Author's Notes: I am SO very sorry for the last chapter. I was horrendously stuck for ideas, and decided to give some insight to the plot (considering I haven't even revealed much). But, looking over it now, I kinda realised how simple the language was, and how just... well... badly structured it was, and whole heartedly agree that it wasn't as good as my original chapters. Humblest apologies, my friends.
On a lighter note, I got the mojo back for writing, and I'm happy with this chapter. Thanks very mcuh for all the constructive reviews, I have definetly taken heed of them, and for Evee.Lynn, God I only noticed that scentence when you pointed it out, and burst into embarrassed laughter! Thanks for finding it, oh god, the shame!
Again, the reviews were lovely, thanks so much to those reading, and to those following it! Teehee, I have my own little cult following!
Healing hands and the Runaway
I looked different.
In the bedroom, there was an old, slightly cracked and yellowing full-length mirror. It belonged to Mundhir's aunt, who gave it to us at out wedding, along with a sum of money which I later begged Mundhir to purchase Adham with.
There was a circular pattern of cracks at the top left hand corner, like frozen ripples in water, but deadly sharp. The mirror was marred when I fell against it, trying to avoid a swipe from Mundhir. It forever marred the mirror's beautiful sleek glass. I later learned to take what was given to me, be it a gift, or a punishment.
But I wasn't looking at the cracks or the missing panes of glass, I was plucking the waist of my dress, a rapt expression of worry creasing lines into my forehead.
I must have lost weight, I thought. Though I was slightly curvy before, now I seemed a little shapeless and skinny. Must be all the apprehension I've been feeling lately, and I've been refraining from buying as much food. Who knows how much longer Mundhir will be?
My brown eyes seemed to have lost their bright vibrancy, and now looked cloudy and dull.
I pulled at my face. Oh God, was that a wrinkle? I can't get wrinkles, I'm only in my early twenties! No, stop worrying! The more I worry, the deeper the lines get!
Huffing, I walked back to the bed, retrieving the bowl and wineskin bag of water I brought up minutes before. Leaning out the window to the back, I pushed them up on the roof, and awkwardly hauled myself up after it, scraping my shin rather painfully on the lip of the brickwork.
I hissed, brushing my dress off while looking around, half expecting to see Altair regarding me with raised eyebrows and folded arms.
But he wasn't there.
Looking around, I slowly walked about the roof, fingers brushing off the chimney, feet kicking up the dusty patches on the flat cover. No assassin, only a dull, late evening sky, a flock of crows soaring in the distance and an air that was unusually cold for a summer evening. I shivered momentarily.
I glanced over the edge of the roof, a hand reaching up absentmindedly to pull at my hair in wonder of where the man might be.
"What are you doing?"
He scared the piss out of me! I skittered, turning around too fast and lost my balance on my heels. With a yelp, my body fell slowly backwards over the edge, but a quick arm grabbed mine and pulled me upwards into a tight envelope of white robes and armour.
"It would be a shame if you died from a fall, after all I have done to protect you." Said the exasperated voice.
I was shaking, tightly fisting my hands in the soft material, heart pounding in fear and shock. My head was against the left side of his chest, the gentle thump of his heart calmed me a little. Catching my breath, he released me, after of course I nuzzled into the robes, his intoxicating smell was surprisingly addictive. But there was something else to his scent now, and it smelled like…
"Blood!" I exclaimed, pointing at his right arm. The serene white of the material was now an angry red patch, spreading fast, a broken arrow shaft poking out from the side of his bicep. His injured arm hung limply by his side, the other unconsciously clutching the forearm.
"… What happened?" I commanded, examining the wound with splayed fingers. The blood was flowing thick, I saw him wince when my fingers brushed the broken splint. He turned me with his free arm towards the right, to a roof on the far ground.
"An archer on the roof." He winced again, moving his shoulder. "He was watching this house, until I told him to leave."
The proof, a faint silhouette against the red brickwork of a house in the distance, slumped almost dog-like in his position, unmoving. I presumed he was dead, but I didn't want to know to be quite honest. The more ignorant I was about it, the better I could feel.
I looked away, sickened.
"Inside." I said. "Oh God, look at the size of that arrow!"
"I will take care of the wound." He argued back half-heartedly, but I ignored his request and pushed him towards the roof edge. He complied wearily, and soon he was downstairs in the lounge while I was heating water and grinding salt, dock-leaves, vinegar and water into a paste.
I carried the mortar and pestle in with me, along with some rags and a basin of hot water. Throwing the strips into the steaming basin, I put the bowl on a nearby cushion and sat beside the bleeding man, who remained (probably trying his best to do so) to look indifferent.
I attempted to put my hands, to pressure the wound and tug the arrow from his flesh, but his free hand gently pushed mine away, tired eyes catching mine for a second, then closing tightly as he gripped the wood and pulled it free in a sickening, yet no less effective movement. A soft groan passed his mouth, but he bit it back behind his teeth in a hiss, tensing for several seconds, then relaxing.
"Here." I said softly, passing him a dry wrapping. He took it shakily, and put it to his wound. "Now, roll the sleeve up."
He did as requested while I lit some candles on the windowsill, fighting the dim light of early night time. I walked out to the kitchen, retrieving my sewing materials and returned to the lounge, Altair sitting with his back hunched, as tired as I have ever seen him. The candlelight against his back covered his hood-hidden face completely in shadow, and his sleeve was up to bare a blood covered arm.
Putting the needles and thread aside, I pulled over the basin to my feet, reaching in to grab a rag, the hot water stinging my hands as I shook off the liquid and gently removed his hand holding the wrapping.
"This may hurt…" I soothed, folding the soaked, steaming material and pressing it to the swollen wound. He tensed, hissing loud, teeth bared and breath escaping in a quick pant of agony, but he soon calmed. Adham, in his corner, eyed him suspiciously.
Keeping his eyes firmly on the floor, he flinched every so often when the hot water came into contact with his skin as I wiped the blood away and cleaned the wound. I, examining the injury, was lost in thought.
To be hidden under so many layers of clothing, Altair's skin was decidedly dark, though that could have easily been the low lighting. His arm and shoulder however, were marred with scar tissue. Old, faded white and grey ones, next to new, angry red and pink ones. All of them were slashes, some small, like arrow wounds, others wide and long, prolonged attacks. My fingers mapped the muscle, feeling it tense under my ghostly touch. He was warm, the skin wasn't soft, but smooth, calm.
Looking at his scarred arm made me wonder what the rest of him looked like.
Laying down the sodden rag, I took my needle and thread, cutting the fine string and putting it through the narrow needle head. I heated the metal over a candle, feeling the eyes examine my movement, then look back to the floor. Placing my thumbs around the wound, I smoothed the skin, warning him almost, and gently started to sew the skin together with fine stitches. He growled darkly, swallowing hard, but eventually relaxed.
"You seem to have done this before." He stated, though I personally thought he was talking simply to take him mind off the pain.
"Mmm, I have a few brothers. My mother would get me to help stitch them up when they got into fights, and the like."
Continuing my sewing, I winced when I felt the thread pull the tender flesh and gaping wound together. True, my three brothers would tear each other limb from limb when we were younger, and I was used to giving stitches, but that didn't make it any more of an enjoyable experience. Only two stitches were done, I crossed them over, cutting the fine thread and then heating the needle again.
"What about you?" I asked.
He hissed when the needle slipped through his skin again. I gently hushed him.
"Hmm?"
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
Altair got this… look to him. His eyes seemed to darken, his brows furrowed for a second, calculating. He wasn't really looking at the floor, he was looking at himself, as only he could.
"… I don't remember." He said quietly, slowly.
I stiffened. "…Sorry." Flushed, I continued, cutting the thread at the fourth stitch and repeating my previous actions.
"I was in the Creed since I was but a child." He continued, looking at his left hand. "I don't remember much before that."
"Didn't you ever ask?" I said, putting the thread between my teeth when I just finished the fifth stitch.
"Once or twice. But I never felt the need for family."
"I see…" It mustn't be a touchy subject, considering he spoke so casually about it. But then, there wasn't much to tell. What is it like to be so sheltered like that? I loved my family, my elder sister and two older brothers, with my younger sister and brother. My caring mother, and my father. We were decidedly average, we were close, but not obscenely wealthy. We had enough to get by, by the skin of our teeth. I had so many fond memories, Acre in the summer with my eldest brother, cooking with my mother and sisters, staying up late at night with my father and catching fireflies. The jokes, the heartfelt moments, the smiles, the tears, the endless hours of talking, the acceptance of being part of something.
What is it like to… miss out on all of that? Did he have any childhood memories? Perhaps I am being ignorant, perhaps when he was a child he too would run and play, like any youth. He couldn't have been an assassin forever, after all.
Finishing the last stitch, I tied it in a knot, apologetically patting the skin when he winced. I tied it too tight.
"I've been meaning to ask you." I said, picking up the salve I made with dock-leaves. "Why is it that my husband had to leave?"
He turned to face me, so I could meet those beautiful, beautiful honey brown eyes, the ones that turned my insides to hot candle wax. Though something was missing from them, and it only took me a second to realise how tired he looked. No, not tired, exhausted, even his body was wan. How much sleep did he get?
"I was not told." He said simply. "It is my job to protect you, and gather information. That is all."
I spread the sticky substance along my index finger. "Surely, you must know something."
Scoffing, with my free hand I grabbed the steaming cloth, wiping away blood that continued to seep through. At least the swelling was reduced, I just hoped the salve would stop an infection.
"Mu'ayyad was an informant to the Creed at one poi- that hurts!" He jerked his arm away when I tried to dress the cut. I muttered apologies, urging him to continue, which he did after a cold, yet unmistakably tired glare. "… At one point."
I could sense the fact that he didn't want me to dress the wound, but of course, that didn't stop me. It made sense, all those scars meant he probably healed all his own wounds, or just left them until they healed by themselves.
But finding out a little about his past brought attention to the fact that he may not want anyone to help him, let alone a foolish woman from Jerusalem. Tense, cautious, he adopted these traits around others, and sometimes me, but I wondered now if the real Altair is any different. I wouldn't call him cold, not that, he has some semblance of compassion. He is closed however, I sensed he rarely opened up to people, if any at all. I felt special, I was probably one of the very few people he has ever spoken to "openly".
Then again, he may not like others trying to help him because he is arrogant, self centred and controlling. It was rather endearing, helping him like this, slightly against his own will.
Dare I say, it was rather cute…
He bit down hard on his lip when I spread the mixture along the stitches of the gash, then continued. "I know the Grand Master received word on good faith that Mu'ayyad came across an artefact of some importance, and paid the man handsomely to deliver it. But, Mu'ayyad is a dangerous criminal who works only for himself, and saw fit to defy my Master, taking the money, and the artefact with him."
Rubbing the slave in, I put the bowl down, wiping my finger on the bloody rag, and taking the last strip of material from the hot water, wringing it out thoroughly.
"That doesn't explain how my husband fits into all of this. Lift your arm, please."
He lifted his arm obediently, and I wrapped the damp material around the thick bicep, my heart fluttering when the muscle flexed under the taut skin.
Easy girl… Curse my thoughts. Lord forgive me.
"Your husband is the head of the trade routes, is he not? The Creed sought his help, to make sure Mu'ayyad did not defy us and would deliver the crate when asked. After a week, your husband must have known the crate would not arrive, and reported to us. His leads however, still surprised me. I doubt even Al Mualim expected him to be so well connected with Jerusalem's underground. He quickly found out how dangerous Mu'ayyad could be, and used you to gain access through Al Mualim, as you may very well remember."
Oh yes, I remembered. I seethed, recalling how embarrassed and betrayed I felt when my husband lied, so blatantly without even warning me beforehand. He was a snake, that man, easily sliding out of harm's way while the other's around him take the blame. It was disgusting, one of Mundhir's worst traits…
How dare I think of him like that. I mentally slapped myself. He is in danger, and I am scorning him to the heavens. Yes, he did put himself and I in danger, but now he was God knows where, risking his life to fix it. That was admirable, and one of the very few acts of heroism I have ever witnessed from the man.
Altair however, killed people to stop them from harming me. He killed… why am I even thinking about it? Lord, stop me, please.
"Yes, Mundhir sure has his ways." I said, tying a knot in the damp material. He nodded dully, left hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose for a few seconds, and I watched.
Turning to me, he took a breath and parted his lips, as if he wanted to say something. "Do you…" but he trailed off, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. Confused, I stared. He looked so fatigued and worn-out. It pained me to look at him like that.
He made to get up, but I gently tugged him back down by his hand. "Rest, Altair. You're tired."
Shaking his head, he looked at me wearily, and argued. "If more men are to come, what then?"
"Then better you be in good shape, to fight them off. Be sure, I will wake you if I find my life in any mortal peril. Rest now…" I said soothingly, my hand on his shoulder. He swallowed, pulling his sleeve back down, it was still covered in his blood. Part of him probably wanted to argue, but I could see the physical part of him crying out for sleep, and it looked as though that part was winning.
I grasped his knee before getting up and taking the bowls, water, and materials to the kitchen. After cleaning them out, I returned to find him slumped, lying lengthways across the pile of cushions, his long legs out.
Adham yawned widely, and tucked his head in beneath his tail, drifting off to sleep.
Altair's eyes drooped, almost against his will and soon he too nodded off. I went upstairs, grabbed my blanket, went back downstairs and draped it over him, I could sleep without it tonight. He peeked an eye open at me, dull and tired, and as if to turn the tables, I sat beside him as he had when he comforted me.
"Is your arm alright?"
"I am not a child." He replied, but he looked so gaunt, so tired, he was almost reduced to pouting at me. Almost. I chuckled, he sounded like a child. He plucked weakly at the blanket. "Is this not yours?"
"I can do without it tonight. Now rest, damn you." I whispered. When I tried to get up, his right hand grasped my wrist.
"Wha-"
"You sleep here." He grumbled. "So I can keep an eye on you. I sleep like the dead, so I highly doubt you could wake me…"
I raised my eyebrows at him, but he was already drifting off into slumber. I too was very tired, and felt somewhat jealous. Impatient, he tugged briefly on my arm. I sighed, my heart pounding at his demand, and me actually having the nerve to do it, and climbed under the duvet beside him.
He shifted, his left arm entwining around my waist, and I blushed heavily when he pulled me close, a shiver passing over him. He must be cold. I prayed it wasn't because the arrow wound was infected.
Curling up against him, I quickly relaxed, still unable to believe this was really happening, and unsure if I should be so happy about it or not.
"You mustn't get much sleep, Altair."
He mumbled something incoherent, eyes still closed, hood still up, and yet he looked so peaceful. A rare thing to see, from this man.
His breathing grew deep soon enough, and I tentatively reached out, cupping his loose jaw. So smooth…
He breathed in deep, turning his head so it was tucked between the juncture of my neck and shoulder. The rush of air made me shiver when it was sent in waves over my collar. The only other time we've been this close was…
But it was different now. My thumb was playing circles on his chin, stubble, coarse, but strong. Altair was just so… so handsome. I sighed contentedly, warm, glad to have this moment, just for me.
I wondered, could this be one of the first times he's ever held someone like this? Warmly? And have that person hold him back?
I slid my palm up his jaw, to his hair, watching the curve of my fingers underneath the hood. This close, I could see his features in all their symmetrical glory. The strong, sloping brow, the defiant chin that jutted out and curved downward, the straight nose, his hooded eyelids. The stubble, though unkempt, gave him an almost impossibly rugged look, and it suited him to the ends of the earth. His lips were perfect, smooth, calm, bow shaped and curved and soft. One of the few things about him that was actually soft.
I kissed the top of the hood, curling my knees under, praying as I always did before I fell asleep.
But there was no pleading with God for forgiveness this time. Now, I told God how grateful I was for this moment, this warmth, this act of utter selflessness. I asked him to protect those I love, for guidance, for help, and I think I was about to confess my sins again.
But I fell asleep.
I awoke some hours later, in total darkness. Squinting through the black, nothing. I could only barely make out the dull silvery moonlight cascading through the window, it hurt my eyes and I looked away. I think I heard a noise, but I was too tired to register it.
Figuring I must have turned over, my back was to Altair, who draped an arm securely around my waist. His grip tightened, pulling me closer against his chest, unusually still and silent.
I was about to sleepily ask what was wrong, when I heard it. A quick rapping on my front door, and a quiet murmuring.
I tried to gasp, but his right hand covered my mouth and pulled my head back, so his lips were beside my ear.
"Not a sound." He barely whispered, breath shuddering against the shell of the soft cartilage. Eyes wide, but seeing nothing, I glanced around the room, shaking harshly when another knock, more urgent this time, sounded against the door. I half expected to hear Adham bark and jump up, baring the hall, but there was no sound at all other than my petrified breaths rasping through my nose against Altair's hand, and the gentle murmur of the voices outside.
A quiet noise of a blade sliding against leather beside me, and I knew he had his weapon bared, tense, ready to jump if they chose to come inside. But there was nothing.
I heard footsteps, they faded away along with the faint mumbling of voices until it was deathly silent again. I was shaking, the hand around my mouth detached and let go, blade sinking back into it's recess. The hold around me loosened, but it was still just as protective. I could feel his chest against my back, pressing with every breath he took.
"Sleep." He said, confined, restricted with fatigue.
I felt his fingers curl in my robes, nose against my ear. Uneasily, I closed my eyes, jumping every so often when I heard a noise from outside, but he was right there beside me, warm and wonderfully alive.
I fell back to sleep, a nose nuzzling gently into my hair, a jaw against the top of my head.
Adham was lost.
Lost!
I woke in the morning, sleepily rubbing my eyes, wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets and pillows. Altair was gone, but the warmth beside me suggested he had not been for long.
I got up, out of habit looking around the kitchen expecting Adham to greet me with a wagging tail and an empty stomach, pawing at the door for leave outside, but there was no dog here, and as I searched (growing more frantic by the minute) I saw nothing to point me in the direction of my faithful hound.
Sticking my head out the window, I hissed at Altair, asking if he had seen him.
"Is the mutt not in the lounge?" He replied, with a biting edge showing his obvious disapproval of Adham and his protective nature. That wasn't very fair however, the dog had warmed up and calmed dramatically in the past few days.
"I have to find him!" I said determinedly, running up to my bedroom and pulling on a clean dress, quickly brushing my hair and running back down just as Altair walked through the backdoor.
And sure enough, he followed as I practically ran into town, searching hopefully for a bark, a streak of black fur, anything to indicate he was still on this planet. Oh Lord, how could he have gotten outside? I didn't leave the doors open, could he have pawed open on of the windows and climbed out? Even still, why? Could he not just bark if he wanted attention?
I trekked on, my sandaled feet carrying me to the market place. Despite the decidedly cold night, the morning was warm and sunny, with the merest trace of grey cloud threatening to fall over the horizon. I glanced down alleyways, turned corners I've never even considered turning before, endless winding corridors of stone and people.
Spotting Al Din's stall, he called my name, and I ran over to him.
"Al Din!" I exclaimed, slightly out of breath. "Have you seen my dog, Adham?"
He shook his head, his wispy hair oddly still, the little beard he was sporting waved slightly. "No, pet. But I will keep an eye out."
God, Jerusalem was a huge town! And dogs were not exactly loved by everyone. If Adham may have strayed across the path of say, a group of Templars or thugs… I didn't want to think about it.
My feet carried me to the back of the butchers, the stench of decaying meat a ferocious ardour against the wall and the shop. Fadil was outside, emptying a bucket of something decidedly disgusting looking into the stone alleyway. I crinkled my nose.
"Fadil, you know of my dog, don't you?" I asked, wringing my hands as his narrow eyes scanned me in surprise.
"Yeah? Somethin' wrong, 'lil lady?" A wide, lecherous grin spread across his face and I flinched.
"He's missing." His grin faded when he saw my worried expression, and he put down the bucket. "Please, have you seen him?"
He patted his rotund belly in a thoughtful way, narrow eyes furrowing in concentration. Though Fadil can be quite the sickening man, he cared about people, and took heed of their words. He didn't look very smart, but there was a different sort of intelligence to him, a street-smart sort of nature learned through dealing with people.
"Haven' seen him, but if I do I'll keep 'im in the shop, 'till you arrive. How's that sound?"
"That would be wonderful!" I smiled gratefully and bowed low to him in thanks.
"Off with yeh, chicken. Go look fer yer mutt." And with that he continued the emptying of buckets with a sigh. I moved off in my desperate search.
A good hour passed, and still no sign of my dog. I tried calling his name, earning peculiar stares from the passer-bys, I looked down seemingly every alleyway, every winding path, but still nothing. I slumped against a wall of the docks near the river in defeat. My heart was heavy, my head was sore and my legs were tired. A sense of dread passed over me, thinking I may never see my wonderful dog again. I looked for Johara and the rest at the well, but no one I knew personally was there. Nothing from Al Din, or Fadil… God, please let me find him.
Perhaps Fadil will come through for me, and find my dog.
It was then through my worried musings, I spotted a familiar woman walking down the dirt path towards me.
Wincing when I realised it was Aludra, I quickly composed myself, praying for the absence of another argument. Her argumentative mouth was the very last thing I needed, and I was worried and riled enough to turn around and hit her hard should she provoke me. Not only that, but her friend Farrah and her annoyingly high laugh near busted my eardrums the last time I heard it.
But Farrah wasn't with her this time, which struck me as rather odd considering I have never seen one without the other. She was alone, her gaze solely on me today, clad in a billowing sky blue dress, satin by the lustrous shine, her ears sporting large, gold hoops and an array of colourful jewellery decorating her hands.
Though she seemed… she seemed a little frightened, or apprehensive by the looks of it. Her finely plucked brow furrowed in my direction as she approached, mouth in a hard line, hands stiff and still by her sides where as usual they would be swinging, tinkling her jewellery. Her eyes were wide, a grimace plucked at her lacquered lips for a second.
Her approach was slow, gold sandaled feet carrying her dainty form warily, as she regarded me. Halting, she rose a hand to her mouth, her eyes on mine a fair few feet away. I looked with curiosity, as her eyes shined with a foreign emotion. She shook her head, cringed, biting her long nails and quickly walked away. I followed inquisitively.
"Aludra, wait!" I have never, ever seen the woman look like that before. Not once! Something terrible must have happened.
But before I caught up, a familiar booming bark caught my attention. I quickly turned, spotting a black streak dart out from an alleyway and instantly took off down the narrow street, devoid of people.
"Adham!" I called. "Adham, where are you?"
Running down the alley, my foot glanced off a protruding stone, and I stumbled slightly but quickly caught my balance. It turned to a sharp corner, and I followed, calling.
"Adham! Ad-"
I stopped dead in my tracks when I was greeted with a dead end, nothing but old, decaying lumber and paper, stones covered in lime-scale and dirt.
Impossible, I could have sworn…?
With a sense of foreboding, I walked down the alley, my fingers to the greasy wall, as if searching for a hidden door of some sort, but I was just being foolish. How on earth…?
He wasn't here, it must have just been my imagination. I turned to leave, walked back down and was just about to round the corner, when I heard it.
A thump, followed by another, and just as I whirled around to find the source of the noise, an ear splitting bang of metal. Altair must have jumped from the roof, a guard following suit with him and now the two stood sword to sword.
Altair pushed the man back, sword ringing through the air, but it was blocked quickly by the guard's own and he used the inertia of the defence to push the assassin back. Two more men followed off the roof, landing on squatted feet and quickly straightening up, swords raised, one had a crossbow. These were no ordinary guards.
Their gazes turned to me, and I instantly backed away, my blood freezing in my veins, hands raised defensively. So cold, men with dead eyes and heavy faces covered in dark hoods, chain mail clinking with every step.
"Though I am sure Aludra's husband, the fish monger is connected through the channels with him…"
Oh, fuck…
"What are you waiting for?" Altair shouted at me, jerking me from my terrified trance. "Run!"
And that's just what I did. I ran. Fucking hell I ran for my life. And I've never sworn so much in my head before, but I was sure God would forgive me. Shivers tore up my back when I heard the thump of metal behind me as the guards followed, running too. I tried to ignore the sudden pained groan behind me, I couldn't tell if it was Altair or not, but I hoped-
Three guards chose that exact moment to appear at the end of the alley when I was but feet away from it. Skidding to a stop, I tried to turn and run back, but one of them grabbed me tightly about the waist and lifted me upwards.I shrieked, struggling ferociously, kicking out with my legs, but the man's grip was strong, pinning my arms to my sides.I swung my foot just as one of the guards attempted to grab my legs, and kicked him hard across his head with a loud thunk. I jerked my head back, painfully banging it against the man holding me and he let me drop with a shout of pain.
Disorientated, I stumbled and made to get away, but was pinned against the wall on my front, my jaw cracking when it connected hard with the stone. Two of the guards grabbed my arms, their growls of annoyance rumbling darkly beneath their chest plates.
I whimpered, struggling hard in a vain attempt to get away, until a sharp blow connected with my head, blinding me, and I thought no more.
The world went dark, as I passed out, seeing stars.
Author's notes: (gasp!) This can't be... another cliffhanger?!!! NOOOOO!!! Thanks for reading and the like!