Succumbing to the darkness was the easiest way out, but I didn't want to go out like a coward.
A pulse pounded through my skull, causing the space behind my eyes to ache relentlessly. That ache was only the beginning of my torment, though. I'd coiled around the root of my agony. Curled up like a babe on the forest floor, too weak to even whimper, the silver worked through my whole body. It churned like molten lava in the pit of my stomach, oozing down deeper and deeper, licks of hot flames lashed down my thighs and up into my chest. Even if the silver fever hadn't paralysed me, I couldn't have pulled myself up out of the bloody sludge I'd been abandoned in; my leg was broken, but that was the last pain that occurred to me.
I took one last look at the moonlight trickling through the trees before the darkness took me.
Muttering voices, two or maybe three, I wasn't sure. My heart jolted. Were they back? Were they going to kill me this time? Relief overtook any fear in me, I'd already prayed for the end...
Between the nighttime hum of the woods, a voice sang a sweet tune; it came closer and closer. It was a pity that her song ended abruptly. It was lulling me toward the sleep I'd longed for...
A flickering light lit up the back of my eyelids in a blood-orange hue; it was bright and uncomfortable, like looking directly at the sun. I flinched away, only to wince at the pain that shot through my head...
Hammering footfalls shook the ground around me. There was a burst of muffled chatter, deep, anguished voices in serious discussion.
A few tranquil words whispered into my ear, and then silence returned. I felt lighter than air, my limbs fluid and floating. I recall thinking that this must be what dying feels like. At last...
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
"He's been out for four days," a monotone masculine voice commented. Pages fluttered, and the scratching of a pen over thin paper, a signature perhaps. "There has been no improvement in his condition yet. Nothing's healing because of the silver poisoning. He's on an IV, which may help, but I'm not certain. I'm not a Lupine specialist."
"Tsk. So, it has to run its course?" A familiar voice asked; it was the boss, Mr. Howard.
"I'm afraid so, Sir."
"Let me know as soon as he regains consciousness; I need to speak to him. Once he's well enough, allow his visitors in."
"Uh... He hasn't had any visitors, Sir."
I didn't expect anyone to come and comfort me, but the confirmation that no one had even attempted to cut deep. The people and the pack that I had served and held close had truly abandoned me. Lone wolves never lived long. Perhaps it was for the best.
The hollow feeling of hopelessness swelled up in my chest and settled as a lump in my throat.
The nurse changing my bandages was the one who noticed I was coming around; I was crying in my sleep. She fetched the doctor, who fetched the boss, and there was a lot of talking. Talking, I barely had the energy to listen to; I was just so tired.
Four days of sleeping became four days awake, but I hadn't moved from the infirmary bed. The days were dull and empty. Many hours ticked by listening to the clock. The book and dinner tray remained on the table untouched.
The nights were the worst; when my body relaxed, the pain and silver sweats took hold of me. It felt like I was boiling on the inside and melting into the mattress; how it held the heat unescapably to my back caused me to seethe. And there was no end to the screaming. I could hear myself and internally winced, but there was no stopping it. It was the only way to vent to agony.
The doctor was helpless but not hopeless. As he strapped me into the bed restraints so that my writhing didn't further injure me, he promised it would end and that I should take comfort in that and use it to get through. One hour of pain was one hour less. My body was burning the silver off. Yet at 3 a.m. every night, when the fever was at its peak, I wished for death.