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There is a sentient being back there, in pain, broken, and there’s no one else around to help.
His people will find him, though. Right?
But will they find him in time? How much time does he have if he keeps bleeding like that?
My footsteps slow and I look backward.
I can still see the shape of him on the ground. Unmoving.
Shit.
“No,” I whisper to myself. “No, you are not this stupid.” I squeeze my eyes shut.
And then I turn around and go back.
It’s difficult to get First inside. He’s heavy, and I do mean heavy.
Inside I find some first aid supplies and I wrap a bandage around his neck to try to stop the bleeding. Next comes the huge task of trying to get him inside.
“Jesus,” I swear as I heft him by his shoulders…and manage to maybe move him an inch. I swipe at the sweat sprouting on my brow and then try again.
But shit, it’s his wings. They keep getting caught on rocks or twigs or things and making him even harder to move. Plus, I’m probably only damaging them more yanking him like this.
So I finally settle on the fact that I’m going to have to try to re-fold his wings if I’m going to be able to move him anywhere.
Plus, this would be a lot easier if I had a litter of some sort. Isn’t that how they move people in the movies when they’re in the wilderness?
I run back inside but can’t find anything other than a large rug. It’ll have to do the trick.
I go back outside and lay it down on the ground beside First.
Then comes the arduous task of trying to flip First onto his side. It takes many tries and me finally adopting a squat-crouch position so I can use my legs as I heave him over onto his side, rolling him half onto the rug.
I try to keep the momentum I started and push even harder. With a screaming grunt, I finally manage to flip him onto his stomach on the rug.
I gasp in horror when I see his wings.
“Oh, First,” I murmur, hesitantly reaching out for the delicate boning of his iridescent purple wings.
When I begin to refold them, First groans in pain.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, trying to find all the natural full points, difficult since some of the bones are broken. I don’t know if it’s better to refold them or to leave them outstretched to heal. But he’s not going to make it through the door with them out, so I continue as best I can.
Finally, they are mostly refolded, although the one on the left is jutting out awkwardly from his back when usually they lay so smoothly they’d barely be noticeable, apart from the fact that, you know, they’re wings.
Then comes the even more arduous task of dragging him inside. Thank God there aren’t steps up to the house. There’s just a slight lip at the threshold of the front door. Being able to pull the rug instead of yanking on First himself actually does make a lot of difference.
With my first heave, I’m able to move him several feet and soon I’m at the front door. Getting him in the actual door goes less than smoothly, but at least he’s unconscious and can’t feel all the bumps. Tomorrow, on the other hand? Well, we won’t think about tomorrow just yet.
I get First into the middle of the living room floor and then I collapse back onto the couch, breathing hard.
But First looks pathetic laid out face down on the rug, and he’s bleeding through the bandage I put on his neck. He’s far from out of the woods.
I go back to the first aid supplies I moved from the bathroom to the kitchen table and sort through them. Okay, there’s hydrogen peroxide and some Band-Aids, none of which are big enough to deal with the wound on his neck.
But I have to disinfect it. I can’t imagine how dirty that mountain lion’s mouth was, but if I don’t treat it now, the wound is sure to become infected.
Let’s just hope First stays unconscious for this part because I’ll need to really clean out the wound.
I find a couple of ratty old washcloths in the closet and then crouch with the peroxide at First’s side.
I pull off the makeshift bandage and cringe. Blood is caked up, but fresh blood pours out over the old, bright red. Their blood is the same color as ours, who would’ve thought?
I shake the errant thought away and drench my little rag in peroxide, then I start to clean his wound as best as I can.
After several swipes, when I cleaned away the caked up blood and dirt and am really getting into the wound itself, First stirs.
But it’s not until I pour peroxide liberally over the wound that First’s eyes pop open and he lets out a roar.
