Chapter 5: Ssstupid two legs!

I can’t breathe! I pull air in as quick as I can and blast it out, but no matter how I gasp my lungs scream for more. My legs are stiff, seeming to be stuck making the same ridged motion again and again and again. Sending me stumbling forward into the night. The only things I can hear are my gasping, my beating heart, and the sound of my chaser’s footsteps accompanying mine as we both race down the dirt road.

I am not going to make it. I don’t know how much farther I need to go, but I am breaking already. There seemed to be a lag between when I tell my feet to move and their response. Each time my feet catch a rock, or pothole, they are a little slower to catch me. One of these times they aren’t and that will be the end.

My thoughts move franticly. The weariness of the run and the adrenaline of the flight make it hard to concentrate on anything. I try to think of something, anything! A thought percolates up and grabs my attention. It is the continuation of the memory from earlier. I grasp it and remember.

The man who I cannot bite stands in front of me. His impenetrable defense has left me tired and wounded while leaving him none the worse for wear. I realize I am losing. I cannot win this fight, not as I am. But all is not lost yet. I have fought many battles and clashed against many a foe that could squash me with ease. I have a plan for these situations.

I set the plan in motion! Pivoting with all eight legs I make a dash for the deeper woods. I am confident there is little the small two legs can do to compete with my superior eight legs. It may have the defensive advantage, but those who specialize in defense are encumbered and can’t catch agile foes! I will use this fact to escape…

…how!? How can this smaller limbless predator keep up with me? My legs are longer and faster! With all of them keeping in time I fly over grass, bush, and branch at a dizzying speed, but somehow the two-leg continues to gain! A blue glow on his feet propels him forward making him leap forward at a speed I can’t match! He is quickly eating up the distance between us!

I begin to realize that I cannot escape my purser. I must change tactics.

Stopping and turning around I act as if I am going to attack! The pursuer stops and prepares for my strike. Grabbing a rock from the ground with my claws I chuck it at the predator. His sword glows and he strikes it in half, coolly resuming his defensive stance preparing for another salvo. But I am already gone! Ha, Ssstupid two legs!

The two-leg stands dumbly for a moment before with a shout he once again pursues me. However, this time I notice something. Although he is faster than I am, it takes him longer to get up to speed. With this new piece of knowledge, my strategy is found.

I change directions, I stop sometimes, sometimes I attack, sometimes I don’t. At one point, I even rush him and send him stumbling backward. I do not take the opening, however. The two-leg has proved clever and I am not interested in hunting such devious prey. It is too taxing.

I begin to grow weary, but the two-leg is also tired. His full speed lope does not seem to take much energy, but the constant acceleration and deceleration appear to have taken its toll. His breathing comes quick and labored. A sign of tiredness and fear in warmblood creatures. I suspect it is more of the former than the latter, though.

The gap between us slowly widens. I continue to switch up my path, making certain to leave no trail. After I have put some distance between us I scramble up a tree and hide. This is the deep forest. I am not the predator here.

As I sit in the tree, I ponder at the blue light that glows at his feet. It shows up when he runs and disappears when he stops. I don’t know why, but I could feel a connection to the blue energy. As if I was in a giant web and something was tugging faintly on one of the lines. Perhaps if I could figure out how to use the blue-thingy I could easily escape the next time I am chased.

Sitting still in my tree I start to search for where that tugging sensation had come from. It had not come from the outside, however. It was inside. Looking inside myself, I find—

I break free of the memory as I feel a tug at my arm. I scream and jerk my arm forward. The feeling of my arm sliding free tells me I successfully escaped. However, the sudden motion is too much! My body continues twisting, my foot continues forward and catches on my other leg! My momentum sends me sprawling to the ground rolling several times before I come to a stop facing the sky!

I can’t breathe! I hit a rock when I fell, and the impact has left me breathless. My mouth is flapping open and close like a dumb fish gasping for air. A small part of me appreciates how beautiful the night sky looks. The stars are simply dazzling out here in the woods without the moon or city lights to drown out their light. The rest of me is telling that part to shut up and GET MOVING!

I flail and my foot smashes against something fleshy. Scrambling on all fours, I manage to stumble to my feet, catching a wonderful breath of air.

*Gasp, Gasp, Cough, Cough, Cough, wheeze*

My gasping quickly turns into a fit of coughing. My throat is now making a dreadful wheezing sound with every breath. I taste iron.

I don’t have time to think about that, however, because I finally have a good view of my tormentor. I can barely make out its shape in the dark, but it is clearly standing upright on two legs. It is slightly smaller than me, and at any other time, I might have mistaken it for a child in the dim light.

Its proportions are all wrong, however. I can barely make out its limbs but even without proper lighting, I can tell they are too long for its body. It is hunched over; its arms opened wide as if to give me a hug. Nevertheless, my experience with grappling is hinting that it’s probably not going for a hug. At least not a pleasant one. It stalks forward and I stumble backward matching the creature’s pace.

If I still had questions about its inhuman nature, they are assuaged by its eyes.

Glowing yellow eyes that are too large for its head, dimly illuminating a long, hooked, crooked nose. The eyes are filled with hatred and I feel revulsion as they dart around my body. There is a terrible hunger in those eyes.

Trembling, I put my hands out in front of me to ward the creature off. My wooden sword trembles as I point it at the creature. I have no idea how I’ve managed to hold onto it for this long.

It pauses and gives the sword a dubious glance before edging forward. It is out of sword striking range and knows it. It inches forward staying just out of range, trying to provoke an attack.

This small breather, however, has given me time to think. Just like when I was chased by the two-leg—the hunter in my spider memories, I need to change the game. I don’t know how much further the road goes, but it’s become obvious the monster has more endurance than I do. I can’t keep running.

I take a stance. I quickly try to run through everything Mel has ever taught me. Try to match the swordsman’s form in my memories. I watch the monster inch closer and keep my sword pointed towards it to ward off attacks.

That is a mistake.

It lunges forward, arms outstretched. Not towards me, but the sword!

More on instinct than anything, I yank my sword away right before the creature's clawed hand closes on the wooden shaft. I mentally berate myself. I’m not using a real sword. I’m using a sturdy stick. I stumble backward trying to gain room as I reconfigure my strategy.

I can’t use the sword as a shield as the hunter in my memory did. The hunter’s sword was effective at blocking attacks because rushing forward would get you skewered. However, with a wooden sword the danger it presents when stationary is minimal. The most I could give is a strong poke. No, my wooden sword is most dangerous when in motion.

The creature has recovered from its earlier lung and now is rushing me again. Its arm outstretched as it jumps in a flying tackle.

*Smack, smack* *Snarl!*

As soon as I see him lung, I step back and swing at the leading arm. The swing hits with a satisfying “smack” sound and the vibration I feel in the handle tells a tale of wood smacking flesh. Hard. I then pull back and give another swing at the other arm in quick succession.

The creature crouches grabbing its left arm. I’d hit that one a little harder than the other. It glares at me as I continue to slowly back down the road. My breathing finally starting to level out. My heart is still beating erratically, and my legs are trembling, but I am recovering, slowly.

The creature doesn’t stay down long. Once again it leaps at me with similar results. The smacks to its arm in the same place produces a whine rather than a snarl. I continue to back down the road.

Okay, I have a plan now.

My plan is simple. Whenever it attacks, I will smack it. Then smack it again for good measure. I will have to be careful to not overreach any of my blows as a single overextension or miss will give it the opportunity to grab me. All the while step by step, I will slowly get closer to my destination. Each additional moment giving me longer to recover. I can do this!

This time the monster approaches slowly, its eyes showing a level of caution and base cunning that has me tense.

Suddenly, it burst into motion. I swing but the creature suddenly stops just out of range before darting forward again. I give out a surprised yelp, before quickly swinging my sword back in the other direction. The sword smacks against an arm but hits lower on the blade diminishing the power of the blow.

The creature ignores the smack to his right arm and reached out with his right and grabs my arm. A gloating look flashes across the face of which I have a closer view than I want. The talons of his hands sink into my skin sending searing pain up my arm.

“AAaaaaahhhh!” *thump* “Grkltp lurgr!”

The goblin stumbles back clutching its eye. Guttural-sounding curse words filling the air accompanying its screams. I clutched my wooden sword tight breathing heavily. That had been close. Too close.

When he had grabbed my left arm, I had screamed while releasing my two-handed grip on the sword. I had then brought the pommel of the sword down on the goblins eye with my right hand sending the goblin reeling backward from the attack.

Grabbing my left arm, I felt something wet slowly dripping down as my arm screams at the contact. Turning around I start sprinting down the road as fast as I can once again.

A little voice in my head is asking about the plan.

Shut up.

With the blood dripping from my arm and the realization that I am facing a goblin, my earlier plan is no longer possible. A slow defensive retreat would lead to me slowly bleeding out. Not to mention that on our third salvo he had managed to get past my guard and injure me. Keeping up the same thing for however many miles were left till I get home? I’d be minced meat long before the wound in my arm bled out.

So I ran.

My breathing quickly goes back to gasping and now there is a worrying dizziness that accompanies it. My head feels light and my eyes seemed to have trouble opening after blinking. Maybe I could take a rest? The goblin is still screaming in its guttural language behind me, surely a small rest wouldn’t hurt? Just until the world stops spinning…

I grabbed my left arm and squeeze.

“Aaaahhhhh!” *sob, sob, hic*

My high pitch wail bursts through the night and I feel something hot and wet streak down my cheek. Small pathetic sounds seemed to come from my throat, and I can’t stop them. The road blurs in front of me as I run.

But the desire to stop is gone. My mind feels crystal clear and I almost wish that the floating feeling would return. The agony in my arm goes unfiltered and the pain claws its way up into my perfectly clear head, perfectly able to feel every inch of my wounded arm.

I am still clutching the sword in my right hand as it presses up against my wounded left arm. The awkward placement of my arms and the sword is sending my run off-kilter and I briefly consider dropping the sword, but in the end, I grit my teeth and keep it. If the goblin catches up and kills me, I want to at least take out its other eye on my way out.

*hic, Gasp, hic*

The sobbing has evolved into the occasional hiccup in-between my gasps for breath. I am still trembling even as I run. Why can't I stop? Why can’t I stop?

*tap-tap-tap-tap-taptaptap*

A small sob escaped me at the sound. Pathetic.

Why? Why? Why? WHY?

I glance behind me and see the yellow eyes slowly getting closer. I can’t help it.

“Mommy! Help! Please! Sis? I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry! Please!”

I round a bend in the road and the relief I feel is so great I almost collapse.

In front of me is a large clearing in the woods. To the far right there’s a large barn and on the other side of the clearing a small shack. A small, cobbled path led from the game trail up to the house that stood in the center of the clearing. A few lights from the windows illuminating the otherwise dark night.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

My house. Salvation.

I soar towards the front door faster than I thought my tired legs could take me. The small footsteps behind me slow and grow more distant and finally, I reach the porch. Leaping up the steps I grab the door handle, yank the door open, and stumble inside. I quickly lock it behind me.

I collapse to the floor, breathing hard. I can hardly move, my muscles aren’t responding to my commands and if the goblin walked in right now I wouldn’t be able to do a thing. But it doesn’t matter! I’ve made it. I made it! I made it! I am alive! A small giggle escapes me, and then a full-bodied laugh.

I try to stop it, but I can’t. Can’t breathe! *He, he, ha, ha!* Can’t breathe!

“Shut’p girl!”

A slurred voice stills all the mirth I felt at escaping the goblin. A sinking cold feeling accompanies it. I know that voice. It’s my fathers, and he is drunk.

Stumbling into the room with his shirt untucked and a bottle hanging from his hand is my father. He looms over me as I struggle to at least sit up. I am short for my age, but it certainly doesn’t come from dads’ side of the family. Standing at 6’2, my father towers nearly a foot and a half over me and is big enough to lift me up with one hand. To me, he is a goliath. My father. A small part of me wonders how many bottles it takes to get a man that big drunk.

“D-Dad, there’s something outside! It chased me—”

“What do ya th’nk yer doin’ out d‘is late! I told ya to be ba’k afore dark! Dos’t look like afore dark to ya!! Huh!?”

“B-but the road was closed! I had to walk the game trail and then I was attacked!” I hold up my left arm to show him the long scratches that decorate it. The blood has slowed down and in the light of the room, I’m happy to see that the cuts aren’t deep. “See! The goblin got me on the arm!”

“Stup’d girl! Ain’t no gob’ins anywhere ne’r he’e! Stup’d, Stup’d grrl!”

He is nearly unintelligible by the end. Why is he this drunk? He is almost never this bad.

Another head peeks out from the hallway glancing between my father and me who is still sitting on the ground.

“Honey, what’s all the fuss about out here?” It’s my stepmother Anna Starch. I freeze as her eyes pass over me. I was hoping to avoid her when I got home. She, Dad, and my halfbrother and halfsister. Which is… everyone in the house

My Stepmother walks fully into the room. She is tall and pretty with long blond hair and wearing clothes that seem a little too small. I don’t get why she likes to walk around showing so much skin, though I’ve heard my Dad and stepbrother talk about how “hot she is” while doing it. Which I guess makes sense. Wouldn’t walk around like that if you were cold.

Regardless, her outfit tonight is particularly small. She’s wearing a skirt that doesn’t reach halfway down to her knees and a shirt that scoops down perilously. Her face is smiling but when she looks at me the expression seems stiff. I brace myself for what is coming.

“Now, now honey. Let’s not get all riled up over the girl. You know how teenagers are. She was probably off with some boy, having fun. I don’t want her spoiling the mood tonight. After all, tonight is a celebration for our son. Let’s not dampen it with this… waif.”

My dad pauses and considers it for a couple of seconds. His expression wavering between an angry beat red and a loving look that has… something else. Desire?

Anna steps forward and wraps herself around him from behind and his expression shifts to the last one as he turns and starts… kissing her?

Gross.

I cringe inside as they start passionately making out, and a part of me is so surprised that I nearly forget to sneak out of the room while the distraction lasts. Did Anna just defuse the situation? Am I really not going to get yelled at? I decide to not question my luck and use this time to bandage my arm. The adrenaline is slowly leaving me and the pain in my left arm is becoming unbearable.

Scuttling down the hall and up the wooden steps, I hurry towards where the medical supplies are. Mel thinks my house is weird and I’d have to agree. It’s something akin to a log cabin but scaled up to the size of a mansion. It has a big hall that can hold a couple hundred people and more rooms and other areas. Much more space than a small family of five could ever use. There are servant quarters, small dining rooms, game rooms, and so many hallways.

I’ve lived here two years now, and I can still get lost if I don’t follow the few paths that my family uses. And they are few.

Some might think having so much space is a blessing. It’s not. It’s a curse.

When we first arrived, Anna had been dead set on keeping the whole place neat and organized. This conviction of hers had lasted two miserable weeks.

It was impossible for a small family to keep clean an area that would require crews of full-time servants to maintain. We ran from room to room dusting, mopping, sweeping, and scrubbing away at the grime that had accumulated in the few weeks between its vacancy and our arrival. Morning till night, working till our arms went numb and our hands were pickled from the hot soapy water.

On and on it went. The thing that finally stopped the marathon of backbreaking labor was a sewage line that burst in one of the peripheral rooms. It erupted through the floor and spewed the room with sewage and waste. Anna took one look at the room and decided that it was best to lock it off for now and clean it up later.

And so the first week of cleaning ended with one room locked off to be cleaned at “another date”, by the end of week two there were four rooms locked off, and the cleaning had slowed to a trickle.

We don't lock rooms now. We just keep to select routes and areas that are cleaned and maintained. Going beyond these was a little dangerous with the neglect the structure had endured over the two years it had sat gathering dust and mold.

Inside the ‘safe area,’ we had a kitchen, a living room, a dining room, three bathrooms and each of us had our own room, with Anna and Dad sharing one and having another private one for themselves. We hardly ever ventured out of these areas.

Now would be an exception.

Reaching the end of the hallway on the second floor, I carefully move the clutter that sits in front of the door. The items are there to block the mice from getting through the crack at the bottom. They still get in of course. But nothing compared to the stream that comes without the blockade.

Cracking open the door, I try the small light switch on the other side. Nothing happens. I flick it up and down. Finally, a small flicker as the light above stutters and comes to life. It flickers and the hallway beyond is left flashing between black and white.

Great, just what I needed after getting chased home by a goblin. A flickering light bulb from a second-rate horror film.

I scurry down the halls taking a left then a right and another right before reaching one of the medicine cabinets that’s tucked away. Some of the lights work, some of them don’t. I run a little quicker in the darker areas.

The old cabin is littered with furniture, food, and medicine just sitting around. We’ve gradually plundered some of the nearer ones over the years, but if you know where to go there are still little caches left from when this place used to house hundreds instead of just my family.

Reaching the cabinet, I sigh with relief as I see that there are still some antibiotic ointment and wraps. I snatch a few down and cradle them in my right arm. Time to get out of—

*squeak*

I hear a small squeak in the darkness. I tense and my eyes dart around. I don’t hear anything, but my breathing still hitches. There’s nothing in the house Selina. There’s nothing in the house. It’s just a mouse. It’s just a mouse.

*squeak*

I run.

The logical part of my mind tells me that it is just a mouse. All the doors—other than the ones we use to get out of the house—are barred. Even the windows. Dad went through a paranoia stage and bought a bunch of plywood and screws to make sure of it. But the other part of my mind, the part that was just chased for who knows how long by a goblin isn’t having it.

I sprint down the hallways, flicking off the lights as I go. I usually wouldn’t have bothered but I know if I don’t, I’ll be sent back to do it and I don’t want to come back.

I slip on the wooden floorboards and crash into the wall dropping a couple of wraps on the ground. It’s fine, I brought more, just keep running!

Catching my balance, I try and run around the next corner but end up colliding with that wall too.

*whimper*

This time it is my left arm that hits the wall. Tears stream down my face, but I keep running. My breath is coming fast but I can see the light back in the safe area. Grabbing the door handle, and dropping a few more things, I heave the door open and dive to the other side closing the door with a crash behind me.

*Hu hu hu hu hu hu*

My breath comes in ragged spurts as I clutch my wounded left arm. My vision blurs as I start to convulse as I try and hold in the sobs. Why? There wasn’t anything out there! Why am I so scared!?

I curl into a ball clutching my left arm rocking back and forth. Why? Why? Why?

*Cl-Clack*

My head jerks up as I hear a door opening down the hallway. No. No. No. I can’t let my dad see me like this. Or Anna Or Mike. No. No. No! No!

The door that opens is the second to the end of the hallway and belongs to none of the people that I’m worried about. I nearly lose it and start full-blown crying when I realize it is my halfsister Ophir instead.

Ophir is taller than Anna and bears dark brunet hair where Anna’s is blond. Her figure is not nearly as curvaceous, and she seems to prefer bundling up in clothing that covers her arms and neck. Of anyone in the house, I have the best relationship with her. She is probably 18 now? I’m not certain though. I’m not good at remembering people’s birthdays. Or any dates for that matter.

Ophir starts to turn towards me. Probably from the stifled whimpering sounds I’m making. I’m not even scared anymore, but I can’t seem to stop! It’s frustrating.

Our eyes meet and I freeze. Immediately I feel super self-conscious of the fact that my left arm is covered in blood, my hair is a mess long since escaped the braid Mel had made this morning, and my face is streaked with dirt dust and tears.

Nope. Not doing anything here. Perfectly normal day. Please continue on your way and don’t mind me.

Please?

Ophir doesn’t leave. Can’t she take a clue? I really don’t want to talk to anyone now. Or be told what a ‘stupid girl’ I am for making up stories about goblins or dragons or whatever. Sure, I like to “make-believe” but that doesn’t mean I’d make up a story when it actually matters!

At this point, all I want to do is get back to my room, bandage my arm, and go to bed.

…After I get a real long drink of water. My throat is killing me.

She starts to walk closer not breaking eye contact with me.

When she is three feet from me, she crouches down and gets at eye level. Her eyes scan my huddled form, paying particular attention to my left arm. Probably because of the copious amounts of blood covering it. If I had to guess.

*sniff*

Stupid nose. Stupid goblin. Stupid mice. Stupid girl.

She meets my eyes again. This time her expression is stony, and I have to stop myself from flinching. Her eyes are narrowed and angry, her hands clenched so tightly that her knuckles are white. Scary.

“Did dad do this?” Her voice is low and dangerous.

What?

My first thought is she’s talking about the braids in my hair. Why does she want to know if Dad did my hair? And why is she so angry about it? I know they’re bad but there’s no need to get scary about it.

Then the actual meaning comes through, and I almost can’t stop myself from laughing. Of course, she’s talking about the arm! My Dad has never hit me, ever. The idea that she could be talking about my dad hitting me never even crossed my mind.

I must be very tired.

“N-*cough*-no, it wasn’t dad.” My voice comes out so hoarse I don’t even recognize it as my own. The words seem to rip my throat apart as they come out sending me into another convulsing fit of coughs.

*cough, cough, cough, cough*

“Come on, let’s get you patched up,” Ophir says. Her expression isn’t as stony as before. Her eyes carry just the barest hint of softness. She begins to take the bandages and antibiotic creams from me. Hey! Get your own bandages!

It takes me a second to realize that she’s trying to help me. I must really be tired.

She reaches down a hand to help me up. I take it with my right hand, and she gives a small heave. I push off the ground with my feet, grateful for the support—

*thump*

Only to fall back right on my bum. I look down at my feet in confusion. Why you gotta be like that?

I try again to get up this time without Ophir’s hand and find that my legs aren’t really responding to my commands with anything more than the occasional twitch. A twitch that sends searing cramps up my legs and makes me gasp at the pain.

Well, walking’s out. I guess I can crawl where I need to go. With cramping legs and one arm. Ya, that’ll work.

I start to scoot myself forward on the ground. My room is just down the hall. And down the stairs. I like the first floor. It’s farther from the scary door that leads to the rest of the house.

Something about that last thought bothers me. Why am I worried about the stairs? My mind seems to swirl around the answer before abruptly vanishing. I’m sure it's not important. If it is, I’ll think of it later.

*Sigh* “Honestly.” I hear an exasperated voice behind me and then feel a pair of arms grabbing me from behind. I jerk for a second, thinking that it’s the goblin, getting ready to hurt me and break me and—

“Stop struggling! I’m just going to pick you up okay. Honestly, if you’re hurt ask for help! Stop being silly!” The angry voice of Ophir comes from behind me. I relax.

Silly Selina, there are no goblins in the house. You’re really silly.

*grunt*

I tense up again as the arms tug me up and away from the ground and I find myself looking at Ophir’s face and chest from up close. There is an arm around my back and under my knees, my right arm is pressed against Ophir’s stomach. I feel a brief sense of panic at not touching the ground but soon relax at being held. What was I doing again?

Bandages. Bandages. I was getting bandages.

“I thought you’d be heavier.” Ophir’s voice sounds above me reminding me where I’m at. I blink and realize that I’m being princess carried by my half-sister. My cheeks flush red, but it feels good so I don’t struggle.

We—meaning Ophir—walk down the hall, barely slowed by the weight in her arms. She approaches the stairs but then suddenly takes a right. Wait, that’s not my room, that’s her room. Did she get them confused? Did she forget she was carrying me? I am pretty small.

I struggle. “My rooms that way.” I point towards the stairs with my right arm best as I can with it squished up against her. My voice isn’t as hoarse as before, but it still hurts. I really need some water.

“Hmph, if you think I’m carrying you down the stairs then forget about it. We’ll bandage you up in my room first and then get you into yours.”

Stairs, stairs, Ah! That’s why I was worried about the stairs! Because I would have had to crawl down them with my hurt arm!

I feel a sense of triumph at figuring out the puzzle as we enter Ophir’s room. She sits me on her bed and begins to examine my left arm. She’s saying something to herself, but I can’t quite catch it. I feel a little dizzy sitting up like this.

She leaves the room and I stare blankly at the door. I should be doing something right? I should probably go to my room and bandage myself and get a drink of water and… Despite the thoughts streaming in my head I continue to stare at the door. My head bobbing downward before I jerk it back up.

The door opens and she returns with a couple of wet washcloths. She approaches me and kneels down grabbing my left arm tightly. She says something but the buzzing in my ear distracts me. She takes the washcloth and—

*Hiss*

The pain breaks me out of my stupor as I try and pull away.

“Stop! We have to clean it, or it’ll get infected!”

I try not to move as she continues to clean the blood and dirt from off my left arm. I clench my teeth and shudder at the feeling of the soft cloth scraping against the wound. It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!

It must be clean enough because she gets out the antibiotic ointment and begins applying it to the scratch marks. That doesn’t hurt nearly as bad.

Finishing up she grabs a bandage and starts to wind it around my arm. My breathing calms and my body relaxes. Tucking the ends in, I now have a nice little cloth sheath for my left arm. Looks pretty cool too. Like I’m some kind of hero hiding a devastating wound to keep my identity secret. Or maybe to cover up that beneath the wrappings is in fact—dun, dun, dun!—a robotic arm!

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Ophir’s voice breaks me from my fantasies. I respond immediately.

“W-water.” Ophir quickly leaves the room and comes back with a cup of water. I watch it as it slowly crosses the room. She starts to hand it to me before reconsidering and holds the cup to my mouth instead.

I’m annoyed with how she only gives me a little trickle at first, but she slowly speeds up and soon enough I’ve drunk the entire cup. Almost immediately I feel my eyes grow heavy and my head dips down. I try to lift them up but…

“Selina. I know you’re tired, but you can’t sleep yet. I’ve got to tell you some things first.”

I mumble something back. I’m not really sure what.

“Selina, do you remember that Me, Dad, Mom, and Mark are leaving tomorrow? We are getting our citizenship for the Empire and will be gone for a week or two. I need to know, WHAT hurt you.”

The urgency in her words brings me back a little. I respond my voice slurred.

“Something chased me. Game trail. Grabbed my arm.”

I can’t see her response, but she shifts on the bed with me.

“Why didn’t you take the bus home? And do you know what grabbed you?” The question blurs in my mind as I struggle to answer.

“Road blocked. Dog. Had to go around.” I manage to answer the first question but struggle to remember the second. My thoughts are slow, and I can’t remember what the other question was.

I think I’m falling asleep.

“I’ll call and ask why the road was blocked. It should probably be fixed tomorrow but in case it isn’t I’ll arrange for one of my friends to pick you up and bring you home. I’ll also call and pay the pound. If there’s a dog attacking people, then they’ll need to take care of it.”

My mind doesn’t follow all of what she says. I’m confused too. Didn’t I tell her already why the road was blocked? Ah well, it's not important. I am happy I won’t have to walk the game trail though, that’s… good.

My cheek is pressed up against something soft. A bed? I hear a sigh and an “Honestly” from somewhere.

I think I am falling aslee—