Page 137 of Once Upon a Fable

But still there.

Late afternoon sun hid behind clouds as I sat back and surveyed his body.

With the mess of last night and the wounds I’d given him in my key attack, it was hard to tell what was dirt and what was old blood. Fresh cuts spilled crimson along his side, a few good lacerations but nothing to suspect broken ribs or internal hemorrhaging.

No black bruises hinted at pooling blood beneath the skin.

His lips weren’t turning blue.

His face was blank and serene.

If I didn’t continuously check his pulse, I would’ve been convinced he was dead.

He lay like a corpse. Legs splayed and arms palms up, flat on his back as if he hadn’t fought the fall at all. As if he’d stayed lax and limp, accepting the end in a way no happy person ever could.

The backpack—

I glanced around for it. He’d been wearing my spare when he went over. It must’ve fallen off—

There.

A few feet away, covered in leaves, rested the bag he’d stolen from my Jeep. Full of treats and sugar from a society he no longer belonged to. He was just a wild man, with nothing and no one, forgotten on the forest floor.

My heart broke all over again.

What if he’d wanted this?

What if, in those final few seconds, he’d chosen not to fight and let the ground catch him in whatever cradle it wanted.

In a way, he’d saved his own life.

Survivalists all said that the best way to fall was to do it without any tension or anticipation of the crash. The harder you braced, the harder you broke. And in his case, he hadn’t braced at all.

Tears shot up my spine, tingling and hot as they pooled in my eyes.

I didn’t know why, but that simple fact told me so many soul-shattering things. It revealed more complexities and vulnerabilities than he ever could’ve shown me while awake.

And I hated him all the more because it meant I couldn’t leave.

Not now.

Not until he either woke up or died.

And if he woke up, how could I look him in the eyes, knowing things about him that painted him not as the villain but a victim who’d neverhad a chance?

I checked his pulse again before running my hands along every inch of his body. His hands, wrists, and arms. His neck, chest, and hips. His legs, knees, and ankles. Some areas were blazing hot, swelling rapidly from the blunt force trauma. I couldn’t tell what was broken or sprained. I wasn’t a doctor or qualified in any way past my first-aid training in field wounds.

He needs a hospital.

Peeling open his left eyelid, I observed his blank stare. His pupil constricted, but that was it. No other sign of alertness.

Brain damage?

Concussion?

What would cause him not to wake?

“Hey...you....” I grimaced.