Hours have passed. The day has gone, and it is now deep into the night. The moon is covered by the storm raging outside. Lahar sits by Arena's side as he lies in his bed. She tugs on the bandages covering the burn marks on her arm. Doc has applied a cream to help them heal, but it won't help much. "The potion you made was strong; there will be scars," she was told.
The wisps gather around the bed as Doc examines Arena. Pie sits next to Lahar as Arena sleeps before them. Lahar's eyes glaze over as she speaks. "So you are telling me that you were able to fix the gaping hole in his body that should have killed him. You basically pulled a miracle."
Doc nods her head. "Yet that isn't what matters. What matters is the fact that Toothpick's horn was coated in a poison you have never seen before. A poison that, if not treated soon, will kill him." Doc nods her head once more.
"You've already started working on a cure, right?" Doc nods once more. "I won't keep you, then. You all should help Doc. I'll stay here and watch over him," Lahar says, not looking away from Arena.
The wisps walk out of the room and shut the door behind them. Pie decides to stay by her.
Lahar takes the bangle off her wrist and holds it. "I have been trying so long to figure out what you do. So has Arena, but neither of us has a clue." She places the bangle on Arena's chest. "Is this what you do? Can you fix my mistakes? Will you make Arena better?"
The bangle just lies on his chest as Lahar waits patiently for something to happen. "No, of course not. Either way, I shouldn't rely on you to fix my problems. I should have been capable of preventing these problems."
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Lahar looks around the room. She realizes this is the first time she has been here. She wishes it were in better circumstances. The décor looks as if a history museum had a baby with a hoarder.
The room is riddled with books about history and different cultures. Items that look like mystical artifacts from lost civilizations, graphic novels, movies, and games.
She notices there are many vials with a pink potion on his desk. There is a book about the human brain. On his nightstand is a leather-bound book labeled Plant Life and another leather book under it.
Next to the books is a small cube with writing engraved on it. Lahar recognizes the handwriting as Arena's, and the style is that which is used for a spell—a spell Lahar doesn't care to figure out at the moment. Next to the cube is the small glass jar holding the shard that was once inside her.
Lahar grips her side where it once was and then looks down at Arena. She can't bring herself to cry anymore. She is too tired. She places the bangle back on her wrist. She watches Arena, thinking of the poison coursing through his veins, finding it unfair that after all the work Doc did to close the wound and treat it, there is still one more thing killing him.
Her fingers wrap around the handle of the water gun, and she pulls it out of the holster. Her fingers graze over the barrel, feeling the newly formed scratch marks scattered about. Her eyes see the bright colors covered by scorch marks. The gift Arena gave her is now scarred. "Why can't this go our way, Pie?"
Pie lays his head in her lap. She buries her face in his fur. Pie feels something wet roll down his fur. He pays it no mind.
She sits waiting for something to happen—for Arena to wake up, stop the storm with just a snap of his fingers, and teach her a lesson again; waiting for the sun to shine and for everything to be fine again.