Page 28 of Citrine

With no clinics and no way to make a splint by myself, I can only bear the pain. Adrenaline will only take me so far, even though I am literally a walking target. I rest against the rock and hold my arm in the position that hurts the least, sighing.

With a broken arm, internal bleeding is the biggest of my worries. If I can't help my arm heal properly, I'll be dropping dead from an embolism soon.

I sigh again, my gaze resting on the lake. It ripples peacefully, like it isn't inhabited by dangerous creatures that want nothing more than to tear my skin apart.

A manic cackle tries to build as a light breeze runs through my hair, a shiver following it, joining the trembling of pain.

I force down the bile making its way up my throat. My body still feels strange, but if I'm alive, a broken arm, a sprained ankle, nothing can stop me from…

Wait, my ankle, I realize with a start.

I stretch my leg and flex it, rotating it from side to side. I try to get up to step on it, but the pain in my arm makes my body recoil. My arm is screaming out at me, but my ankle only has a dull ache. I can't believe it and keep rotating away.

In all my years of existence, I have never heard of someone who could heal a sprained ankle in a night.

Have I become… inhuman?

A shiver tears through my body, but it is not from the pain this time. That single thought, coupled with my environment, makes my hope dwindle. I am on an alien planet, just floating on another piece of rock through the universe, alone and hurt.

Well, not totally alone. There's the octo-man.

I remember his long tentacles reaching out of the depths, grasping at me. An echo of the visceral fear I felt staring at him rises, and my instincts scream at me to flee. I can't see him, but I can feel something watching.

A face flashes into my mind. He's been dead for a long time, but the memories of him, of a happy childhood, have always been the catalyst to keep me alive and sane. Mypadre.

Despite the pain, the abuse, the suffering, I keep moving forward because I want to believe life is worth living. He taught me that, and I won't fail him now just because reality shifted.

I need to get up and find somewhere away from the shore, somewhere I can find something better to eat and tend to my wounds, clean myself, and figure out why my ankle healed in just a night.

"Move, Eli. You can't stay here," I growl out.

A manic laugh bubbles up and I try to move again. Nothing.

There's a splash in the water, like something's moving toward me. I'm not the least bit curious to find out what it is.

There's hope for me yet, somewhere in this place. I just need to find it.

"Get up!" I urge myself again.

My legs are weak. I'm barely holding on to my consciousness and my sanity. There's still danger in my immediate surroundings.

My uninjured arm reaches for the nearest rock to pull myself up and redistribute my body weight. It doesn't work at first, but I'm persistent. I try again and succeed one minor pull at a time, rousing my entire body to my feet.

I stagger, but the fear of being impaled by sharp rocks keeps me on my feet.

I move, placing my hand on the nearest rocks to keep me going. I can barely see anything, but just keep shakily shuffling along, fresh injuries from the fall making themselves known with each step.

One leg at a time.

The sounds of waves crashing behind me and the vivid sense that I'm being watched keep me moving. My vision is clearing up. I'm getting somewhere at last.

13

Wroahk

I can hear everything.

The sound of her muscles coiling. The ridiculously colored weeds on her head flying in the wind. I don't need to see her before I sense her. I am attuned to every movement she makes, and it feeds back to me, a habit, but only used for hunting.

---