Pain woke him up.
A sharp pang along the left leg, from ankle to hip. Hard pounds marteling the head. Tongue bathing in blood. Arms and fingers, numb.
He was lying face down in the soil, limbs spreading out in different directions.
Restless stabbing pain in the left ankle.
He opened his eyes; gray and brown blurry shapes, a faint light.
He spat out —taste of blood— then slid his tongue along his bottom lip —cracked open.
"Scu.. Scully," he growled, so faintly. "Scully…" He felt unable to scream her name out in the air.
Alone. Fell down; gliding the steep slope through bushes and rocks. Stopped somewhere, somehow. Passed out. Alive, injured.
"Ouch!" he mutely cried in his throat, struck by a jolting pain, when trying to move some of his limbs, or his head.
He closed his eyes.
Scully. You have to find me.
XXXXXX
Waking up again. Still the stabbing and pounding pain. How long?
I have to do something. If she hasn't found me already, she won't, or not soon enough.
Pain. Be brave. You've known worse.
Clenching his jaw and teeth, he managed to roll on a side, lift his head then put his body in a lopsided recline position, his upper body leaning against a mossy rock.
I need something. Where's my bag?
Opening his eyes but still surrounded by grayness that made all things look the same, he groped around for his backpack or anything useful.
Nothing but forest ground.
He dipped his hand in one of his coat pockets then took out a couple of leaves.
Okay, Scully. You didn't want me to eat them, unsure of their effects. You were wise and we didn't need them to spot the fox and its tracks to the cavern. Now, see the irony of my situation. It could be my only way to fight pain and gain strength and will. Forgive me, doc.
He brought his hand to his mouth then ate the leaves.
Bring it on, fox's spirit!