Lurch. Jerk. Lurch. Jerk. Arnold didn't know what was going to kill him first – the beast squeezing his chest in its grasp, or the violent shaking he endured as the thing continued in its full-tilt charge towards what could only be a horrible, bloody, fang-filled destiny.
Every now and then, the creature would yank him up to its snout and put him through another round of sniffing and cockeyed glaring; it's black, lidless eyes staring at him from under a matted, blood-red mane. If it paid any mind to, or even understood, Arnold's breathless pleas for mercy, he couldn't tell.
The unforgiving trek went on for he didn't know how long. He must have lost consciousness along the way, for the next thing he knew, he was on the ground, wind knocked clear out of him. He gasped for sweet, nurturing oxygen as he lay flat on his back, staring up into the trees. Somewhere, beyond the hiss that had settled into his ears, he heard voices.
They were shouting, some in languages he understood, others that were gibberish to him. He could hear the monstrous thing grunting and roaring as well. It was a bizarre back and forth; the growls of the beast would give way to the human shouting. It was almost like … a conversation.
Pushing through his pain and exhaustion, Arnold somehow found the strength to sit himself up. His face and hands were almost raw with scratches and lesions from being scraped against the bark of a tree or dragged along the rough ground. The last of the haze was receding from his field of vision as he struggled to stand. And then hands were grabbing at him.
His first instinct was to resist, even though he had no means to do so. But then he noticed that it was not the creature's claws grasping at him. There was someone at his side, helping him to his feet.
"Easy, easy, Arnold," said a familiar voice. "I got you, you're okay now."
"Gerald," Arnold gasped. He nearly stumbled in surprise as he looked up at his oldest friend's warm grin.
His world was still too busy churning around his consciousness for him to make complete sense of what precisely going on. Gerald's gentle urging to move along was barely audible over the roaring in Arnold's ears, but it was clear that he wanted Arnold to move away from the group of exotically dressed women and the beast they surrounded – which, for whatever reason, was now covered in what looked like a heavy, darkly-colored sheet. Purple, maybe. Though Arnold detested violence, he found himself rather comfortable with the idea that these people should be killing this beast instead of bickering with it. It was beyond his capacity to question at that point. In fact, he found himself capable of very little as, shortly after Gerald sat him down on a rock or log or something, the world went completely black.
He woke up to several sensations. The first was the disturbing weirdness of lost time as hints of light leaked through his eyelids; it was still day time. As he continued to emerge from oblivion, he felt a welcome softness both under his back and on his chest. He'd been wrapped in something. What set his heart off was the firmness and warmth under his cheek - a woman's lap.
He opened his eyes fully, allowing him to see Helga's cottage a short distance away. Why did she bring him out of the house? Well, it did looked pretty torn up – but, no matter. A gentle hand caressed his cheek. Arnold turned his head upright, his heart bursting with joy to see -
- a woman that he had never seen before in his life.
"Wha-!" was all he was able to say before groaning in pain; he'd tried to spring up the moment he saw the stranger who's lap his head was in. Clusters of agony cried out from every part of his body, from his torn stitches to his bruised ribs. He'd hardly got up on one elbow before collapsing again.
"No, don't!" said the woman as she moved to quell his reaction. "You're hurt. Please just relax …"
Arnold obeyed his wounds, but not the stranger. He laid himself back on the ground with a pronounced reluctance to put his head on its previous cushion. "Easy now," said the woman. Her voice had a melodious lilt to it, and she spoke with a drawl that placed her from perhaps the Tirgidas hill range. He had to admit it invited calm.
Her robe was local, however. It was Helga's.
"Wh-who are you?" Arnold rasped. The woman reached over to a pot that was sitting next to her, with a rag in her hand. She dipped the rag, rung it out, and placed it gently on Arnold's forehead.
"I'm Lila," she said.
Arnold waited for a more elaborate answer. None came. He croaked, "Who?"
"Lila," she repeated. "Lila Sager."
"Do I know you, Lila?"
"Afraid not," she said. "We've … just met."
Well at least his company had clearly improved. He preferred this strange woman to the raging beast of earlier. Lila was … pretty wasn't the word for it. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in beautiful, blood-red locks. The freckles on her face danced when she smiled at him. Her eyes were deep, green windows of emotion, radiating concern, compassion, and – was that a hint of sorrow?
"Can you tell me if you've seen someone?" he asked. "There were two people in that cottage; a man named Gerald - taller than me, a knight? And there was a woman, Helga. You're wearing her robe. Have you seen them?"
The pause was brief but perceptible before Lila said, "Gerald's fine."
Arnold succeeded in sitting up, his pain tertiary to him. "What about Helga? Where is she? Is she alright?" He virtually battered her with questions. A look of angst crossed Lila's face as she gripped something under her – Helga's - collar.
Arnold struggled to get to his feet. "Please, you have to tell me – have you seen Helga? Where did you get this robe? Did she give it to you? Where is she?!"
"Helga's going to be fine, Arnold," came a reply. It wasn't Lila, however. The voice was one that he would never forget. He grew up with it, after all.
"Phoebe?" He turned to see the small but powerfully built warrior-priestess approaching.
Arnold was astonished as she knelt to his level, stared him right in the eye as a small grin crossed her face.
"You silly boy," she sighed as she took him in an embrace that carefully missed his wounds and stitches. "What have you gotten yourself into?"
A flood of questions filled his mind, but he could only ask about Helga. "She'll be alright?"
Phoebe regarded him with kind eyes and put her hands on his shoulders; he looked like a small child asking if his mother would be nearby while he slept. "Yes, I promise you that. As you know, she had a bit of a tussle with a number of the Seed. She exhausted her tal, that's all. She needs rest." She ruffled the hair on his distinctive head. "And so do you."
Tal was the spiritual energy the Scinta believed were in the bodies of the faithful – or something like that. It was all Arnold knew of it, but he was relieved just the same that Helga wasn't injured. "And Gerald?"
"He's fine," came her blunted response.
Arnold wanted to break the strange silence that followed, but Lila beat him to it. "You should be laying down," she said. "We don't want your stitches to rip."
Phoebe had been gently settling him into place, and for just a brief moment, Arnold marveled at the utterly alien feeling of having a woman place his head onto the lap of another. That had certainly never happened before. He'd never been carried off by a monster before either. It was a different kind of day, that was for sure. A lot of it was pretty harsh. Not that he was complaining. But things had been rough, even terrifying, since the day before, so much so that he had found it odd that his mind was wandering ever-so calmly about it all –
"Phoebe, stop," Arnold insisted. He wanted answers, and he wasn't about to let her put him out again.
She shook her head. "I'm not doing anything, Arnold."
Lila sighed. "That … that was me. I'm ever so sorry. I haven't practiced as much as I'd like." She withdrew her hands from around his temples, her cheeks reddening.
"Arnold," Phoebe began, "I told you, Helga and Gerald are alright. We're going to pick up and head for another village, and your wounds will make the trip hell on you if you stay awake the whole time."
"That monster that had me in its claws," Arnold gushed, "where is it? Did you see it? It was hideous!"
He could feel Lila shudder a little.
"Oh, sorry – I didn't mean to frighten you –"
Lila moistened the cloth again, a sheepish frown crossing her face as she dabbed the remaining dried blood off his hands and forehead. Phoebe stood to her full height, somehow looking both imposing and friendly at once, and laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Cheer up, Lila, you've done well. Let's get him into the cart."
He glared at her. "What am I, a sack of carrots?"
Phoebe raised a sly eyebrow. "Considering your choice of wardrobe…"
Once again he pushed himself up on his elbows. "I'm not going anywhere until I can see Helga."
She shook her head, her calm smile never wavering. "We have it under control, Arnold. And let me say that it's really been a pleasure seeing you again. It'll be a little while 'til I see you again, so let me say goodnight. Now – "
His hand flew up in protest. "Oh, come on, Phoebe! You can't do this to m-!"
"Get some sleep."
Arnold passed out.
