Disclaimer: Ubisoft owns it all.

A/N: it's a little character study set in 2008 timeline - The only Prince of Persia universe I know (not yet fully), except maybe that (horrible) movie from 2010.

The art of falling

By your-biohazardous-friend

The tomb rider always used his legs as some sort of springs of his own body. He never just landed on his feet; he always bounced the impact away. He was agile, somewhat graceful in his movements - Swiftly jumping from one column to another then to the bronze loop hanging from the ceiling, then run toward and along patches of vines. Jumped, jumped, jumped, again and again, bouncing between the obstacles like it was the only way that man knew how to move. Sometimes Elika couldn't believe that he worked his way through the mazes on the run – that his performance was not staged. He grew more confident and bold with the princess at his side, took more risky jumps, knowing she would catch him in need.

Yet this time the princess was too slow to notice his slip, missing of the rhythm. A hearbeat too late. She reached out for him, yet a rough material of his glove just brushed against her fingertips. He tried to lessen the impact but failed miserably as his body hit the floor with his full dead weight, raising a cloud of dust from the tiled floor. He stilled. Silenced. The female magician run toward him - ready to force him back up to his feet.

„don't touch me!" the acrobat sounded panicked. He tried to calm his ragged breath.

Elika watched him with widened eyes. Helpless. It was the first time he was so out of character, out of his usual bravado. After a while, he moved his hands – one finger at the time - then there were wrists, elbows, shoulders, neck. Each and every part of his body was tested, slowly and deliberately. The adventurer moaned as he moved his legs. Only at this moment, the princess noticed the blood seeping through the fabric of his pants with yellowish bones, like twigs snapped in between Ormazd's fingers, sticking out of the torn clothing.

„damn" He laughed. It was a grotesque laugh – hollow and tainted with pain. The thief turned to his side and vomited onto the dusty tiles.

It was so surreal – they could have encountered any of the thousand and one obstacles that gods surely had prepared for them - but the broken legs? It had never crossed the princess' mind. Yet, all in all he was just an ordinary human Elika met on the way. He tagged along, for gods only knows what reasons. He was strong and agile – yes, but still vulnerable human, not enhanced by Ormazd's blessing nor spoiled by Corruption.

„how-" but the question died on Elika's lips. What exactly she wanted to ask anyway? How would they set his legs in the middle of nowhere with the Hunter on their trail? How long would it take him to recover? How long it would take before she had to leave him behind and continue the quest on her own?

How much did it hurt?

„find-…" he rasped, voice slurry, eyes hazy and glossy from pain "-find some sticks for… slings"

"I cannot-"

"hurry!" There was desperation in his voice. His jaw was clenched so hard she could practically hear the enamel cracking. The female magician understood – he was holding back! He wanted to suffer alone! Like a dying dog, that refused to sadden his master.

The princess was a powerful magician - she could extend his jumps, purify corrupted lands - yet there was nothing she could do to ease his pain. Except leaving his side, allowing him to drop the act.

"I'll be right back" she said to him softly.

The stick was too curved, another one was just a twig, too thin to support the broken bones, next ones weren't good either: too short, too heavy, wrong wood. The stick-picking quest took her further away from her friend than anticipated yet the priestess could still hear the thief's pained screams bouncing off the walls, the same walls they were jumping those minutes earlier.

With trembling voice and heavy heart, Elika did the only thing she knew – she prayed

to Ormazd

for her companion's quick recovery

or quick death.