It was the smells he remembered the most. The hot, dry smell of late summer. The sharp, sweet smell of smoke from the outdoor oven, mixing with the scent of fresh baked bread. The clean, dusty, coppery scent of fresh hay soaked in blood.

He remembered climbing out the hay loft window and grabbing the beam. Swinging up to wrap his legs around it and slowly shuffling to the block and tackle at the end. He remembered slipping. Screaming. Nothing. The other boys screaming at each other. Blaming each other? Nothing.

Pain. Short, rhythmic bursts. Heavy breathing. Nothing.

Quietly arguing voices. One deeper, angry, biting off indistinct words. Another quiet and pleading. Feminine. Mom and dad, he realized. And one more voice, unfamiliar.

Henry's eyes flew open as he gasped. He barely had time to realize he was in a hospital room before his mom was by the bedside, half diving over the bed rail to smother him in a hug. His dad was standing at the end of the bed, eyes red and face creased with worry. But smiling.

A third man was turning to leave the room. A doctor? No, the man was wearing a black suit. Doctors didn’t wear suits, right? They wore white coats and blue pants. Henry was pretty sure of that.

Henry started to ask his parents what was going on, but realized there was something in his mouth. No, there was something going all the way down his throat! Henry panicked, thrashing from side to side, desperately trying to free his arms from his mom's hug. He had to pull it out!

"Woah! It's ok!" His dad was at his side in a flash, huge hands gently but firmly holding Henry's shoulders. "Shhh. you're ok. Shhh. You're in the hospital but you're ok."

"I'll send the nurse in on my way out." The other man said.

Dad turned and glared at the man, rage written plainly across his face. "Just get out. We don't need any more 'help' from you."

The other man chuckled darkly. "Not a very appreciative person, are we?" He said, his tone one of mock hurt. He turned to leave. “Remember to take good care of my champion.” He called out over his shoulder as he left the room.

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Champion? Henry wondered. What does that mean? “whgt…” was all he managed to get out. The reality of his situation was brought suddenly and painfully back into focus, the tube in his throat cutting off his words.

His dad pressed a call button on the side of the bed and soon a bevy of shocked nurses and doctors were swarming around the bed, pressing and prodding and checking machine readouts. It took far longer than he would have liked to have the tube removed, though in reality it was one of the first things they did after confirming he wasn’t in immediate danger.

The next couple of days were a blur for Henry. It seemed that the fall had been far more serious than he realized. The adults didn’t talk to him about it of course. Who’s going to tell an eleven-year-old that they had almost died? He pieced it together by pretending to be asleep when the doctors talked to his parents.

His best friend John stopped by at the end of the second day. “Imsorryididntknowthatwouldhappenimsorry” John blurted in a rush as soon as he came into the room. It had been John’s idea to use the block and tackle to try and launch dirt clods in the air – tying a small pouch on the end and having all the other boys yank as hard as they could to get the dirt flying. When the first attempt jammed a dirt clod into the pulleys it had been Henry who had volunteered to climb out and clear the dirt so they didn’t all get in trouble.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Henry reassured his friend. “it’s not a big deal.”

“Henry…you’re in a hospital. You’ve been here like three days! It’s a huge deal!” John burst out, his face flickering into a surprised expression before fading into sadness. “I thought you were going to die.” He said softly, looking down at the floor. “Dad looked so angry. He ran with you all the way up to the house. Didn’t even wait for an ambulance, he got Joe to hold you and sped the whole way here I guess.” Large wet tears were making tracks down John’s face now.

Joe was John’s older brother. He had been helping with the haying so Henry hadn’t seen him that day. He gave his friend a few minutes to compose himself. He nearly started talking when the silence grew to an uncomfortable level, but John continued speaking.

“I thought you were dead. You had blood coming out of your ears and your nose. and your eyes were…” John drifted off for a minute. “your eyes looked dead.”

“Well, I wasn’t.” Henry replied with a confidence he didn’t feel. “Your Dad must have gotten me here in time, and the doctors fixed everything. I’m fine!” He plastered on a smile for his friend’s sake.

John smiled back weakly. “Yeah. I’m glad. I’m glad you’re ok.”

They didn’t end up talking anymore after that. Though each tried to find words, none came. John’s dad came soon after to take John home. The boys said goodbye to one another, and Henry was left alone with his thoughts.

He was fine. He knew that. The doctors had called it a miracle. He was fine. He told himself over and over again. His friend was overreacting. He hadn’t really been that close to death. He couldn’t have been. Eleven was too young to die. He couldn’t die. Could he?

His thoughts were interrupted as his parents came in. They were excited, he was being released the next day. His mom gushed about it, while his dad grumbled about having to argue with the doctors to get him released.

Henry smiled along with his parents. Assured them he was definitely looking forward to going home. Yes, mom. Its going to be great to have home cooked meals instead of hospital food.

The evening wore on, and soon Henry drifted off to a fitful sleep. He dreamt of blood soaked hay. Tears running down John’s face. And a word. A single terrible word repeated over and over.

“Champion.”