Drumbeats pounded through his skull. He felt dizzy. Hot. Confused. Where was he? And why did he have the nauseating feeling that he knew exactly how this was going to end?

"Why?"

It was all he could think to say. The only word that would come to his lips as he stared down the length of the shaft pointed towards him into his best friend's cold, dead eyes.

"Are you really so naive?" the other young man sneered, ignoring the cries of the battle raging around them. "Did you really think I didn't have an agenda, even when you knew exactly where I'm from?"

He couldn't speak. What was there to say, as he lifted his sword with slightly-trembling hands, numb at the realization that they were now enemies. That they had always been enemies.

"Good-bye, old friend."

He felt the impact as the arrow flew from the bow, driving deeply into his shoulder instead of his neck, but no pain as he rushed forward, ready to strike, only for another man to rush in and intercept his blow.

Under normal circumstances, he should have taken this new opponent on easily, but with an arrow hindering the movements of his left arm and the lingering shock still weighing upon his entire being, it was all he could do to parry his strikes. Blow after blow drove him backward, all the way to the edge of the cliff.

The young man looked up one more time to meet his former friend's eyes, hoping to see fondness, or at least regret, tucked somewhere in his soul. He wasn't expecting bitterness. Nor despair. A despair so powerful it sucked the last of his will to fight from him. He barely felt the blow that sent him careening over the edge of the cliff. All he could do was stare up at the darkening sky and beg any of the gods that could hear his prayer to answer that horrible, lingering question:

Why?

He jerked awake seconds before his limp body hit the freezing water, breathing quickly, feeling dazed and confused as he forced his eyes open. What happened? Where was he?

And… who was holding his hand?

He started, choking slightly, as his eyes focused on a face lying only a few inches away from his: the face of a girl, her eyes closed, her mouth slightly open as she breathed deeply, slowly, a strand of scarlet hair lying across her face. He felt his cheeks flushing as he gazed at her, then at her hand, clasped in his own.

When had he…?

He quickly let go, turning onto his back and pushing himself onto his elbows, at which point he hissed in pain, suddenly becoming aware of the sharp twinge in his left shoulder and right arm, and the chill across his skin. He fought through the pain however, pushing himself fully upright so that he could properly examine himself and his surroundings. His blush returned full-force as he glanced down and realized that he was almost fully naked underneath the quilt, but that didn't stop him from also noticing the bandages wrapped around both of his arms.

He glanced down at the pretty red-headed girl, still sleeping peacefully beside him. His memory still felt sluggish, but… she'd done this, hadn't she? He could remember a voice, soft and gentle, whispering to him that it would be alright. There had been a name attached to it, too. Something with an S. Shira? Not quite, but close. There was another half to it. Yui? No. Yuki.

"Shira...yuki," he whispered. "Shirayuki."

He stiffened when she took a deep breath, rolling onto her back, sighing softly as though in response, that piece of hair falling into her mouth. Instinctively, he extended a hand towards her and lightly tucked it behind her ear.

"So, you're awake, are you?"

The boy flinched, turning sharply towards the opposite side of the room, where an older, but still well-built gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair and dark hazel eyes sat up in the other bed, smirking in his direction with one eyebrow raised. "It- It's not what it looks like!" he squeaked. "I- I don't even know how-"

"Don't worry my boy," the man chuckled, climbing to his feet. "I know my granddaughter. Anyway, I'm glad to see that you've come back to us. There was a while where we weren't certain if you would make it. Here. You might want to put these on before she wakes up." The boy blinked in surprise as the man passed him his trousers with a teasing smirk. He blushed, but managed a faint smile as he tugged them on. "You'll have to make do with one of my shirts for now, though. Shirayuki may have destroyed yours when she was tending your wounds."

The boy nodded his thanks as he accepted the second length of fabric. His arms twinged painfully as he pulled it over his head, leading him to grimace faintly, rubbing at the wounds. "Um, forgive me for asking but… what happened? It's all kind of a blur…"

"Honestly, we were hoping that you could tell us. Yesterday morning we were on our way home to Tanbarun when my granddaughter Shirayuki found you unconscious next to the river. The closest village was an hour behind us, so we turned back and… are you alright?"

The river.

The cliff.

The arrow.

Oh God.

Tears leapt to his eyes unbidden. He couldn't stop shaking, and his breath kept coming faster. He drew his knees up to his chest, burying his face in the fabric, desperate to hide those traitorous drops, but they just wouldn't stop.

Atri.

His best friend.

His only friend.

And it was all a lie.

Why? Atri, why?!

A gentle touch against his shoulder caused him to flinch, his head snapping up to stare directly into Shirayuki's soft green eyes. He blinked at her, surprised; he hadn't even noticed her stir. Without a word, she smiled sadly and slipped her arms around him, drawing him into a tight embrace. Slowly, little by little, he felt himself relaxing into her, pressing his face into her shoulder and breathing deeply of her scent. The tears didn't slow, not even slightly, but bit by bit, the shaking stopped and his breathing began to settle.

"It's going to be okay," she murmured soothingly, slowly rubbing his back. "You're not alone. I promise." She drew back slightly, smiling gently at him. "I'm Shirayuki. What's your name?"

Maybe he was a fool for trusting her, especially after what had just happened to him, but right then, he desperately needed something to believe in.

"Zen," he whispered softly. "My name is Zen."