He was still getting used to the voice in his head. He didn’t hate it.

It was warm, a companionship that followed in places he couldn’t reach. It was as intangible as it was palpable, for how it had settled so comfortably inside. Every word was soft. Every sound was pleasant. Where only the world had offered its accompaniment, that which he couldn’t see made for lovely company.

You are not fearful, then.

“Am I supposed to be?”

Not necessarily. Still, you have accepted such a bond with grace beyond those before you. Are you not apprehensive?

River only smiled. “You haven’t given me any reason to feel that way.”

I…see. I will not deny my surprise, all the same.

“I’m enjoying your company, actually,” he confessed.

And I yours, as could be expected. You are…interesting.

His smile caught something slightly more playful. He couldn’t help it. “In a good way?”

I would say so.

River chuckled. “You’re interesting, yourself.”

You embrace my voice, sudden as it comes. Such is not always standard, as I have stated.

River adjusted the straps of the case on his shoulders. “I don’t mind. I kind of like it. You make for a nice little voice in my head.”

The voice in question gave a soft hum of satisfaction in return. That, too, was nice.

Solitude wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, and freedom wasn’t necessarily undesirable. He didn’t dislike isolation, and the blessings of nature were satisfactory companions in and of themselves. The little town had showered him with such in abundance, and he exploited every inch of sunshine he was given. It was nice. It was safe. It was secure.

That was hardly the point, and the way by which civilization was nearly forgettable almost made him laugh. River hadn’t even bothered to remember its name, coincidental as his crossing had been. Still, it was beautiful from beyond, its borders picturesque and thriving. That took priority. He indulged in it to his heart’s content.

It wasn’t as though he had any other intentions. It wasn’t as though he had any other plans in general. What was to come would come, and the autumn wind was once more at his back. It was as symbolic as it was literal, and he embraced the breeze that traced his skin so gently. If he could surrender to it altogether, he would. Apparently, in some ways, he could. More than his newest companion, he was still getting used to that.

The accordion wasn’t heavy, nor was it particularly out of place nestled against his back. The degree to which the sensation felt natural was almost jarring, and River was half-convinced he’d been dreaming for several days. Everything was inexplicable, if not incredibly fascinating.

The few times he’d tried, it had felt wonderful. With winds far more mortal grazing his face beneath the sunshine, he was tempted to match them with his own. It sounded lovely last time. He could probably do it while walking, if he was careful.

Where will you go from here?

If the soft rustling of leafy canopies and swaying foliage didn’t fill the silence, the voice would offer an intermission. It was gentle, and River’s peace was shattered gracefully every time. Not once was it unwelcome. “I don’t know. I…never know, really. I like traveling, I guess. I go wherever my heart takes me. I’m not sure how else to put it.”

Do you have ambitions?

He shrugged slightly, the accordion shifting in the case with a clink as he did so. “To be honest, this is what I’ve got. I don’t like the idea of being tied down. I’ll leave things up to fate, and I’ll follow where that leads. If that takes me somewhere unfamiliar, then that’s even better.”

You seek the unknown, then?

“If it comes to me first.”

Do you fear it?

“Not by default.”

The voice in his head was silent for a moment. You fit your legacy well.

River’s eyes flickered towards the blue skies above, useless as he knew the motion to be. “My…legacy?”

You possess a spirit of wind. You are not aimless, but rather untethered. You are free. So, too, do you just as freely accept that which crosses your path. It would serve to illuminate your reception of my own spirit, then.

He meant it literally, maybe--the wind aspect in particular, at least. “A spirit of…wind,” River repeated slowly.

That is to say, you are Spirited.

He tilted his head. “Is that a good thing?”

It is wonderful.

River smiled softly. Purely sentimental or not, his words were warm. The spilling sunlight from on high grazed his skin with a different type of warmth entirely, and the combination was serene. He was surely still dreaming. If he tried, he could surrender the tender earth beneath his feet in favor of the sky above. He was already floating, anyway.

“Do you have a name?” River tried. “I suppose I can’t keep calling you ‘the voice in my head’ forever.”

I go by the name of Rondelio.

River’s smile brightened somewhat, unseen as he knew it to be. “It’s nice to meet you, Rondelio. I’m sorry for not asking sooner.”

And would you still wish that I call you River?

He nodded. “I’m surprised that you remembered. Now I feel even more guilty.”

I would not forget the name of my own. I am yours, as you are mine.

Possessive or otherwise, it was a sentiment that somehow rang endearing. River chuckled. “I’m fine with that. I look forward to having you at my side, then.”

And I, as to you, my child.

That, too, felt soft. River liked it. Every sentence and affirmation seeped its way into his heart, droplet by droplet. He let it, and he embraced the satisfaction that followed in its wake. It answered one question, given that he’d already salvaged a moniker for the instrument itself. As to what purpose the accordion had, he cared little.

It was more than a novelty, and to call it such would be an insult. It was a gift he intended to unravel thread by thread, note by note as its gusting melody graced his soul. He was still strongly considering attempting to play while walking. He doubted he’d attract attention so far from town, lost in the embrace of nature as he was. Greenery alone would be his audience, and he could perhaps outdo the delicate breeze that taunted him time and time again. River stopped considering, eventually. He submitted to the whim.

He refused to lay the case upon the ground with anything more harsh than a careful thud, balanced and precise. Simplistic black was nearly an insult to the resplendence beyond, and the gracious sun did the instrument justice as he flipped the silver locks. He still hadn’t quite gotten over how pristine it was, nor the way by which such splendor could be abandoned. He was better off for it, he supposed, and it was a blessing of fate.

River hesitated to question it, stifling his “what-ifs” in favor of smooth keys beneath his fingertips. Every vibrant hue of black and white alike shimmered preciously under the glowing sky, and yet more so with each minor movement. It was strange to hold firmly while moving, and straightening up in full with the bulky instrument in his arms was difficult. It would take practice, he supposed. He didn’t mind the concept one bit.

The song was more than worth it.

It came naturally, perhaps more so than any feeling that had ever touched his blood. His hands moved of their own accord, and his fingers pressed on each glistening key in turn. The rich sound was as divine as the sensation it came with. River closed his eyes, indulging in the softest chill that was born beneath his touch.

His blood rushed freely, palpable with every pulsing heartbeat. He was fluid from within, and tension was dashed in favor of something inexplicably malleable. Were he to exhale too sharply, he would forget where his breath ended and his spirit began. It spoke to nothing of the wind, the most delicate breeze born of his melody just barely teasing his hair.

Where it missed, it fell, scraping the ground and ensnaring discarded nature. The scattering gale was miniscule and playful, by which crumbling leaves brushed against his ankles and swirled about his shoes. He wove the smallest of vortexes with every note, and it was infinitely tranquil. His spirit was as resonant as his soul.

If he played harder, if he stole his awareness from the waking world and submitted to his trance in full, he could be just as free. He was the eye of his own storm, winds so lovingly crafted gracing him at every angle. It was wonderful. His smile was eternal, warm in place of chilling gusts that stole his heart.

“Your song is beautiful,” he praised above his Spirited harmony.

And yet you are the one who has brought it into being.

River beamed, never once stilling his fingers as they roamed over every key. “You have two names, right? Would you like me to call you Renegadria or Rondelio?”

Call me as you like. Both are true, somewhat. You hold my vessel, and you hear my voice. Each bears a title, put simply. Of either one, I…suggest you keep it close to your heart.

River’s attention was unevenly distributed, by which the soft winds born of a softer song still captivated him in every way. Still, the voice in his head was just as gentle, and every word paired well with the melody of his spirit. He didn’t mind. The implications were more concerning. “I figured as much, but am I supposed to keep you a secret?”

For our safety in tandem, I would recommend so.

Closed as his eyes were, he was somewhat convinced he’d evaporated entirely. He didn’t mind that, either. Guarding a song so breathtaking wasn’t exactly a disheartening thought, if it meant it called his hands home. “I’ll keep you safe, then,” River swore with the same gentle smile.

And I you, for you shall have my spirit.

His heart felt as light as his gales. If he was making more, it was surely accidental. He didn’t resist it, suspicious only by virtue of silky fabrics rippling against his skin. He’d stopped walking, at some point, content to embrace only a streaming tempest on every side. “It’s…almost sad that I have to hide you away,” River said. “Your power is lovely. You have so much to offer the world.”

And yet, I say once more, I am nothing without a bond that holds true. Only through you, my child, is such a blessing upon this world possible. Your spirit is pure, and this realm is better for it. In that way, we are not so different.

His hands slowed. So, too, did the winds that so wonderfully besieged his hair begin to settle. His song waned, his stormy melody tapering off with the most gentle of stifled notes. Each echoed, captured on his fleeting gales and carried well beyond the clouds as they escaped. Where his heart had beaten so freely and vividly, something different took hold. He couldn’t place what.

“I don’t…think we’re as similar as you’d believe.”

What do you mean?

River’s eyelids fluttered open slowly, and he squinted as harsh sunlight stung his pupils. “I don’t really have anything to offer. I don’t really have anything in the first place. This is…all I am. I’m honored that you chose me as your partner, don’t misunderstand. It’s just…I don’t think ‘aimless’ is a bad descriptor.”

Are you bothered by such?

River tightened his grip around the accordion in the slightest. “You’re the first thing I’ve had to myself in a while. If I can do something for you, then that would make me happy. It would give me something to follow.”

Rondelio paused. I…see. Know that your happiness is precious, my child. Still, do not feel indebted. We are equal.

They were not. It was impossible.

His power was divine. The mortal hands that took hold of his winds and stole his spirit were perhaps sacrilegious in their actions. It was another level of pleasurable, by which a storm not born of this world wrapped River up in utter bliss. It didn’t make it any less sacred. There was nearly guilt that came with his indulgence, and River silently chided himself for it.

In a vast world, he was small and shapeless. There was almost a comfort in the way by which they were both out of place, puzzle pieces matching only with one another. Whether or not he deserved to reach for them was debatable.

Have I distressed you?

His silence was suspicious, apparently. River shook his head, his windswept hair brushing against his cheeks. “N-Not at all.”

If you are troubled, I am here.

River cobbled together a weak smile. “Thank you. I’m--”

It was faint. It came with rustling, and he initially believed it to be yet more foliage blighted by the cool breeze. Still, the sound was most definitely not from above, and his eyes flickering in every direction confirmed as much. It happened twice. The second time was softer, and yet undeniably below him. River’s gaze drifted left, dropping off beyond where his footing was stable.

Are you alright?

Tentative steps brought him to the rim of the ledge, out of place with the path as it was. Where nature had flanked him so bountifully on the right, the opposite side spoke only to crumbling stone. It was unsteady on sight, and he feared treading too closely. Thrice over, he heard the same unmistakable ruffling of leafy greenery below. Upon the third instance alone, it came with a strangled sound, just barely audible and surely human. He couldn’t pinpoint it, whether emotionally or otherwise. Peering was dangerous. He tried anyway.

“I…thought I heard something down there,” River clarified aloud for the voice in his head.

Be careful.

He intended to be. He watched his steps with care, the sprawling horizon beyond sadistically misleading in the face of a steep drop. It was angled, if he looked, cloaked in the pale grays of exposed stone and scattered earthy debris. He could descend with the most cautious maneuvering imaginable, albeit at the risk of tumbling some thirty feet at minimum. Deceptively-plush grass swayed at the base, and he feared colliding with it the hard way. If he strained his eyes, he’d find that he wouldn’t have been the first. His heart skipped a beat painfully.

The case hit the ground with a thud far less gentle than the first time around. He couldn’t help it, although he handled the instrument with far more care by comparison. River surrendered the accordion in favor of empty hands once more, shaking in their own right as he confirmed the sight yet again.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Whether or not they were alive was debatable. From so high above, the sprawled-out pale hues of skin amongst lush flora were his only indicator of tragedy in the first place. How long he’d been following the trail was anyone’s guess, to say nothing of where he was. The latter was his own problem, and little cause for concern. To whomever rested below, isolation was surely unintentional.

Everything was a reflex. For the secret he was tasked with keeping, he didn't dare shun the instrument in full. Hasty reclamation of the accordion upon his back, stuffed hurriedly within bulky confines, preceded his instincts alone.

River’s body moved before his thoughts could catch up, and he counted his blessings that a way down existed at all. It didn’t make the descent any less precarious, by which every tentative placement of his feet was painstakingly slow. He was left to inch down the perilous slope, more or less, stray gravel clinging to his clothes and dust smearing soft silks. At least twice, River nearly lost his balance, for how he hardly had any in the first place. He held his breath all the way down, lest he, too, crash to the unforgiving earth below.

What are you doing?

There’s someone down there.

He didn’t have the leeway to say it out loud. He struggled to string the words together in the midst of his concentration. They never left his lips, even as he found the opportunity to open his mouth.

Even so, I say once more, please be careful.

River’s eyes widened. Distraction nearly did him in, and he ground his palms firmly against rugged rocks beneath his skin. Can you…hear me like this?

Just as you can hear my voice, so, too, do I hear yours.

It was the worst possible time for his heart to feel light. He couldn’t help it. It dulled the stress that came with descent.

Upon claiming solid ground once more, he nearly stumbled. He brushed what flakes of crumbling stone he could from his clothes, catching his breath somewhat. His eyes flickered upwards towards the walking path, abandoned so far above his head. Getting back up would be difficult, surely. It wasn’t the most pressing concern. That, instead, came in the form of companionship he wished he didn’t have out here.

She couldn’t have been much younger than him. Whether or not the girl was conscious was debatable. Every breath was shallow, and yet the notable rise and fall of her shoulders alleviated one of River’s fears. If nothing else, she was alive. It didn’t leave her in good health. Flat on her back, the gash crawling along her torso was undeniably fresh. It oozed remorselessly, pouring with maroon that shimmered as it stained the soft grass below.

Frazzled hazel locks had tangled with stray twigs, exposed skin lie peppered with splattered dirt, and he caught the same pitiful moans of suffering. Each was faint, if not more so than had been the case above. The bleeding took priority, soaking yet more through the serrated fabric of her shirt with each passing second. His stomach lurched.

River hesitated to touch her at all. He didn’t have a choice, dropping to his knees at her side. His pants just barely dipped into the spreading puddle of scarlet tinting the grass, although it did little to garner his attention. If she’d fallen, he feared for what was broken. He settled on her head, then.

As delicately as was possible, River brushed his fingertips along the girl’s hair. “Are you alright?”

It was a fruitless question. He knew the answer. Still, it was all he could find.

It gave him something to work with, at least. Her eyelids fluttered, slowly but surely. He was graced with the blue of the sky he’d abandoned above, still half-lidded and glassy. Her breathing was just as unsteady and just as weak. It took far too long for her clouded gaze to drift to his, pooling with pain he regretted awakening.

The sharp gasp she set free came in tandem with subtle movements. Her best attempts to shift her body were blighted instantly by a wound that continued to pour crimson to the ground. It was almost an instinct to force his hands onto her shoulders, and he resisted at the last possible moment.

“Please don’t move,” River requested softly. “You’re bleeding. Did you fall?”

She managed the slightest of nods. When her gaze crawled roughly thirty feet up a graying slope, River’s own followed along. If he was hard-pressed to return to the walking path, bringing her back to the same would be abysmal.

“What happened?” he tried.

His answer came through gritted teeth, every word coated in suffering. “I…slipped,” the girl explained weakly. “I was…trying to get home. It was…my fault for walking…too close to the ledge. I hit something…on the way down. It really hurts.”

That much could be expected. If River cast his eyes behind, the tractionless ledge that had threatened his balance with crumbling gravel wasn't uniform. He’d been lucky to only be robbed of friction. There was hostile earth, if he cared to inspect, jagged and unforgiving as uneven rocks jutted out from the same slope. Haphazardly-angled trees did little to contribute to safety. River had enough suspicions to assemble a crude explanation. Context alone wasn’t enough to stifle a gushing wound.

Ultimately, he had nothing in his possession to assist. He traveled light to begin with, harboring little more than the clothes on his back--now marred by dust and debris as they were. He could carry her, maybe, although where he’d go was debatable. Climbing was out of the question. Navigation would leave him in reverse for hours. He knew nothing of first aid beyond what common sense he could scrape together. He still tried.

“Can I see?” River asked quietly, anxious hands already hovering above the glistening gash. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

Her eyes, too, glistened. His heart burned. Finding help was an option, although it would leave her alone and helpless in the middle of--for all intents and purposes--nowhere. As carefully as was possible, River submitted his fingers to staining scarlet as he peeled back tattered flaps of cloth. He was no doctor. If it was shallow, he couldn’t tell at first glance.

It was long enough, spanning well over half of her right side. The makeshift bandage that was soaked clothing scraps had sufficed, clearly. The moment he removed it, he figured that out the hard way. He earned red for his troubles, spilling yet more in a steady stream that trickled down bruised skin.

Earthy debris wasn't content to claim her outsides alone, and speckled dirt had snuck its way into the sprawling laceration. Even beneath his tender inspection, she cried out the moment his touch came too close. He recoiled sharply, blood-tinged fingers painting pale skin with an accidental swipe.

“I-I’m sorry,” River offered quickly, his heart beating much too fast.

She was quiet, squeezing her eyes shut with the tiniest whimper of pain. She didn’t move, and her breathing grew perhaps more rapid. River could do little but watch the pain that flickered across her face with every inhale, for how it surely stimulated the wound in turn. His own stomach hurt from the sight alone.

I don’t know what to do.

He strongly doubted the voice in his head would have the answers he needed, let alone the capacity to guide him through first aid. Still, it would be calming, maybe. It was worth trying. He didn’t enjoy the way his hands were trembling.

There is a way.

River’s racing thoughts slowed in the slightest. A way to…what?

You wish to aid her, yes?

He nodded. He knew the motion to be lost on them both, closed eyes and an unseen voice immune to the gesture in tandem. Yes. I don’t think I can get her back up there myself, though. I…don’t have anything to stop the--

I could lend you my spirit.

His voice was overpowering, and River’s thoughts were lost beneath it. What do you mean?

You are Spirited, Rondelio went on. Upon your blood, you are gifted with that which is meant to heal. Should you wish it, you may ease her suffering. Such is that which blesses you, so that you may bless others in turn.

River’s pounding heartbeat steadied, his eyes settling neatly on the gruesome wound once more. The girl continued to offer only soft sounds of pain, shirking pleas for help or tears in their place. Where he gave her no words of comfort, he clung to words not his own from within. Are you saying that I can heal her? Is that…your power, too?

I say again, child, that you are the one who would bring such into being. It is just as much yours.

How would I do it?

I would guide you.

In the…same way as your song?

You would do as you have done.

His hesitation was momentary, and he spared only a fraction of a second. Carefully, he slipped the straps from his shoulders, once more lowering the case to the ground with a cautious thud. It got the girl's attention, her clouded eyes opening yet again as she gazed at him with mild confusion. It hardly mattered.

River was already running through the motions of flipping locks and gathering that which he was coming to love into his arms. The positioning was growing instinctive, the instrument settling naturally into place with little manual input. His fingers found a home, marred by drying red or otherwise along every key. He met the girl's eyes, stealing one deep breath.

Know that such healing is not without consequence. I must warn you now.

River tensed. What do you mean?

Where you would give, something would be taken in return. It is unavoidable, a price to pay for blessings not meant for this world. You are not obligated, I will remind you.

I don’t understand, he confessed.

It was Rondelio who was quiet, momentarily. Where you would heal others, you will lose yourself. What wounds you grace with your spirit will steal from your future.

My future? As in…my life?

Put simply, yes. The time you have left in this world will be traded for mercy.

River flinched. All of it?

In proportion to what you have healed.

How will I know how much I lose?

I will tell you, should you ask.

His eyes fell yet again to the weeping wound. Curiosity overtook fear. It probably shouldn’t have, and he was calmer than he’d expected to be. This one, then. How much would I lose?

Rondelio hesitated where River was undaunted. One year. For what would be endured without the blessing of--

One year, he repeated within. That’s it?

By…which you would have one less year to walk this world, yes, Rondelio answered, his soft voice just barely tinted with surprise.

River inhaled deeply. He exhaled just as such, straightening up somewhat as he perched the instrument above his knees. Show me how.

Are you certain?

Yes.

And you would accept those terms, River?

I do.

One year was nothing.

Then…you shall have my spirit.

The song that fell to River’s fingertips was just as natural and just as reflexive, pouring from his touch in time with the streaming in his blood. Once more did it rush and flow, pulsing delicately beyond his heart into every pore. It was the same soft chill, somewhere between warm and cool in a way that left his soul shimmering. Again were his muscles lax, and again was he fluid in every way. Again did his very breath bleed into his winds, and again did he submit to the gentle gales born of his swirling melody.

It wasn’t the best time to remember his pledge, by which he’d so recently sworn to keep a secret. Here, with sod scattering and grass bending beneath his song, his little tempest before the eyes of another did the opposite. River's warm winds rustled his hair and teased the girl's own in turn, the gusts born of his spontaneous harmony gifted to another as they rolled through the open air.

That would’ve been enough, healing to his soul as it was. Instead, it was green.

The drifting gales he offered up were tinted, graced with that which his eyes could perceive. The most flawless viridian he’d ever caught sight of rode upon his winds, and River didn’t dare look away as he brought them into being. Every rich note left them shimmering, and every confident motion brought them swirling. From nothing, he wove something, stealing the purest greens of the bountiful nature around him. In warm wisps, they again touched his skin and warmed his face, if not more so than before.

His storm was shining, gently or otherwise. His very blood was just as warm from within, cascading through his throbbing veins much the same. His hands pushed harder, and his winds glistened brighter. His fingers moved faster, and his gusts grew stronger. It was a sensation different and yet not, all at once, by which his skin ran hot and his spirit ran hotter. It ran too hot, maybe.

It hurt. That was new.

It wasn’t enough to make him stop, mesmerized by the spectacle as he was. Still, in the time he’d learned to embrace such power and submit to winds born of his songs, it had never once hurt. It started at his fingertips, every key burning where once had rested only cool metal. River thought he’d sliced his skin, initially, be it secondary to his own carelessness or otherwise.

The blood he found on the instrument was confusing, and he attributed it to that which he'd brought along from the poisoned grass below. Even so, it was a sting that worsened with each movement. It crawled up his arms and bit into his muscles. It reached for his shoulders, and there, too, did pain meet its mark. River winced, gritting his teeth in the midst of his glowing melody. Not once did he slow his aching hands, nor did he stifle his strength with every push and pull of the accordion.

There was most definitely blood. It was most definitely his. He lamented the way it tainted an instrument so pure, dripping steadily down the rounded keys and splashing the body of the accordion. His palms weren't immune to the same, cracked and burning in a manner that spoke to much the same oozing. River could’ve sworn he could taste it, somewhat.

His head hurt. His stomach hurt. His chest hurt. It was unsettling, and still he refused to stop. His gusts were pulsing in time with his throbbing blood, glistening in place of pain. It was worth it, somehow. If he followed the most beautiful of greens with his eyes, it was a simple distraction.

River had little control over where they drifted, let alone where they settled. The way by which they crossed paths was quite literally divine, tangling in a resplendent display of haphazard glows. Shimmering viridian wove something greater than passing reprieve, born to do far more than cool his scorching skin. It wasn't his skin that was blessed, but rather that which had left his heart racing and his stomach lurching--pain be damned.

His twisting gales descended on the open gash, still leaking hurtful scarlet in its own right. In the slightest, they dove beyond severed skin, invading that which wasn't meant for exposure to open air. It would’ve been distressing, had the rest of his settling gusts not followed in their wake. His song was merciful, his ballad a blessing.

Beneath River's suffering touch, his tempest unraveled, strands of pulsing greens crossing and weaving into the most luminescent of barriers along broken skin. Slowly, one by one, the threads of his storm glowed brighter and tethered more firmly in place. It left painful red suppressed by vivid viridian, lovely in every way as it called the girl’s slashed skin home.

Where he’d had no pristine gauze to offer up, he crafted his own in a manner he couldn’t begin to fathom. River stared, more so enraptured by the endless glimmer than the searing sensation in his hands. Not a drop of blood seeped through his newly-made barricade, small as it was.

He traded it for his own. Even as red trickled down his fingertips and dripped steadily onto the earth below, he never halted his song. He couldn’t pinpoint why. Devoid of green, it was somehow natural, and it took conscious effort to taper his reflexive harmonies.

So, too, did the girl stare at the same place. Under absolutely no circumstances could he blame her. It took effort for her glassy eyes to drift downwards, let alone for her to shift her battered body enough to bear witness. That part came with a fierce wince. Still, he could’ve sworn he caught a different glimmer of light entirely behind her pupils. Her fingers twitched, and yet never rose to inspect the attended wound. Instead, her attention fell to River alone, forgoing the interloping instrument in his lap altogether.

“Are you an angel?” she murmured hoarsely.

He blushed.

“N-No, no,” River argued, frantically waving his hands. The action hurt just as severely, and he regretted the quick motion. It left blood splattering along his thighs. He wondered exactly how much red he’d be forced to tolerate today. “I just…wanted you to be okay.”

Only now did her eyes flicker to the accordion. Her voice was stronger, somewhat. “How did you do that?”

River hesitated. He’d been afraid of that part, in particular. He did what he could to find a suitable answer. He couldn’t, really, and deflection was the best he had to offer. It came with a soft smile and softer words. “Don’t worry about it. Everything’s going to be okay, now. We’ll get you somewhere safe, alright?”

He held his breath. It was enough, hopefully. When she nodded, River got his relief--for now. He made a mental note to elude her the moment her safety was guaranteed, lest she push. He still hadn’t determined exactly how severe the consequences of the display would be.

And when his muscles throbbed painfully once more, it was hard not to wince. Worrying her would lead to prying. He was still bleeding, and that was enough of a prompt for difficult conversations.

Are you alright, my child?

There’d been another consequence. He’d forgotten.

I’m okay. It hurts, a little.

River thought he was numb, at first. He waited for it to sink in, and yet it took time to realize it was already there. It didn’t bother him nearly as much as he’d expected it to.

Are you…satisfied with your choice?

It wasn’t as though he’d had anything else to do with it, should he keep it to himself.

How often can I do that?

Of what do you speak?

That. What I…just did.

Rondelio was quiet for a moment. As often as you would like.

River was staring again. If the girl noticed, she didn’t call him on it. They were gales not his own, technically. It was a glow not his own, technically. The song, too, was just as borrowed and just as debatable--he didn’t deserve it, maybe, divine as it continued to be. Still, if it wasn't his to keep, it was his to hold. His life, by comparison, was undoubtedly his alone. That, then, he could control.

The girl could stand, if he let her rest. Of that, he was certain. She moved with less strain, her breaths deeper and her whimpers of pain long since hushed. Even if ascending to the walking path once more was out of the question, it would allow them to hunt for an alternate route. He could find her a hospital. She would suffer what pains she had left to endure, for how she’d fallen so far and damaged so much. He’d fixed one. It left the rest. She looked exhausted, and the sun was unkind--shady foliage above be damned.

River exhaled softly. Rondelio?

Yes?

How long will I live for?

I know not. I cannot tell, even should I attempt. You may perish shortly, or perhaps upon the distant future. It is a mystery, even to myself. Every blessing would carry such a risk, by which your lifespan is…uncertain. I apologize that I cannot do more.

In reality, asking would’ve done little to change his mind. River didn’t need to know, necessarily. He had an average guess, born largely of common sense alone. If he was wrong, it would simply be another way by which fate pressed gently against his back. In that way, it wasn’t so different than usual.

They were still uneven. They always would be, for all the time he’d be destined to hold the accordion in his blessed hands. This, too, was fate. He was no angel. Still, he could be something. She needed it more than he did. She’d make more use out of it than he would.

Once more was the instrument in River's arms, and once more were his fingers along the keys. His blood was irrelevant, flaking slightly as it dried along his skin. The girl had abrasions. She had smaller lacerations, speckled and scattered. She had bruises. Things were broken, maybe. She was suffering, surely and undeniably. It wasn’t up for debate. Her pain was worse than his would be. That took priority.

And, for once, in a world that left him empty, his heart was full. For the first time, cursed to drift aimlessly upon the cold wind, his feet touched the ground. Where he had nothing to offer the universe, he could offer up the one thing so rightfully his. He wasn’t afraid. He took one deep breath.

“What else hurts?”