Page 52 of Warrior of the Wild
I gasp. My eyes roll upward.
And I’m out.
ARMS UNDERNEATH ME.
Rising off the ground.
Movement.
MURMURING. YELLING. SCREAMING.
“What happened to her?”
“She went after the god again.”
“Did she know you were following her?”
“I don’t think so.”
“We have to get the dagger out. Where’s that magical cure she used on you?”
“In her pack.”
“On the count of three, I’m going to pull. You ready? One, two, three!”
My voice leaps out of my throat as fire rips through my middle.
BEFOREIEVEN REALIZEI’m awake, there’s pain—throbbing rawness in the upper left corner of my abdomen. All my limbs feel sore. And my back aches from sleeping on it for goddess knows how long.
My eyes are crusty—from dried tears, I realize—and it takes some time to open them, but when I do, I realize I’m in the tree house.
I manage to lift my neck enough to see my bare midriff. No dagger. And my skin looks whole, but underneath I see a purple bruise. I don’t dare try to sit up.
A glass window lets sparse light into the room, and I wonder where in the world the boys managed to find a window. It’s cracked with a shard missing. They’ve stuffed a wad of cloth into the opening, but the window does its job, giving me enough light to see by. A small table and two wooden chairs rest below it. Empty boots look hastily cast aside against the wall, which means—
I turn my neck in the other direction.
There are the boys.
They sleep on top of hides hastily sewn together and stuffed with feathers, their torsos and feet bare. Thank the goddess they kept their pants on. They’re sharing a blanket, and a pang of guilt spreads through me. I must be sleeping on Soren’s mattress and blankets. They’re sharing Iric’s bedding.
I try to make sense of what happened. But after gettingwounded, everything is hazy. When did they cut half my shirt off? And where’s my armor?
I made Peruxolo bleed.
The memory surfaces, and I remember my discovery that his power deals with metal. Despite the pain, a bud of hope blooms within my chest.
If a god can bleed, surely he can die.
As delicately as I can manage, I probe the wound. There’s a small lump, and it’s sore to the touch. They must have administered Irrenia’s salve to me, and while it healed the surface, my injury is deep. There’s some bleeding inside.
Will it still kill me?
A deep exhale is followed by the rustling of blankets. Soren rolls over, his eyes already open. They meet mine.
“You pulled through.”
“Was there any doubt I would?” I ask.
