Oi. I am so not inspired for this story lately. Gomen for the late
update. *sigh* Hopefully my muse will come back from wherever she's been
hiding lately. Anyway, they say to write what you know. I had a
conversation with a barn owl expert which was similar to the one Sarah has
with Dr. Trapp. (I won't tell you the expert's name, but he basically told
me the same things. Oi. I can see where he's coming from, but the part
about not helping me out for a story was irritating u.u;) So just so you
know, it's fairly acdurate. n.n() I did do *some* homework on this, at
least n.n;
Disc: Whatever, not mine. *sigh* I do, however, own a Bowie shirt and a barn owl beanie, so that cheers me up some. n.n
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Everything was dark. Tendrils of icy mist swirled around him, doing very little to relieve the blackness that was felt more than seen. There was a complete lack of sound, and when he opened his mouth to confirm it, he heard nothing. Strangely, it wasn't alarming.
He looked down at himself and saw that he was once again in his usual form. Bright crimson stained the sleeves of his cream-colored shirt, and smears of red marred the front. Oddly enough, there was no pain. So, he was either dreaming or dead, he concluded as he took in his surroundings once more.
After a time (something he barely noticed, since the passage of time seemed unimportant in this place), he became aware of the mist in front of him parting, and an oddly familiar woman stood before him. It took him a minute to realize that he knew her. Things he had known a moment ago were fading, and the recognition felt almost like an odd sense of deja vu.
"Who are you?" He asked, mildly surprised to hear his own voice.
"You don't remember me, Jareth?" She looked equally confused and oddly hurt by the question.
"Jareth?" He furrowed his brow, prodding at a memory which obstinately refused to surface. "Is that who I am?"
The girl before him was silent as he puzzled over this new information. He was... wasn't he...? Ah yes, he remembered now. He -was- Jareth. And she was...
"Sarah...?" he tried hopefully.
Her eyes lit up and she nodded. "That's right, Jareth. I'm Sarah."
"I...had forgotten..." Jareth admitted, sounding troubled. Why had he forgotten? What he had failed to even notice a moment ago now bothered him a great deal.
"I won't let you die," Sarah announced suddenly.
"What?" Jareth asked her, now more confused than ever. Yet... the realization came slowly. He -was- dying, wasn't he? That was why he was in this place. Why he was shedding all of his memories of living. He remembered what had happened now. He had been attacked, and he was dying.
"What are you doing here, Sarah?" he asked, perplexed over how she could have followed him here. Unless one of those boys had done something to her as well, he deduced as more pieces fell into place.
"I won't let you die," she repeated, taking a step forward.
"Sarah..." Jareth sighed. He remembered her quite clearly now. "What do you propose to do about it? You cannot prevent the inevitable."
"I won't let you!" Sarah cried out stubbornly.
"There's nothing you can do, Sarah," Jareth argued. "You have to stop clinging to your childhood sooner or later."
"Of all the unlikely phrases to hear from you..." Sarah began.
"Sarah."
"I don't wanna!" Jareth blinked as her arms flew around his neck. "I'm not ready to grow up yet! You can't just leave and take my childhood!"
"It's too late, Sarah," he murmured sadly, both confused and oddly touched by her display. Did she value him that much? "I'm dying."
"And I already told you, I won't let you!" She pulled her arms away and stood back, an odd gleam in her eyes. "I wish for you to live."
Jareth met her expectant gaze tiredly, his mouth twisting into an ironic smile. "Who do you expect to grant you your wish, Sarah?" he reminded her bitterly. "I have no power over you."
For a moment, she looked stricken. "You're not going to die," she insisted, her stubbornness back in full force. "I won't let you."
He shook his head sadly. "We shall see, dear Sarah."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sarah, true to her prediction the night before, got very little sleep. The box beside her bed dominated all of her thoughts, or more specifically, it's occupant did. She was so concerned about the owl's state of being that she slept lightly and woke often.
When she did manage to drift off, she was plagued by uneasy dreams, but they were gone the instant she awoke. All she could really remember was that Jareth had been in them, but the actual content of the dream alluded her. She mentally berated herself for thinking of her enemy at a time like this.
To her immense relief, the barn owl was still very much alive when she checked on him. Was it her imagination, or was his breathing better? She smiled and smoothed down his soft feathers with a finger before heading downstairs to grab the phone directory. He was still a long way from fully recovering, and she needed some expert advice.
She dialed the number for the vet's office and waited while it rang. The secretary answered and Sarah was put on hold while someone went to check whether Dr. Trapp was in yet. After a minute of waiting, she was informed that he was just finishing up a routine checkup, and she could either wait or try calling back later. Sarah said she'd wait.
By the time she was taken off hold, Sarah was wishing that she'd chosen to call back. She -really- had to relieve herself.
"Good morning, Dr. Trapp speaking," the voice on the other end announced.
"Um, yes, good morning, Dr. Trapp. It's Sarah Williams calling."
"Oh, good morning, Sarah," the vet replied pleasantly. "And how is Merlin today? Doing well, I hope?"
"Merlin's doing just fine, thank you." Sarah confirmed. Merlin's tail began wagging at the sound of his name, and Sarah smiled at him from the living room.
"Good," Dr. Trapp was saying, "Be sure to bring him in soon so I can check on him, alright?"
"I will," Sarah promised.
"Good to hear. So, Sarah, what can I do for you while I've got a moment?"
"Well, see, I have a question," Sarah began, reminding herself that Dr. Trapp was a busy man. "What do I... that is, what's the best thing to do for an injured barn owl?"
"An injured barn owl?" Dr. Trapp repeated, surprised. "Well, Sarah, that's a difficult question. It all depends on how badly the animal's injured. Generally speaking, the best thing to do would be to turn it in to the nearest raptor rehab center for treatment, but if the bird's wounds are serious, it probably won't live anyway. Any sort of care beyond feeding it could potentially kill the owl if it's hurt badly enough to need it. The shock alone would do it. If that's the case, I'd have to recommend that the owl be euthanized." Dr. Trapp paused. "Why did you want to know? Did you find an owl?"
"Err... n-no..." Sarah lied, "I... I need to know for a... paper I'm writing... for English," she finished lamely.
"Ah, I see." The animal doctor sounded unconvinced.
"Well, a story, actually," Sarah amended, "and I was hoping you could tell me how to rehabilitate an owl so I know what I'm talking about."
A sigh came from the other end of the line. "I'm afraid that I can't really help you, then. Raptor rehabilitation is far too risky for both the bird and the rehabber as it is, without the general public trying to be helpful. If you included any details about rehabbing in a story, you might be subliminally suggesting that anyone can care for an injured owl, and that's just not the case. I'm sorry that I can't help you."
"Alright, thank you for your time," Sarah said, and hung up.
She stood beside the phone for a minute, her hand still on the receiver, as the vet's words sunk in. Euthanize? She wasn't going to take the owl to the animal clinic if they were just going to put him to sleep! She'd kept him alive for this long and she certainly wasn't going to bail out on him now. Animal hospital, indeed! If they wouldn't -try- to help him, then what was the point?
Sarah made an annoyed sound as she turned and headed back up the stairs. She was no closer to knowing how to care for the rescued bird than she had been last night. All she had learned, in fact, was that she couldn't count on Dr. Trapp for help.
She pushed open the bathroom door with a sigh. Looked like she was on her own this time.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Unconsciousness was timeless. Jareth gradually awakened to the realization that he was lying on something warm and soft, and he'd just had a very significant dream. The moment he tried to remember anything of it, the faint images evaporated like morning dew, leaving him with nothing but a nagging feeling that he was missing out on something. He yawned and put it out of his mind.
The pain in his stiff wings had lessened to a dull ache, and he flexed one experimentally. Or tried to, anyway. His efforts were met with a wave of acute pain, and he dizzily waited for it to subside, making a mental note to not try -that- again.
Well, the pain seemed to confirm that he wasn't dead, at any rate. Interesting conclusion, that. Mortals tended to cling to the belief that death meant a reprieve from pain, and although Jareth had never really meditated on that particular subject, he had generally fancied the notion. Why it should concern him at all was a bit of a mystery. He understood that humans liked the idea, mostly on the basis that it gave them comfort when they thought of themselves or a loved one passing away. Jareth, however, hadn't really entertained any thought of dying until recently, and he didn't have any loved ones to comfort himself over. Still, it seemed to him that anyone who actually went through the trouble of dying shouldn't have to bother with physical trivialities such as pain afterwards.
He carefully opened his eyes, blinking as he was met with sunlight. Everything was blurry, and he shut his eyes again as a headache began pounding at the inside of his skull. His current form being strictly nocturnal, bright light was something he tolerated only when his situation made it absolutely necessary, preferring shade and overcast skies. Injured and disoriented as he was, he certainly didn't feel up to dealing with the brightness that greeted him! At least it was warm, he conceded as he turned his head away from the light. Gods, but he had such a headache... a nap seemed like a good idea, and he was more than willing to surrender himself back into the folds of darkness.
The surface underneath him shifted, pushing all thoughts of sleep away. Jareth let out a halfhearted grunt of protest as he felt himself moving. A shadow fell over him, blocking out the dreadfully bright sun.
"Well, good morning, sunshine," a relieved and suspiciously familiar voice intoned softly.
Jareth lifted his head to look up at the speaker, momentarily confused. What was Sarah doing here?
Fuzzy snatches of the previous night's events clumsily pieced themselves together, and he felt a flood of mixed emotions. Relief, gratitude, both of which were quickly drowned out by a growing sense of shame and embarrassment. Him, the once mighty Goblin King, weak and helpless as a newborn babe, while the object of his...what, affection? obsession? It didn't really matter... was nursing him back to health like an invalid. The thought did not sit well with him. He refused to admit that an invalid was exactly what he was.
His pride reared up and he hissed at her warningly, the knowledge of how close he had come to dying forgotten. He wasn't sick, he was just scratched up a little! Nothing he wouldn't heal from in a few days' time. He certainly didn't need coddling from the one person he was hellbent on extracting vengeance upon. He struggled to his feet and backed away, ignoring the blinding pain that came with jostling his abused wings. He wasn't about to meekly submit to her ministrations.
Sarah bit her lip as she viewed the owl's reaction. What had she really expected? That he would gladly tolerate her, perhaps feel grateful? This -was- a wild animal, after all. Sitting outside her window all the time did not make him ready and willing to throw himself into her arms. He was more likely to claw them off.
Still, she -did- need to check his injuries. If he got an infection now, all of her efforts would be for nothing.
She eyed the sharp beak and talons warily. The bird had quite clearly assumed a fight-or-flight stance, even with his wings trailing uselessly on the floor of the box. He -would- try to attack her if she came too close. She needed some sort of protection.
"Wait here," she murmured soothingly, backing out of Jareth's line of sight. He stopped hissing and craned his neck to see over the edge of his confinement. Now what was that girl up to?
She came back a moment later, armed with a pair of work gloves that smelled faintly of engine oil, plus an old, faded towel. Jareth would have rolled his eyes if they hadn't been fixed inside his skull. What was it with women and towels? he wondered as he reassumed his threat stance.
"Shhh... I'm not going to hurt you," Sarah crooned as she approached, gloves on and towel outstretched. That was reassuring, Jareth thought dryly as the towel went over him.
"Easy, Jareth..." she soothed as he kicked and squirmed. Struggling proved to be a bad idea. The onset of agony that resulted was enough to make Jareth wish that he really -had- died. Surely death would be an improvement over -this-! He lay still, hoping for the pain to subside quickly.
"As stubborn as always, I see," Sarah remarked conversationally. She wasn't really sure why she was still drawing parallels between her foe and this owl. Habit, she supposed, the same reason she continued to call him Jareth. Deep down, the dreamer side of her had hoped that it had been him, and she wasn't quite willing to give it up just yet.
The owl listlessly submitted as she delicately maneuvered first one wing and then the other to check his injuries. It was awkward business, with him lying in her lap and one gloved hand holding him securely by the feet, leaving the other to unwrap and change bandages. Sarah still had no idea what she was doing, and her talk with the vet hadn't provided any enlightenment. She kept dropping things and belatedly realized that this would have been simpler with another set of hands to help her. It took her forever by herself, but she finally got it done.
"There you are, Jareth," she announced, carefully righting him and setting him back in his box. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Oh, like she had any idea. Jareth gave a feeble snap of his beak as she turned away, the pain frustratingly overwhelming. He'd just learned the hard way that his wings wouldn't respond when he'd tried repeatedly to knock Sarah's hand away. Not even the slightest twitch from the abused limbs to reward his efforts, only more pain.
He barely noticed her departure as he mulled over his situation. Things were definitely -not- in his favor. He was weak and crippled. He was terribly hungry, and in this state, his chances of catching anything were less than nothing. Assuming that horned owl didn't get him first.
He closed his eyes in defeat. It really hurt to admit it, but maybe... Jareth cringed... maybe he did need help after all.
Disc: Whatever, not mine. *sigh* I do, however, own a Bowie shirt and a barn owl beanie, so that cheers me up some. n.n
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Everything was dark. Tendrils of icy mist swirled around him, doing very little to relieve the blackness that was felt more than seen. There was a complete lack of sound, and when he opened his mouth to confirm it, he heard nothing. Strangely, it wasn't alarming.
He looked down at himself and saw that he was once again in his usual form. Bright crimson stained the sleeves of his cream-colored shirt, and smears of red marred the front. Oddly enough, there was no pain. So, he was either dreaming or dead, he concluded as he took in his surroundings once more.
After a time (something he barely noticed, since the passage of time seemed unimportant in this place), he became aware of the mist in front of him parting, and an oddly familiar woman stood before him. It took him a minute to realize that he knew her. Things he had known a moment ago were fading, and the recognition felt almost like an odd sense of deja vu.
"Who are you?" He asked, mildly surprised to hear his own voice.
"You don't remember me, Jareth?" She looked equally confused and oddly hurt by the question.
"Jareth?" He furrowed his brow, prodding at a memory which obstinately refused to surface. "Is that who I am?"
The girl before him was silent as he puzzled over this new information. He was... wasn't he...? Ah yes, he remembered now. He -was- Jareth. And she was...
"Sarah...?" he tried hopefully.
Her eyes lit up and she nodded. "That's right, Jareth. I'm Sarah."
"I...had forgotten..." Jareth admitted, sounding troubled. Why had he forgotten? What he had failed to even notice a moment ago now bothered him a great deal.
"I won't let you die," Sarah announced suddenly.
"What?" Jareth asked her, now more confused than ever. Yet... the realization came slowly. He -was- dying, wasn't he? That was why he was in this place. Why he was shedding all of his memories of living. He remembered what had happened now. He had been attacked, and he was dying.
"What are you doing here, Sarah?" he asked, perplexed over how she could have followed him here. Unless one of those boys had done something to her as well, he deduced as more pieces fell into place.
"I won't let you die," she repeated, taking a step forward.
"Sarah..." Jareth sighed. He remembered her quite clearly now. "What do you propose to do about it? You cannot prevent the inevitable."
"I won't let you!" Sarah cried out stubbornly.
"There's nothing you can do, Sarah," Jareth argued. "You have to stop clinging to your childhood sooner or later."
"Of all the unlikely phrases to hear from you..." Sarah began.
"Sarah."
"I don't wanna!" Jareth blinked as her arms flew around his neck. "I'm not ready to grow up yet! You can't just leave and take my childhood!"
"It's too late, Sarah," he murmured sadly, both confused and oddly touched by her display. Did she value him that much? "I'm dying."
"And I already told you, I won't let you!" She pulled her arms away and stood back, an odd gleam in her eyes. "I wish for you to live."
Jareth met her expectant gaze tiredly, his mouth twisting into an ironic smile. "Who do you expect to grant you your wish, Sarah?" he reminded her bitterly. "I have no power over you."
For a moment, she looked stricken. "You're not going to die," she insisted, her stubbornness back in full force. "I won't let you."
He shook his head sadly. "We shall see, dear Sarah."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sarah, true to her prediction the night before, got very little sleep. The box beside her bed dominated all of her thoughts, or more specifically, it's occupant did. She was so concerned about the owl's state of being that she slept lightly and woke often.
When she did manage to drift off, she was plagued by uneasy dreams, but they were gone the instant she awoke. All she could really remember was that Jareth had been in them, but the actual content of the dream alluded her. She mentally berated herself for thinking of her enemy at a time like this.
To her immense relief, the barn owl was still very much alive when she checked on him. Was it her imagination, or was his breathing better? She smiled and smoothed down his soft feathers with a finger before heading downstairs to grab the phone directory. He was still a long way from fully recovering, and she needed some expert advice.
She dialed the number for the vet's office and waited while it rang. The secretary answered and Sarah was put on hold while someone went to check whether Dr. Trapp was in yet. After a minute of waiting, she was informed that he was just finishing up a routine checkup, and she could either wait or try calling back later. Sarah said she'd wait.
By the time she was taken off hold, Sarah was wishing that she'd chosen to call back. She -really- had to relieve herself.
"Good morning, Dr. Trapp speaking," the voice on the other end announced.
"Um, yes, good morning, Dr. Trapp. It's Sarah Williams calling."
"Oh, good morning, Sarah," the vet replied pleasantly. "And how is Merlin today? Doing well, I hope?"
"Merlin's doing just fine, thank you." Sarah confirmed. Merlin's tail began wagging at the sound of his name, and Sarah smiled at him from the living room.
"Good," Dr. Trapp was saying, "Be sure to bring him in soon so I can check on him, alright?"
"I will," Sarah promised.
"Good to hear. So, Sarah, what can I do for you while I've got a moment?"
"Well, see, I have a question," Sarah began, reminding herself that Dr. Trapp was a busy man. "What do I... that is, what's the best thing to do for an injured barn owl?"
"An injured barn owl?" Dr. Trapp repeated, surprised. "Well, Sarah, that's a difficult question. It all depends on how badly the animal's injured. Generally speaking, the best thing to do would be to turn it in to the nearest raptor rehab center for treatment, but if the bird's wounds are serious, it probably won't live anyway. Any sort of care beyond feeding it could potentially kill the owl if it's hurt badly enough to need it. The shock alone would do it. If that's the case, I'd have to recommend that the owl be euthanized." Dr. Trapp paused. "Why did you want to know? Did you find an owl?"
"Err... n-no..." Sarah lied, "I... I need to know for a... paper I'm writing... for English," she finished lamely.
"Ah, I see." The animal doctor sounded unconvinced.
"Well, a story, actually," Sarah amended, "and I was hoping you could tell me how to rehabilitate an owl so I know what I'm talking about."
A sigh came from the other end of the line. "I'm afraid that I can't really help you, then. Raptor rehabilitation is far too risky for both the bird and the rehabber as it is, without the general public trying to be helpful. If you included any details about rehabbing in a story, you might be subliminally suggesting that anyone can care for an injured owl, and that's just not the case. I'm sorry that I can't help you."
"Alright, thank you for your time," Sarah said, and hung up.
She stood beside the phone for a minute, her hand still on the receiver, as the vet's words sunk in. Euthanize? She wasn't going to take the owl to the animal clinic if they were just going to put him to sleep! She'd kept him alive for this long and she certainly wasn't going to bail out on him now. Animal hospital, indeed! If they wouldn't -try- to help him, then what was the point?
Sarah made an annoyed sound as she turned and headed back up the stairs. She was no closer to knowing how to care for the rescued bird than she had been last night. All she had learned, in fact, was that she couldn't count on Dr. Trapp for help.
She pushed open the bathroom door with a sigh. Looked like she was on her own this time.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Unconsciousness was timeless. Jareth gradually awakened to the realization that he was lying on something warm and soft, and he'd just had a very significant dream. The moment he tried to remember anything of it, the faint images evaporated like morning dew, leaving him with nothing but a nagging feeling that he was missing out on something. He yawned and put it out of his mind.
The pain in his stiff wings had lessened to a dull ache, and he flexed one experimentally. Or tried to, anyway. His efforts were met with a wave of acute pain, and he dizzily waited for it to subside, making a mental note to not try -that- again.
Well, the pain seemed to confirm that he wasn't dead, at any rate. Interesting conclusion, that. Mortals tended to cling to the belief that death meant a reprieve from pain, and although Jareth had never really meditated on that particular subject, he had generally fancied the notion. Why it should concern him at all was a bit of a mystery. He understood that humans liked the idea, mostly on the basis that it gave them comfort when they thought of themselves or a loved one passing away. Jareth, however, hadn't really entertained any thought of dying until recently, and he didn't have any loved ones to comfort himself over. Still, it seemed to him that anyone who actually went through the trouble of dying shouldn't have to bother with physical trivialities such as pain afterwards.
He carefully opened his eyes, blinking as he was met with sunlight. Everything was blurry, and he shut his eyes again as a headache began pounding at the inside of his skull. His current form being strictly nocturnal, bright light was something he tolerated only when his situation made it absolutely necessary, preferring shade and overcast skies. Injured and disoriented as he was, he certainly didn't feel up to dealing with the brightness that greeted him! At least it was warm, he conceded as he turned his head away from the light. Gods, but he had such a headache... a nap seemed like a good idea, and he was more than willing to surrender himself back into the folds of darkness.
The surface underneath him shifted, pushing all thoughts of sleep away. Jareth let out a halfhearted grunt of protest as he felt himself moving. A shadow fell over him, blocking out the dreadfully bright sun.
"Well, good morning, sunshine," a relieved and suspiciously familiar voice intoned softly.
Jareth lifted his head to look up at the speaker, momentarily confused. What was Sarah doing here?
Fuzzy snatches of the previous night's events clumsily pieced themselves together, and he felt a flood of mixed emotions. Relief, gratitude, both of which were quickly drowned out by a growing sense of shame and embarrassment. Him, the once mighty Goblin King, weak and helpless as a newborn babe, while the object of his...what, affection? obsession? It didn't really matter... was nursing him back to health like an invalid. The thought did not sit well with him. He refused to admit that an invalid was exactly what he was.
His pride reared up and he hissed at her warningly, the knowledge of how close he had come to dying forgotten. He wasn't sick, he was just scratched up a little! Nothing he wouldn't heal from in a few days' time. He certainly didn't need coddling from the one person he was hellbent on extracting vengeance upon. He struggled to his feet and backed away, ignoring the blinding pain that came with jostling his abused wings. He wasn't about to meekly submit to her ministrations.
Sarah bit her lip as she viewed the owl's reaction. What had she really expected? That he would gladly tolerate her, perhaps feel grateful? This -was- a wild animal, after all. Sitting outside her window all the time did not make him ready and willing to throw himself into her arms. He was more likely to claw them off.
Still, she -did- need to check his injuries. If he got an infection now, all of her efforts would be for nothing.
She eyed the sharp beak and talons warily. The bird had quite clearly assumed a fight-or-flight stance, even with his wings trailing uselessly on the floor of the box. He -would- try to attack her if she came too close. She needed some sort of protection.
"Wait here," she murmured soothingly, backing out of Jareth's line of sight. He stopped hissing and craned his neck to see over the edge of his confinement. Now what was that girl up to?
She came back a moment later, armed with a pair of work gloves that smelled faintly of engine oil, plus an old, faded towel. Jareth would have rolled his eyes if they hadn't been fixed inside his skull. What was it with women and towels? he wondered as he reassumed his threat stance.
"Shhh... I'm not going to hurt you," Sarah crooned as she approached, gloves on and towel outstretched. That was reassuring, Jareth thought dryly as the towel went over him.
"Easy, Jareth..." she soothed as he kicked and squirmed. Struggling proved to be a bad idea. The onset of agony that resulted was enough to make Jareth wish that he really -had- died. Surely death would be an improvement over -this-! He lay still, hoping for the pain to subside quickly.
"As stubborn as always, I see," Sarah remarked conversationally. She wasn't really sure why she was still drawing parallels between her foe and this owl. Habit, she supposed, the same reason she continued to call him Jareth. Deep down, the dreamer side of her had hoped that it had been him, and she wasn't quite willing to give it up just yet.
The owl listlessly submitted as she delicately maneuvered first one wing and then the other to check his injuries. It was awkward business, with him lying in her lap and one gloved hand holding him securely by the feet, leaving the other to unwrap and change bandages. Sarah still had no idea what she was doing, and her talk with the vet hadn't provided any enlightenment. She kept dropping things and belatedly realized that this would have been simpler with another set of hands to help her. It took her forever by herself, but she finally got it done.
"There you are, Jareth," she announced, carefully righting him and setting him back in his box. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Oh, like she had any idea. Jareth gave a feeble snap of his beak as she turned away, the pain frustratingly overwhelming. He'd just learned the hard way that his wings wouldn't respond when he'd tried repeatedly to knock Sarah's hand away. Not even the slightest twitch from the abused limbs to reward his efforts, only more pain.
He barely noticed her departure as he mulled over his situation. Things were definitely -not- in his favor. He was weak and crippled. He was terribly hungry, and in this state, his chances of catching anything were less than nothing. Assuming that horned owl didn't get him first.
He closed his eyes in defeat. It really hurt to admit it, but maybe... Jareth cringed... maybe he did need help after all.