Chapter 7

The feeling of something cold and wet touching his forehead was the first thing Abel noticed as he slowly drifted back into consciousness. Soft hands touched his chin to open his mouth slightly, and a bit of water trickled in. Still half asleep, he was unable to swallow properly, and promptly began coughing, choking on the water.

Lena jumped in surprise; she hadn't noticed that the green-haired man had started to awaken, and she was startled. Slipping her hand underneath him to support his back, she helped him lean to sit upwards so the water would go down his throat. Turning her head, she called out to the thief who sat in the corner of the tent, fooling with a couple coins. "Julian. Would you please fetch Prince Marth for me?"

Grunting and slipping the coin in his pocket, Julian got to his feet. "Yeah, yeah," he murmured as if he was displeased, but he flashed a smile in Lena's direction. "But only because you said 'please'." Chuckling, he brushed his hand through her soft pink hair as he walked by to exit the tent.

The cleric rolled her eyes. Julian wasn't bad, but he had no sense of urgency and the tendency to mix up his priorities. Lena couldn't afford to think about her feelings towards him at a time like this, and she turned back to Abel, who was blinking slowly and staring at her in confusion. A bit of water trickled down the edge of his mouth from when he had coughed it up.

Smiling gently, Lena wiped the bit of water away with her sleeve. "Welcome back to the world of the living," she greeted him warmly. "I was beginning to worry."

Abel's head hurt; in fact, his whole body was sore. He was finally awake, but almost wished to return to sleep just to avoid feeling the aches. "How long…?" He croaked out a couple words. His throat was dry and it hurt to talk, but he had to know.

"It's been about three days now," Lena responded, the smile wavering a bit. "We were supposed to leave this area yesterday, but Prince Marth refused, saying that you weren't ready for travel. Plus…" She trailed off, not sure whether or not to inform Abel of the other cavalier's unknown fate.

Rubbing the back of his head, Abel frowned. His memory was foggy; the last thing he remembered was riding on patrol with Cain—! Stiffening, he looked to the other cot in the tent, hoping to see the familiar redhead, but it was empty. "Where's…" His voice broke and he had to clear his throat before continuing. "Where's Cain?"

The cleric hesitated in answering, and she didn't meet Abel's eyes. As soon as she opened her mouth to speak, the entrance to the tent was brushed aside and Marth ducked inside, holding open the flap for Julian, who trailed just slightly behind him.

"You're awake," Marth exclaimed, a relieved smile appearing on his face. "How are you feeling?" He hovered over the bed, standing next to the kneeling Lena.

"Where's Cain?" Abel demanded again, not answering Marth's question.

The prince stared at Abel for a moment before answering the question, trying to judge whether or not he was fit to hear the answer. Marth sighed; the cavalier would have to know eventually, and keeping it from him would just make him fret and use up energy he didn't have. "The last search patrol for the evening just returned," he murmured. "There's been no sign of him. We can only assume that he was captured by the men that attacked you. We…" He hesitated. "We are not sure of his fate at this time."

Staring blankly at Marth, Abel slowly processed the situation. Suddenly, memories flooded back to him; the men rushing from the bushes, the intense battle, Cain being struck down… Abel's hand rose to his neck and softly touched the hand-shaped bruises that still lingered. He felt sick to his stomach. Three days was a long time; anything could have happened to Cain by now, especially in the hands of enemies.

Marth bit down on his lip and furrowed his brow. "The best thing you can do for Cain is to rest and regain your strength," he spoke firmly. He placed his hand on Lena's shoulder and moved his ocean blue gaze down to her. "Take care of him," he murmured. "Let me know if I can do anything to help."

Lena nodded determinedly. "I'm doing my best."

Returning the nod, and excusing himself, Marth slipped under the cover of the tent.

Abel, who had been staring off into space, suddenly felt a chill run down his spine, and he shivered violently. Thinking about Cain's possible fate was too much for Abel's battered mind and body; he leaned over the side of the cot and vomited, narrowly avoiding Lena who quickly moved out of the way. He hadn't eaten for a few days so all that came out was a disgusting, watery brown mix. After a moment his stomach was emptied and he began to dry-heave, gasping for breath between convulsions.

Lena, avoiding the mess on the floor, reached to gently pat Abel's back. The cavalier coughed roughly until his throat was sore. He graciously accepted the water that Lena offered him, and panted for air when he was done drinking. Rubbing his head, he groaned in pain, and leaned back on the cot. His mind was racing, thinking of nothing but Cain. What was happening to him right now? Was he even alive? Questions pounded at his temple but he was powerless to answer them. Squeezing his eyes shut, another groan escaped his mouth before he slipped into a fitful sleep, plagued with nightmares.