Everything had been going well, up to that point. Looking back, Ezekriel had not considered much after “Let’s explore and see if the map is real”. He hadn’t even considered the ramifications of what would’ve happened if the map Old Man Dan had given was real. As a result, they had the bare minimum of preparations when they set out.

They had their individual weapons, though Ezekriel and his brother were using iron, instead of proper steel like Theresa. All three had a third of a healing potion split between each other, but there was little food, water, or anything else. Which meant that they were ill-prepared for monsters, something that Ezekriel should have thought of.

As he and Theresa traveled, he thought. He could still hear the howls of the Graehounds as they stalked them. They were nervous, but the Graehounds didn’t attack. Instead, the two of them were full of adrenaline without an outlet.

“We can still head back, you know. Elendril needs us.” Theresa said with a blank face. They were taking a brief break. Their packs were laid to the side, as she slid a whetstone down her sword.

“We don’t stand a chance against this many Graehounds. Elendril knew as well as us. He won’t be doing any fighting, only running.” Ezekriel said.

“If you’re not going to go, let me go! He can’t survive out there alone!” Theresa said. Ezekriel sighed. Theresa was hard to reason with. She always got silly, completely unoptimal thoughts in her head.

“That’s not the point. Go back yourself, and you’re going to put yourself in more danger.” Ezekriel said. She stamped her foot in frustration.

“Then come with me, you dimwitted bastard! That’s your brother! We don’t have time to argue about this!” Theresa said.

“He can climb, you know. They can’t. He will be fine, as long as we can get help from the town!” He said. She stood up and faced him.

“That. Isn’t. The. Point! Time is ticking, and we need. Need to go rescue him. This isn’t time for you and your stupid pride!” Theresa said, with a finger jabbing into his face with each word.

Did she not see what he was talking about? If they could just get to town, they would be able to get all the help they needed. They couldn’t even fight the Graehounds stalking them with a guaranteed success, and she wanted to go rescue Elendril? Theresa backed away in a huff.

“Let’s go.” Theresa said. She picked up her pack. This time, however, the Graehounds attacked. With a howl, they began to bound through the forest towards them.

“Theresa! Back to back!” He yelled. She was already stepping back, letting her pack fall to the ground. He listened to her swear more than he had ever heard in his life as he watched the monsters come. The red monsters bounded quickly through the underbrush, their mouths wide in anticipation. The thin slitted eyes were like a razor, staring at him with black, beaded eyes. Their backs touched as they prepared for the Graehounds. His hands were sweaty as he held his shield and axe. Through the brush they charged, their red bodies contrasting against the greenery and the irritatingly pink Dorsten vines, even now. Ezekriel roared as they came.

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The first one crashed into his shield, claws scrabbling to grab him. He hefted his axe and smashed the axe blade into its head, killing it instantly. Theresa’s wordless cry of rage behind him. Two more charged him, one from the left and the other from the right. He needed to protect Theresa.

He held his axe sideways, and locked it into his shield hand like he was taught. When they jumped, he stepped into their charge. They hit him so hard that he felt the axe almost jolt out of his hand. With a roar, he swung the axe at one of them. It dodged, and the other swiped at his shield arm, scoring a gash across his shoulder.

Ezekriel yelled as he shoved one with his shield, and smashed the axe down on its head. Hot, purple blood splattered all over his face. The Graehound pounced onto him before he could recover his stance, forcing him down to the ground. Its jaws snapped before his face. Ezekriel grimaced as he tried to hold off the Graehound from ripping him apart. It gouged deep scratches into his arms and legs as they fought, even through the cheap leather armor he and Elendril had saved for.

He heard a cry that sent shivers through his back. His head twisted towards its direction. Theresa was injured! He ducked a swipe that went for his eyes, and roared again. With a heave, he set his legs under its groin and pushed up. The Graehound’s light body fell onto its back, and it rapidly scrabbled around to regain its footing. Ezekriel grabbed his axe and buried the axe blade into its chest. He cried out when it managed to gouge a deep wound into his leg in its death throes.

The Graehound jerked for a few more moments and died, but Ezekriel was too busy running to Theresa. On top of her, a dying Graehound lay in its death throes, still twitching. He shoved it off with arms that felt like lead. Below, Theresa was breathing heavily. Her eyes were tight with pain, and her swords had fallen from her hands. There were many scratches and tears across her body, but one wound gaped below her chest. Blood pulsed at a steady rate from the massive lacerations in her stomach.

Ezekriel cursed as he tried to grab his share of the healing potion. He opened his bag and pulled out a box. The potion was encased in a small box filled with soft wooden shavings. He now cursed as his clumsy fingers tried to undo the latch.

“Gods, gods, gods! Not now! Open faster, you damn box!” He muttered as he feverishly fiddled with the box. With a pop, it opened. He swiped the potion and and popped the cork. He hurriedly poured it over Theresa’s stomach, trying to cover the entire area. Theresa turned her side and coughed blood. As the healing potion worked, her eyes weakly opened. She moved her mouth. but Ezekriel couldn’t hear anything. He looked at her, dumbfounded.

“Water. Water. She needs water.” Ezekriel grabbed his water flask from his belt and shakily poured it into Theresa’s mouth. His throat screamed as he poured the remainder of his water. Little of the water actually went into her mouth; it spilled or dribbled down her cheek onto the soil.

Ezekriel felt tears beading in his eyes. He was shaking so bad, but she needed to live. Fire raced through his body, but it wasn’t time for him yet. He gently shook her shoulders back and forth.

“Theresa.”

“Theresa.”

“Theresa.”

“Theresa.”

It felt like an age passed before she cracked open an eye, and hazily glared at him.

“Fuck off.” She said in a weak voice.

Ezekriel smiled. Back to her usual self. Then, the world began to scream and turn white. With what potion he had remaining, he poured it over his leg wound before he closed his eyes and collapsed onto the ground.