no, you mayn't," I said, grabbing a pair of tweezers and some bandages. If I told him my name, and he left, he'd lead the other men back here. I couldn't have that. I saw the fear in his eyes as I reached for the tweezers. I sighed. This was going to make him squirm for sure. I set the needle down and reached across the table. Grabbing a syringe filled with lime green liquid, I brought it up and flicked it with my forefinger. Then I looked back down at him.
Fear flooded his eyes as they darted from it to me. "What... What the hell is that?" he whimpered, trying to scoot away from me.
"Easy man, easy," I said, resting a hand on his arm to slightly calm him as I expelled the air from the syringe.
He shook his head, eyeing the green liquid filled container with fear. "N-Not until you tell me what is i-in there," he said, voice shaking.
"So... you want to know what is, eh?" I said softly, eyes narrowing.
He gulped as my eyes narrowed, probably thinking he angered me. "I-I mean… y-you are about t-to stick that into me. I just thought you could t-tell me," he stammered, shooting a nervous glance at the syringe. "Please?"
"No," I said, then twisted his arm, exposed the vein on the crook of his elbow, and stuck him with the needle.
It was so fast and he barely had any time to react before the anesthetic was in his bloodstream. The effect was immediate and his eyes grew tired. They were still fearful and panicked, however. "W-What did you do?!" he rasped, trying to struggle but not being able to due to the numbing drug.
I rested my hand on his shoulder and pushed him down. "Don't fight it, Henry. It's only gonna put you to sleep while I fix the wound. Let it pull you under. It's ok," I said gently, holding his gaze.
He blinked, uncertain, but he must have seen some truth in my eyes for his eyes closed and his breathing fell into a steady, slow rhythm.
"Atta boy," I whisper, before setting to work on his wound. Hopefully it's not too late.
So I tried to think of a clever title to play on the name Henry which stems from Heimirich which meant "home ruler", composed of the elements heim "home" and ric "power, ruler" but nothing came up. So yay for unoriginal title.
As always, let me know if you'd like to see more of this!
I have many stories I'm working on and I shift ones people like to the top of the work list so that is why I always ask if people want to read it.