Sky Sickness
"My Lady, we are at the surface. Please be careful; do not look up, keep your feet steady. This is going to be quite a shock."
She feels comfort in the soft, warm voice of her saviour, as they climb the rock trail to the surface. She looks up to see Duncan smiling at her, only slightly, with a warmth that reminds her of her father, her father who lies all those miles back. No, she tells herself, she cannot think of that now. Now, they are about to go through, they are on the verge of the new world. She can feel her heart pound. It already feels hot underfoot, and they have not yet broken the surface. The stone shimmers here she notes, as watches glimmers of light dance over her feet. She has never seen anything quite like it.
Duncan goes ahead with his companions, turning back to lift her up. She can barely see his hand, but he grasps hers firmly, and she hoists herself in to the light.
She can barely open her eyes. When she does, she is knocked back the sight of the sky touching the land. She has never seen anything like that blend of colours, of that intensity. As she falls back, her eyes drift up, and meet the sun. The beams burn in to her, causing her to gasp for breath. The air is colder here, crisper, and sticks in her throat. She chokes on it, retching and writhing on the ground. The ground spins beneath her, and steadies only when his strong rough hands pull her up and force the sack of mead to her lips. She drinks, without questioning, until she splutters and coughs so deeply he is forced to move it away. Slowly the image of his face comes in to focus. His kindly brow is furrowed in concern, and she begins to feel his calloused fingers wipe her face. "Do not be alarmed. This is to be expected. We have travelled many days, without rest. Your body is weakened."
The word hit her stomach. A growl escapes her lips as she tears herself away from his grip. She will not be weak. No, not in this new life. She had lost her old one due to her weaknesses...
As soon as she stands, she feels the sky sucking at her. She falls to her knees, her stomach dispelling all the mead she had just drank. How could these beings stand with no stone to hold them? The sky seemed endless, unforgiving, unnatural and soulless. She could feel no ancestors' guiding voices here. Here, the world was bare.
"It will pass, my Lady," spoke the spectre, his hand scooping under her arm to guide her to her feet. "I have given you extra rations of liquids, whatever we have spare. Keep drinking, and stay to the shadows. The sunlight will take a toll on your health."
She thought back to a certain suitor that had come for her hand. He had written pages of poetry praising her fair complexion. Paleness seemed so important in her old world, a sign of status, of being truly stoneblessed. Now she knew she should simply remain grateful for her life. A life she would not have had to praise without the help of a few good men.
"My thanks, Duncan," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "I will not forget all you have done to me. I have rarely seen such kindness."
She thinks she hears him laugh, but when she looks to him his face is ashen. "Do not thank me. There is no need. We must make haste, I wish to make better time than we have."
Despite the cool nature of his words, he picks up her pack and carries it alongside his own. Feet still trembling, she walks after him, smiling slightly at the unfamiliar tickle of the green.