Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Iona takes stock, and things go from bad to worse.

Not quiet…not exactly, anyways. Just an utter and total absence of any city noise. Her heart almost beating out of her chest, Iona slowly opened her eyes that had somehow clenched themselves shut, and looked around warily.

"Huh." No city noise, because there was no city. No pavement, no skyscrapers, no cars, no road signs. No roads, for that matter. She was standing on the outskirts of the greenest, lushest forest she had ever seen, on the greenest, thickest grass she had ever stood on. And the only thing she could hear was the richest non-silence she had ever heard in her life. She could hear wind, and leaves rustling, and birds singing, and even water running, but no horns honking or people talking.

"Well…. I'm dead. Or dreaming." She fumbled to push up the sleeve of her jacket and reach the bare skin of her arm, where she gave it a hard, decisive pinch that she definitely felt.

"Okay. Dead it is, then." Her purse strap slipped down her arm, so she opened it quickly and rummaged around, grabbing for her mobile phone.

"Excellent. Dead, and with no phone reception. This is just getting better and better." Iona laughed in disbelief at what she just said, and slowly straightened, letting her purse fall out of her hand and removing her jacket to let it drop to the ground as well. She took a deep breath and started thinking through the details, talking out loud like she had when she was writing papers in school.

"Okay, Ai. Figure out what the blazes just happened." She turned in a slow circle to take in all her surroundings, noting all the landmarks she could see from her position.

"Forest to the north and to the east, a plain to the south and the west. Hills. Ocean to the west, as well, and clouds on the horizon. Can't see any islands. It almost looks like the countryside at home, back in…England…" Iona stood stock-still.

"Funny…that view of the ocean looks just like the view from my flat would if there were no buildings." Her heart started to race again as she tried to piece it together.

"Does that mean that England is heaven? Or…"

Before she could finish her thought, she heard a group of voices yelling from somewhere in the forest to her right, prompting her to quickly grab her jacket and purse, and run towards the trees. So I'm not alone here. Doesn't mean I'm not in danger. Not bothering to think about the fact that she wouldn't be in danger if she were already dead, Iona kicked her shoes off at the base of a large tree and scaled it quickly, her green pencil skirt ripping up the sides of her legs as she climbed to settle in the branches with her back to the trunk. No sooner had she gotten to her hiding place than a group of about twenty half-naked, blue-painted people rushed out of the forest with bows and swords drawn, dividing instantly into two groups.

Iona watched as they fought savagely, firing bows at point-blank range and hacking at each other with swords, glad now that she hadn't stopped to see if their voices were friendly. The absolute absurdity of her situation threatened to make her burst into hysterical giggles, but she pushed them down and concentrated on the people on the plain. She couldn't pick out exactly what they were yelling, but it definitely didn't sound like English. Almost…Gaelic or Welsh. Old Welsh. Old Welsh!

One man from broke free from the mass and drew his last arrow, aiming it at one of his enemies. But at the last second, someone shot him instead and his arms flew out as he fell, spread-eagled onto the ground. The arrow that had been intended for one of the warrior savages flew from the bow and into the trees.

And embedded itself in the fleshy part Iona's shoulder.

Iona's eyes widened and she almost fell out of the tree, but she managed to keep her seat. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from making any noise, gasping in short, ragged breaths as she stared at her left shoulder. The offending arrow had a thick, dark shaft, fletched with stringy, tattered feathers, and was far enough into her shoulder that she couldn't see the head, but not far enough that it was protruding out her back.

Gritting her teeth in determination, she grabbed onto the shaft and tugged, trying to pull it out. The pain made black spots dance in front of her eyes, and she almost vomited, so she let go and rested her head back against the tree trunk, trying to catch her breath. Not that way. Other way. Iona ripped a strip of cloth from her ruined skirt, and balled it up to put in her mouth. Her breath coming in short pants, she clenched her teeth around the cloth and bent forward, the end of the arrow shaft pressing against the tree branch she was sitting on. Tears leaked from the corners of her clenched eyes, and she allowed herself one small, pain-filled whimper before using her body weight to press down on the arrow.

It was the hardest thing Iona had ever done, to not make any noise as she forced that arrow through her shoulder. She could feel her muscles and skin ripping as she pressed down, and could hear her blood roaring in her ears, over the sound of the battle still raging. She used her free hand to press her jaw closed around her makeshift gag. The muscles in her neck screamed with tension and her entire torso pounded with pain, but after what felt like a year, the head of the arrow broke through to the back of her shoulder and most of the shaft slid through easily.

All that was left was the fletched end, so Iona raised her trembling hand over her shoulder and grasped the blood-slicked arrow, trying to pull it out of her back. It came slowly, agonizingly slowly, a centimetre at a time, and she had to stop every few minutes to rest and get up her nerve again. Dimly she realized that the battle in on the plain had stopped, and the surviving blue-painted people had scattered, running back into the trees.

Vaguely, as if through a mist, Iona saw a group of men on horses galloping towards the forest, pulling up just beyond where the dead lay. Then the last bit of the arrow slid from her shoulder and she blacked out, tumbling from the tree to the ground below.