“Okay,” I grunt as I lift myself to my feet. I sway briefly and throw my arms out to either side so I can regain my balance before I haul the rucksack back onto my shoulder. “Looks like I’ll be dragging you with me until I can find us shelter.” Bending over, I pull him up into a sitting position. He can barely hold himself upright, which is going to make this trek all the more difficult.
With some deep-down strength I tap into, I’m able to pull him to his feet, bracing the entirety of his weight against my body to support him.
I whimper at the sensation that shoots through my leg as I put both of our weights on it. I close my eyes and breathe through the waves of pain, fighting back the nausea. Once I think I can manage, I set off in search of somewhere safe to assess our injuries.
It takes nearly half an hour of me limping and dragging Bastian’s limp body along before I finally spot a small cave entrance. It’s not the most ideal situation, but it’s certainly better than staying in the forest when night falls.
Dragging us through the mouth of the cave, I see that it’s not too large, but it’s at least big enough to lay Bastian out and help him. Thankfully, there’s no sign that an animal has been using this cave as its home.
I lay him down as gently as I can on his uninjured side and kneel beside him. His breaths are still coming, although short and shallow. But his pale face has taken on an almost peaceful look, as if he’s sleeping. I let out a soft curse. He must have passed out on the walk here.
My anxiety is only ratcheting up higher in the wake of this. It’s almost enough to take my mind off my own pain.
“I really hope you didn’t like this shirt,” I say as a warning before I rip it down the front to take it off and get a better look at the arrows. I tear the holes around the shafts wider, so they don’t jostle as I pull the cloth from his body.
I run my fingers along the spot where the arrow is embedded in his side. The bleeding has slowed which I can’t tell is a good or bad thing, but instincts are telling me it’s bad.
“Don’t die on me. Please,please,” I plead with him and the gods and the Fates and anyone who will listen.
How is one even supposed to remove an arrow?
Do you pull it out? Push it through?
I try to remember if I’ve ever read anything about this. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to pull it out but I also know that if I push it through, it will only do more damage, and I’d rather avoid that situation.
I grasp the shaft of the arrow where it disappears into his side. I close my eyes and take a deep, centering breath. I open my eyes and look back at his relaxed face. “I’m so sorry for this,” I whisper softly before I yank the arrow free in one swift pull. As it comes free, the arrowhead grazes my hand where it’s braced on his chest, and a searing burn runs through it. I hiss as I pull my hand away and inspect the source of the pain. It doesn’t have a cut but there’s a raised, pink line that looks almost like a… burn? How is that possible? It’s not hot… Unless?—
My eyes jump to the arrowhead and notice it’s made of a dark silvery gray metal.
Oh no.
I think this is iron.
I take a chance and touch the tip with my index finger, hissing as I yank my hand away. The same pinkish welt appears on my fingertip.
Definitely iron.
Which is lethal to Fae as I’m starting to recall.
Which means Ireallyneed to get that other arrow out of his shoulder.
And the one in my leg.
I make quick work of ripping my tunic into strips so I can plug the wound with it and hopefully stop the bleeding that started up again once I removed the arrow.
Once that’s settled into something that should work for now, I roll Bastian onto his stomach to get better access to the last arrow where it’s embedded in his shoulder.
I follow the same steps as before. Grasp the shaft, deep breath, swift pull.
This time once the arrow slips free, Bastian’s body flinches and he lets out a hissed breath.
“I’m sorry!” I rush to apologize. “I needed to get the arrows out.” I plug the wound like I did for the first and slowly help to roll him to his back so I can get a look at his face. His eyes are squeezed shut as he breathes through the pain. “The arrowheads were made of?—”
“Iron,” he cuts me off with a rough voice.
“Yeah… A-are you going to be okay?”
He lets out a deep breath. “Yeah… I just… need some rest.”
