Previously...
Priscilla Henders, our resident Texas cowgirl, has chased a neighbor's brat and been accidentally pushed into a well. This well is suddenly no longer a well, and she ends up falling into the uncomfortable mess known as Middle Earth. This is unknown to Priscilla, as she thinks she's just been dumped in a giant lake. During the middle of a lightning storm.
. Chapter Two .
(In which our intrepid heroine meets a friend and needs to pee.)
Looking back at all this, it's a marvel I didn't die. A few times it seemed pretty cruel to keep me breathing, since I was in such agony it would have been more merciful to just shoot me or strangle me or something. Like this time, swimming frantically for shore with my heart in my throat, trying to outswim a lightning storm and whatever other beasties lurked beneath the choppy white waves. I was so cold every inch of me was numb, and my heartbeat felt slow and frozen in my chest. My teeth chattered as I pulled one heavy, heavy arm over my head and stroked towards shore.
Don't get me wrong – I'm a big girl. You don't live on a ranch for seventeen years without getting some muscle and some height. But I was so tired, and yeah, I'll admit it, I was scared out of my mind as well. If my body hadn't revved me up with adrenaline before the lightning storm came, there was a good chance I would have just laid back and drowned. The shore seemed much further off than I originally thought, and even thought I struggled against the waves, I always seemed to be knocked back two paces.
Overhead, a rumble of thunder hammered against the clouds, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I have a small phobia of storms, as you've probably guessed by now. I kept swimming, even when the rain started pattering down on the lake and the wind flattened the surface of the waves, sloshing them against me with added force. I must have swallowed a gallon of water before I jabbed out with my foot and hit a rock. This idea was so delightful I backtracked in order to hit the rock again, and realized that the rock I was hitting must have been a huge rock, since I was still a good way's from shore and I could feel it under my feet.
I was so tired that the temptation to simply hold my ground on the rock seemed a very valid idea, but I knew that once I stopped working, I'd freeze to death. I was frozen to the bone already, and if this was what my body was like after being heated up with exercise, standing still was not an option. The sticky, hot afternoon I had been dropped out of seemed an eternity ago.
Just when the storm reached a fever pitch, with howling wind and forks of lightning spearing the ground, I could touch bottom. I was too wet to be snot-nosed, but if I had even an ounce of strength left in me, I would have been bawling. The tree line wasn't far from the shore, and I stumbled towards it blearily. Beneath me, the slick pebbled beach crunched under my bare feet, and I slipped on the wet rocks. Heh. Wet rocks. My fuzzed brain thunked into a different, more primal gear, and I made it to the tree line without another thought.
I needed warmth. If I didn't get warm, I would die. The trees around me creaked and groaned, unable to stand still beneath the weight of the wind. What's worse than being in the middle of a lake during a lightning storm? Why, being in the middle of the woods during a lightning storm, of course. I didn't have the energy to mentally berate myself, but then the skies split open and the whole world lit up like a June afternoon. A tree came down two inches away from me, in a massive roaring creak that sounding wrenching and painful. Now I knew the age old question: When a tree falls in the woods, nobody's around to hear it because they've just been flattened.
But that flash of light did show up a cave, not far away. It was a tiny cave, probably belonging to a fox or a badger, but I stumbled towards it anyway. The smoking carcass of the burned tree crackled menacingly, and I gave it a wide berth. Crouching down, I wedged myself in the cave and wrapped my arms around my knees, jamming my fingertips in my armpits. My orange hair swung into my face, and I remembered stupidly that I was wearing cutoff shorts and a tank top. Not exactly a parka and scarf. Come to think of it, I don't think I even owned a parka.
The thunder continued a continuous rumble that made my hair stand on end. I'll admit, the idea that I was curled beneath a tiny shelf of rock getting rained on after falling down a well was making me cry. Just a little bit. Not because I'm a softie or anything, but because I was scared. Sort of.
Okay, really freaking scared.
The storm didn't just peter off, either – it built up to a big brassy crescendo, and I heard other trees being felled in the forest. By that time, I was falling into a bit of a stupor thanks to how cold I was. Fear and the ever-present feeling that something was going to bite my butt from the depths of this little cave kept me awake, and it probably saved my life. I rocked a little back and forth on the heels of my feet, and realized that I couldn't feel anything from the waist down. This was a terrifying sign – I knew enough about survival that if I didn't start moving soon, I would die.
Miraculously, the rain began to slacken off just as that thought occurred. The skies didn't get any lighter – by this time, it was late afternoon – but I did notice a distinct lack of thunder overhead. I pulled myself out of my daze and wiped my eyes with my hands. I was a little warmer, but I couldn't move. My knees and ankles were so stiff from kneeling there that moving was impossibly. Anxiously, I jerked myself out of the tight cave and fell sideways onto some wet sticks.
The rain seemed softer somehow, and it felt a little more familiar without the thunder so loud and hugely close. When lightning storms happened at home, I was usually inside watching a recorded episode of America's Next Top Model. I picked myself up creakily and stumbled through the trees, every muddy patch feeling like ice to my feet. The sun would be setting soon, and if this rain continued into the night I was really screwed.
So what was my biggest concern? I had fallen down a well and hit my head so hard I was in a very realistic coma, and had been dumped in the middle of a lake in a lightning storm. All that aside, I was in the wilderness with no compass, no jacket, no shoes, and no other means of survival. I had no shelter for the night, even with the rain slacking off, and I was scared out of my wits.
What did my body suddenly decide it needed to do?
Pee. I know now that God was splitting his sides laughing, because in the midst of all this chaos, I was about to burst.
Don't get me wrong, I've peed outside before. But if you tell me you don't feel a little bit weird dropping your drawers in the middle of a rainstorm while you're lost and frozen, and I'll call you a liar straight to your face. I tried to find some semblance of privacy behind a tree (although I have no idea how "behind" the tree I was, I was lost in a forest after all).
Just as I was finishing up – and feeling much better – I looked up.
There was a man standing there in the rain, looking at me.
My first instinct? Scream. I did so, and fell over with my wet pants glued around my hips. I struggled to pull them up and the guy looked away kind of sheepishly, like he was just as embarrassed as I was. Second instinct? Run away. This one was harder to enact, but I tried. However, I heard him yell out to me; I don't know what he yelled, since it was sort of warped by my fear and all the noise. I whipped around a tree, wildly awake and full of adrenaline once more, with a nauseated taste in my mouth. I swallowed, and peeked around the tree. He was right smack in front of me. I shrieked again, but this time he grabbed my elbow to prevent me from taking off.
Looking back at all this, he was just trying to help me. But at that moment, I kicked him hard in the shins and yelled "Rapist!" as loudly as I could, and tried to run off again. He grunted, and probably cursed in another language I didn't recognize, and then released me. I tripped and fell, twisting my ankle with a particularly nasty sounding pop, and my numb ankle was suddenly flooded with warmth. Not pain, not yet, but there was warmth there. I remember thinking dispassionately, I should get my other foot injured, it feels better.
I backed up, crawling backwards on my elbows, and got sticks tangled in my wet hair. The man was hooded and cloaked, and I saw the glint of wet chain mail. A sword scabbard hung on his hip, and a large shield was strapped firmly to his back. He looked about the size of a young oak tree from my perspective, and looked positively frightening. The man reached a hand out to me to help me up, and I flinched away from it at first.
"Who are you?" I asked, over the wind and the rain.
He paused, cocked his head to one side, and said something in a different language.
"Do you speak English?"
Silence.
Shit.
It didn't take long to figure out that he didn't speak English, and neither did either of his two companions. He brought me back to his campsite, which was inside a mercifully dry cave, and tended to my ankle. One of them gave me his cloak, which smelled pleasantly like lamb's wool, tobacco smoke, and mud. All of those scents were familiar, and I took a bit of comfort from that. Plus, the cloak nearly swallowed me and it kept me quite warm. Once I was settled in the back of the cave, the three men squatted near each other and began talking in low voices, all in that strange, guttural language.
Two of them, including my rescuer, were wearing broadswords while the third had a smaller, sleeker sword strapped to his waist. All three of them were bearded, and one of them wore chain mail.
I was in Generic Medieval Fantasy Land.
This. Sucked.
My perception of time hadn't been that badly skewed, so they couldn't have been talking for more than ten minutes before one of them came over to me. He was my rescuer, and I noticed he seemed a bit older than the other two, but in the failing light I couldn't make much more out. He said something to me, several long sentences in his weird language, none of which I understood.
"I don't speak your language!" I said back, my teeth chattering. "My name is Priscilla Henders. I live in Magnolia, Texas. I'm seventeen years old. Do ya'll have any idea what I'm saying?"
He actually winced subtly and put a hand to his ear, as if my language was physically hurting him. Well tough boogers, I couldn't understand you either. He looked back at his two friends as if proving a point, and I tucked my cold chin a little closer to my chest. The hot surge of tears took me by surprise, and I sniffed as quietly as I could. Why was I here? I wanted to wake up, I didn't want to bumble around with these morons any longer. As if in response, my ankle gave a painful twinge as if to say You're not unconscious. And you're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.
I sure wasn't. I had fallen down the rabbit hole into the worst possible situation. I was surrounded by people who didn't speak my language, and might decide to kill and/or rape me if they got bored. I hadn't seen any example of hostility, but for all I knew, these people were bloodthirsty tyrants. I also seemed to be in the twelfth century, complete with knights in not-so-shining armor. If they cut me loose, I would be completely unable to fend for myself, as I didn't have any methods of survival. I knew how to shoot, and could take down game if I had my .22 with me, but judging from these guy's clothes guns wouldn't be invented for another couple centuries.
He watched me cry for a moment, and then took a seat next to me. The man muttered something in his language which sounded suspiciously like a curse, and I curled up as best I could with a bandaged ankle.
I wanted out of this.
.
.
.
Constructive criticism is vastly appreciated. Forgive me if Priscilla is too cliched – I've never been to Texas and have met a total of three people who grew up there. My assumptions are based purely on them.
My message to the guest reviewer who told me that I shouldn't include Priscilla having her period in this story: Am I supposed to assume that once teenage girls 'magically' get dropped into Middle Earth, they no longer have a uterus? I've read dozens of these 10th Walker stories, and not a single one of them has addressed this. I'm going to try and put her in as many realistic situations as possible. Granted, having her get discovered by people so early is a bit unrealistic, but as they're not related to the Fellowship and she would die of exposure otherwise, it needed to happen. If you are squeamish about realism, then I suggest you look elsewhere. There are literally thousands of other 10th Walker stories that don't deal with this problem. Go find them.
[Six reviews received.]
Thank you to quaff, Petaldawn, NoAccount, Baroque, and two guests.
