((set before meeting with Kakali))
Hala had managed to scrape out a hollow in the earth just big enough for himself to curl up in. The pain was intense. So intense that the moment he felt safe enough he passed out of consciousness. He awoke again, unsure of how much time had passed, to the cool touch of night. And yet, even the moonlight was not cool enough to ease the burning beneath his skin. A fever, he realised.
Not good.
He moved and found his body terribly stiff. The wound in his shoulder was dirty and matted and it sent great blasts of pain through the limb when he tried to move it. Suffering alone, angry and in pain, Hala was not in the best of moods. He also felt, suddenly, the grip of mortality at his throat and choked on his despair. If he died here there was no one left to take vengeance upon his brother! He could not die. Not now. Not now!!
And then the pain took him and he went with it, somewhat unwillingly.
When he came to, he was not alone. The scent of another hung heavy in the air and he growled threateningly, trying to rise but collapsing almost immediately. His growl turned into a snarl, increasing in volume. But it hurt to do even that and he almost passed out again. And then a face appeared. A pretty white face with eyes that swam with concern. An angel? Heaven, perhaps? Had he died? No…no, he wasn’t dead. There was still so much pain! His growls stifled a little as the pain – at being remembered – increased.
Then he realised that the angel was talking to him. No. Not angel. Lioness. Hardly anything so wonderful! He lifted his ears a little, panting from the exertion of trying to raise his head. The terror of how weak he was gripped him, then. He really was dying!
“Are you listening?” The face was hovering just before his own now. Beautiful. Radiant.
Now he knew he was mad…
“Try not to move too much, you’ll make it worse.” She continued. “I managed to bring you water. Would you like me to help you drink it?”
“Where is he?!” Hala suddenly spat. “I’ll kill him. KILL him!” His eyes rolled and he sagged again, head lolling. He seemed, right then, to be quite delirious. And he was.
“Shh, shh.” The female said to him. “He’s not here. He’s gone. Here, drink this.”
And he drank it as best as he could before falling into another deep sleep.
He woke again to the early morning sky, shivering and hot and cold all at once. He recalled his dream of the female coming to his aid, giving him water and realised, then, that either this was another dream or else she was really here, helping him. His blurry vision caught sight of her curled up tight only a few strides away, her delicate, pretty form so innocent and beautiful. He drew in a breath, coughed, and tried to rise. Again his leg prevented it and he grunted with frustration.
She woke.
“Oh, you’re awake?” She moved towards him again.
“Yes.”
She was smiling and, without warning, she shoved forwards the large leaf filled with water and waited for him to drink. When he was done, she sat back and regarded him – in an almost motherly fashion. “Are you okay to talk?”
He grunted, wrinkling his snout with irritation. “Yes.” His voice was hoarse, but lacked the madness of their last conversation – if it could be called a conversation, that was.
“I’m Anya. What’s your name?”
He shook his head and tried to rise but she stilled him with a paw. A gentle paw. A lovely paw. After a moment he looked back up at her and answered. “Hala.”
“Hala, how did you get such a horrible wound?” She eyed the injury to his shoulder and he shifted so he could look at it himself. A burning red gash, deep and…surprisingly cleaned. He realised, then, that she must have washed it for him. What a beautiful female! So kind, so thoughtful. He blinked, not liking where his thoughts were going. Females were manipulative little wretches. Not to be trusted. He drew back from the conversation and she seemed to see the change in him – the darkening of the eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
And then he slept.
When he woke again she was lying across from him, humming. “How long have I been like this?”
“Seven days.” She replied, motioning a paw towards him. “You slept most of it. There’s water there, and a little food, too. I thought you might be getting hungry.”
Hala felt a little off his food, if he was going to be honest, but he wanted to get better and eating was one of the only ways to do that. He drank, struggled with the stringy meat for half an hour before managing it, and then asked for more water. She fetched it without complaint. He looked at her in bewilderment, wondering how on earth he had managed to fall into the paws of this helpful female. Was someone looking out for him up there? It certainly seemed so!
Shifting so he was curled up in his hollow once again he released a ragged sigh and drifted off, waking up a few moments later feeling cold and shaky. Panic seized him and immediately he tried to stand, his cry of pain splitting through the night. He collapsed and suddenly she was there again, pressing against him.
“Hala. Hala. What’s wrong?”
“Cold. Pain.” He grunted, panting.
Her body pressed against his, warming him, lulling him back into a sleep disturbed by those feverish dreams once more. He realised, then, that he may not pull through this, and when he woke again he told her.
“No. No, Hala. I won’t let you die. Do you hear me? Do you hear me?” She seemed genuinely upset at the thought and immediately raced off. He thought that would be the last he saw of her. But it wasn’t. She returned an hour later with food in her jaws. A hare. She set it down before him and urged him to eat. But, when she encouraged discussion she got nothing but confused, muddled sentences.
In his sleep, that night, he saw his brother standing before him, his vicious, hateful face leering down at him from his high perch. Hala, enraged at the act, leapt up the rocky ledges to meet him, all but ready to tear off his face. And then they were face to face, so close that he could feel his breath upon his face. Hala, snarling, prepared to leap.
“You’re wounded, brother. You can never win.” His brother spoke, a laugh in his voice.
But Hala jumped anyway and tumbled out into midair, all but darkness around him. And he roared in anger and fear as he tumbled, his brother’s voice calling out his name. It sounded concerned, even, to see him falling into never-ending darkness.
“Hala!”
He started into wakefulness to the sound of Anya’s voice and, with a cry, pressed himself against her. He needed to get better. He needed to see his brother dead.
His progress was slow, but nevertheless it was progress. With each day that passed his fever broke and the pain in his shoulder decreased. He even managed to stand and walk a few steps – though the action tired him out. And she was there. Always there at his side and he decided, that when he was better, he was going to make her, his. He wasn’t going to let her go. She could be his obedient woman. A servant. Someone to hunt for him, to care for his wounds, to protect him from the wrath of others – even. He was going to ask her first – of course – preferring that she choose to come with him by herself. But, if she said no, then he’d make her see sense.
Some days a distant roar would sound and she’d give him her apologetic smile, promise she would be back, and move off across the land to see ‘a friend’. Or that’s what she told him. He had no reason not to trust her after everything that she had done. But he couldn’t help it. She was female: full of deceit. He was almost waiting for the moment that she would betray him.
The next day he stood and moved out across the stretch of land to the watering hole. The going was slow and pained but to feel the leg stretching and holding some weight made him realise that his wounded shoulder – whilst a bad injury – would not keep him grounded forever. He might not walk right again, but he’d sure as hell move as quickly as he possibly could. He was not about to let it beat him now. Not when he’d survived it.
Anya joined him at the water side. “Feeling better?”
“Yes.”
“You still never told me, you know.”
“Told you what?” His voice was as it always had been, harsh and emotionless, but it didn’t seem to affect her very much. She just smiled at him patiently, as if he were a child. It angered him.
“How you were wounded.”
“Isn’t it obvious? I was in a fight.”
“Did you win?”
“Of course.” He snorted. “It was a mere fight between rogues. It happens, you know. Just have to make sure the other male comes off worse than you.” It was a lie, of course. Hakan had been wounded but not nearly so badly as Hala had. Not that he was going to admit this to Anya, though. He wanted her admiration and respect, not her pity.
“Oh.” She didn’t sound very impressed and his anger surged. His claws dug into the earth beneath him, but even that hurt his shoulder, forcing him to relent.
“You’re still in pain…” She murmured softly, moving up to his shoulder and touching the wound gently with her nose. He flinched away from her touch and ignored her look of sadness and hurt.
“It’ll pass.”
“Oh, of course.” She added quickly. “I have no doubt about that. None at all.”
/fin.
