Page 62 of Claim the Light
I don’t understand what the hell just happened. Possibly one of the strangest experiences of my life.
Micah leans to the side before he lies down in the grass.
“I need to get you back to the infirmary,” I say, my mind working at a million miles an hour as I try to think how I can possibly convey him back on my own.
It’s miles to the red door and would take us hours to walk. Even flying would take too long—a longer trip back than the flight here because of the steep incline up the mountain. It would be too draining for Micah in his current state of ill health and the thought of him passing out and falling mid-flight terrifies me.
I briefly consider flying back on my own and getting help, but I quickly dismiss that option. I can’t leave Micah unprotected. The deer seem to be gone, but they could reappear just as quickly. Given our experience with them, I’m far warier of our surroundings now.
Micah’s breathing is ragged. “It’s okay,” he says, as if he hears my worried thoughts. “I’ll be okay right here.”
I’m not so certain. I worry at my lip as I lean over him, carefully lifting and then tearing a little of his ripped shirt to see his wound better. The burn on his chest is a thin welt, not as bad as I feared, although it must sting horribly.
The burn on his hand is more worrying. I carefully bring his arm up to rest it across his stomach.
I can’t stop my gasp. “These burns—”
“Will heal,” he says, his eyes closed, and his speech stilted. “They hurt like hell, but… I’ve always healed fast. I don’t think that’s changed.”
I can only pray he’s right, although the burns are quickly becoming the least of my worries.
When I pass my hand across his heart, his skin is cold to touch and the gray tinge has worsened, clouding his body all the way down his left arm and up the side of his neck. It’s like a dark shadow of the dust he was exposed to.
Just as I move to replace his shirt where it was, he gives a sigh and takes hold of my hand, stopping me.
“The warmth helps my heart,” he says.
I glance upward at the bright sky. “Do you mean the sun?”
Now that we’ve exited the cool forest, late-afternoon sunbeams are shining down around us and the heat is certainly calming to my nerves.
“The warmth, yes,” he mumbles.
At his response, I quickly but gently pull the opening of his shirt a little wider to expose more of his skin to the light. I rest my hand beneath it. “There.”
He fully relaxes, his eyes closing.
I consider his breathing and it’s a little steadier, which gives me the peace of mind I need to let go of some of my anxiety.
Not all of it, though. I need to do more for him, but I’m struck by my inability to help, my reliance on his healing power, and the hope that the sun will warm him enough that the chill will leave his heart.
For a second, I consider if the stag was trying to help him, since its antlers had a burning effect, but I dismiss that possibility too. That burn was icy. As cold as death. Not a warm burn that might have aided him.
No, the stag was trying to kill him.
And yet it didn’t try to hurt me.
With a sigh of frustration, I lie down beside Micah, my hand continuing to rest beneath his heart. I’m prepared if I need to jump up quickly, but for now, my body heat can only help him.
Slowly, very slowly, his breathing evens out and when I brush my hand upward, I find his skin warm again.
My relief is so huge that tears burn behind my eyes.
I finally exhale my tension.
Well, some of it.
Not all, because I need to face the anxiety that I’ve been pushing away.
