He inhaled sharply, pressing himself harder against the rocky outcrop behind him, the precipitation on the wall dripping down the collar of his robes.
The water felt cool against his hot skin.
He could hear his hunter's around the corner. The scratching of scaly feet, and the horrid voices, as they searched for him. Any moment now the Skraelings would round the corner and find him, bleeding, injured, and unarmed.
Panic welled and swirled in the pit of his stomach, his breathing increasing. His head swiveled in all directions, looking for just one, one exploit to use to his advantage.
All he wanted was to be out of this retched situation. He could feel the rage, white hot, spreading fire through his whole being. His gazed lifted upward toward the rocky and steep wall behind him. He could scale it, albeit with much difficulty.
He contemplated his choices carefully, before pivoting his body to face the wall.
They were getting closer. He could smell them.
He started quickly, keeping his right arm cradled against him. The wall was wet and mossy, making every step dangerous. Once he was high enough to be above them, he slowed, hoping that the stupid creatures would never think to look up.
He started his climb again, good arm burning with the effort, and he placed his foot reluctantly on a mossy foothold, and, as he predicted his slipped. He was jerked downward, the only thing stopping his plummet being his left hand, which held fast to a root he hoped would not break. He stifled a cry of pain, radiating from his left leg, as he repositioned himself.
Almost to the top, I can do this, no problem…When he reached the top, the sunlight that splashed across his face was a welcome change from the cave below. He sat there on the stones for several minutes, catching his breath and cradling his injured arm.
Once he had slowed his breathing, he began gauging his surroundings. A tree connected his outcropping with the beach across the river, the rest of him was surrounded by rainforest. He could see the tower attached to FrostGrinder.
Bitterness and rage bubbled back up into his throat. He wanted to scream, rip something apart, anything to alleviate the suffocating anger, but instead he swallowed it back down, and took a deep wondered if anyone was looking for him. Or was even wondering where he was. He had only been released from prison a few days ago for helping to save Jane. His thoughts wandered to Thor. Thor was possibly the only one who would give a damn about him now. Pain wound itself around his heart, stabbing it a billion times.
Melancholy, longing, regret…
Thor probably didn't even care where he was. That realization cut into him like a knife. He was alone, bleeding, hurting, starving, and no one was coming to help him. No one even cared. The pain froze over, making everything within cold and hard. He began to get to his feet, his body protesting loudly. He ignored it, and headed toward the fallen tree.
He had to get back to the tower.