The Angel
Chapter 2
By: Trep092
Disclaimer: If I owned RA would I be writing "Fan" Fiction?
A/N: Thanks to all who have read/alerted/reviewed. I loves you all precious. You scared yet?
Reviewers:
Mad taco iz crazy: Yes he is cute isn't he? I hope you like this chapter.
Luvergirlof books: Love your name. Nope falling was not his imagination mwahaha. (runs away)
Lady Bec of Imagineland: I originally wasn't, but because of your review I will! You should feel special!
FuzzyDeMash: I'll take that as a complement!
Wildstar of Windclan: Here you go, I hope you like it!
He hopped backwards to regain his footing and gasped in horror as the ground beneath his feet buckled and he fell deep into the earth.
*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*
Later, he wouldn't be able to say how long it took before he hit the bottom of the hole. In some ways it felt as though it took milliseconds—one second he was standing in the field with the autumn sun beating down on him, and the next he was sprawled at the bottom of a deep hole. In other ways, it seemed as though it took minutes—as though time was standing still he felt his body falling through space with a horrible feeling of terror in his stomach, dreading the moment when he'd hit the bottom. He could remember having enough time to wonder whether the hole even had a bottom, or whether he'd keep falling forever through the earth.
Either way, no matter how long it took him to reach the bottom, eventually he did. The impact of his small body hitting the hard packed dirt at the bottom of the hole was only slightly cushioned by the natural debris that had collected there over time.
The air was knocked from his lungs with a whoosh, and the arm that he had managed to fling out to catch himself exploded with pain.
He couldn't breathe. All he could do was curl up in a ball around his injured arm and whimper piteously.
The pain was worse than the time he had fallen from the tall tree in his yard and had scraped up his arms and legs so badly that some cuts had to be stitched up.
His Ma always said he could find trouble easier than breathe. It wasn't as though he sought out trouble, but his adventures often led him into some sort of mess. As long as he had his sword with him though, he knew he'd be all right.
Where was his sword? He had had it in his hand when he fell down this hole. Temporarily forgetting about the agony ripping through his wrist, he uncurled from the small ball he had made of himself, and peered around his dim surroundings.
The whole was wide enough for two of him to lie end to end. It was roughly circular with a pile of leaves, and pieces of wood and stone covering the bottom. he saw only a tiny patch of illuminated sky when he peered upward.
He knew instantly where he was. In the fallow field in which he had been playing was the old, dry, communal well. He had been warned by his parents to never play in the field by himself as there were many hidden dangers for a small boy. Of course he hadn't thought about that when he had decided to play there. His mind had been completely overrun by the thrill of being allowed to play his favourite game without adult interference.
"Help!" he shouted as loudly as he could. "Please help!"
Nobody replied. Why would they? Everyone was back at the farms bringing in the crops. There was no one to hear his shouts. He was alone.
Panic was setting in. He was at the bottom of a well, deep, deep down in the earth, far away from his parents. Most children in his situation would have started to cry and give up. He on the other hand began to search for possible ways to get out.
The sides of the hole were shored up by crumbling rock which looked easy enough to climb. Before he attempted this though, he searched through the debris around him for his sword.
It had been given to him by his father for his fourth birthday. His father had seen him running around with a stick pretending that it was a sword—and being skilled in woodworking-had whittled a small wooden practice sword for him. It was his most prized possession and he couldn't bear to have it left at the bottom of a well.
Kicking aside a few pieces of the rotten, wooden board that had covered the well's mouth, he saw it. He bent down to pick it up, and unconsciously reached out to grab it with his injured arm. A nasty spasm of pain ripped through his arm and he collapsed to the ground.
Despite his attempts to remain stoic, a loud cry of agony escaped his tightly clenched lips.
The world was whirling around him. He felt as dizzy as he did when his Pa would playfully swing him around in circles.
"Make it stop Pa," he moaned as he curled back into a tight ball and a few traitorous tears slid down his cheeks.
He lay there for what felt like an eternity. Eventually the world ceased its spinning and his rapid, shallow breathing calmed. The sharp pain in his arm was not gone, but it wasn't completely overwhelming.
Timidly he uncurled, and when the agonizing pain didn't return, he slowly clambered to his feet, grabbing up the sword in the process.
Now to tackle the well. After that last episode he wasn't so sure that he could climb out. He gripped the warn wooden hilt of his sword and set his jaw fiercely. He was a knight, and he'd pretend he was climbing a tower to rescue a princess. A true knight wouldn't balk at such a situation, and neither would he.
He had only one problem. While he was confident he could climb with one good hand, he was afraid of banging his injured one into the side of the well as he climbed. He had nearly passed out from the pain of just moving it, he couldn't even imagine the pain he would experience if he knocked it into something.
He had seen men with injured arms bound up in slings across their chests, but he didn't know how to make one and thought that it would probably get in the way as he climbed.
He bit his lip as he thought. He'd have to keep his arm close in to his side. The only way he could think of doing that was to pull his injured arm into his shirt so it could be held between his body and the material of his shirt.
Gritting his teeth against the pain he knew was to come, he began to pull his arm through his sleeve. He was grateful that he had worn a short sleeved shirt as it made for easier manoeuvring. It took several painful minutes as he inched his arm out of the sleeve and then down to rest by his side. The world lurched sickeningly a few times, but he persisted. He was a knight, and knights did not show weakness. The shirt was rather loose on him which made the task slightly easier. He knew that if the shirt had been tighter he would never have gotten his arm through. It was swelling horribly near his wrist.
By the time he was done he was panting heavily and sweat was pouring down his back. He was shaking from a mixture of shock, pain, and fear. He wanted nothing more than to curl back up into a ball and wish that this was only a dream, but he was a knight and knights wouldn't do that.
"Come on, Sir Horace," he said in a trembling voice. He breathed deeply a few times and then said louder and firmer, "Sir Horace."
He didn't have a belt in which to tuck his sword, and he didn't think he could climb very well with it down his pants. He'd have to leave it behind. It seemed like such a waste when he'd gone to all the trouble of finding it in the first place. He laid it gently in a corner, and bid farewell to it. He felt his heart wrench in sadness as he turned away. How could he be a knight without a sword?
He walked to the wall and stretched out his hand for the first handhold he could feel, and grimly he began to climb.
It was harder than he thought it would be to climb with only one hand. He dared not look down as he moved-keeping his eyes locked immovably on the patch of sky he could see at the top.
He hadn't gotten very high when he felt the foothold beneath his right foot crumble away. As he had just lifted his left foot to find another foothold he was left hanging by his one hand. Without his legs to hold his body away from the wall, he slammed into the side of the well. He felt his fingers release their grip on the handhold and he plummeted back to the bottom.
His entire weight fell on the arm he had secured in his shirt. There was a bright flash of light, and then all was black.
*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*
(Looks furtively around) Mwahahaha I am mean.
TBC
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