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The fluttering in my chest slows and then calms completely when she returns.
She looks at me with narrowed eyes when she sees that I am trying to sit up straight to follow her movements.
“You really need to rest!” Her voice is tinged with frustration. “All I’m doing is getting your medication together! I’m not going anywhere, Kian.”
Her voice when she says my name is almost weary. I shiver when she says my name. The fluttering in my chest returns.
I might not know much about who I am, but one thing I know is that I cannot let her see me looking desperate.
My shoulders have stiffened, and I turn my face away from her. I lay back down and look up at the ceiling.
“I’m going to get the rest of the things I need for your medication now,” she says. “I’ll be back. Please just try to rest.”
I don’t respond, but once I hear her footsteps fading away, I force myself to sit up. Once I am sure that she isn’t going to be coming back right away, I swing my legs stiffly over the side of the bed and try to stand.
It is a long process, and I am doubled over in pain from the effort, but eventually, I am standing, clutching the wall beside me. I do a sort of shuffling walk, which is very humiliating for some reason, and make my way slowly over to the one window in the room.
It must be close to nighttime because very little sunlight streams through the canopies of trees that must be as ancient as the land we stand on. Another fire burns in a pit outside Amara’s house, and I can see the edge of what must be a large, sprawling garden off to the side of the house.
I cannot keep standing any longer, but I am not willing to stop examining Amara’s life just yet. So I get to my knees and crawl even closer to the window. And it strikes me then, how really deep we are in the forest.
Amara’s little homestead is situated in a clearing, and the clearing is surrounded by a dense line of trees. I don’t see any signs of a well-trodden trail anywhere, and I recognize some of the wildflowers that have sprung up from the ground. I don’t know how I know this, but I do know that those flowers only grow deep in the forest.
A memory tugs at my brain. A memory surrounding those flowers. I clutch at the edges of the memory desperately, but it slips from my fingers before I can hold onto it properly.
I continue to look out through the window, and I know my eyes have widened with shock when I see several wolves, large and small, creeping out of the forest’s undergrowth.
At first, I am scared that they’re about to pounce on an unsuspecting Amara.
Maybe she has overestimated their ability to care about her! Maybe they’re about to attack!
But instead, they simply start to play. They race around and around the clearing until Amara shouts at them to stop. Her voice echoes around the clearing, practically bouncing off the trees, another testament to how alone we are.
I focus my eyes on Amara. Right then, she is picking herbs from the garden. She has an entire basket, clearly handmade, by her side, and it is filled with blossoms, leaves, and roots.
I need to see more.
I have a desperate itch in my chest to see more and more of Amara’s world. For just a second, I want to immerse myself in it.
Raw, almost insane, determination washes over me. I clench my teeth, wincing slightly as pain streaks through my mouth and through my head.
That is when I decide that I am going to stand up and walk to the front door.
I know that I need to rest, but staying in bed feels unnatural to me. And besides, I want to see more of Amara’s world.
Part of me still cannot believe that Amara’s wolves are non-threatening. They look almost friendly, almost domesticated, from my observation of them.I don’t know how this is possible. How has she managed to do this?
It is a long slow process of getting to my feet. I groan and grunt throughout it all. And I am in so much pain that I cannot really think about anything beyond forcing one foot in front of the other.
I stumble several times, almost falling flat on my back. I know that I need to avoid falling as much as possible so that my sewn-up wounds don’t split open.
Amara’s wolves are the first to see me when I stagger out of the front door. All the playful domestication disappears immediately. Instead, they stare at me with cold, feral eyes.
There are about fifteen wolves, and they are all gathered around the front door as I walk outside.
I have my bare feet in the soil when I realize I cannot hold myself up much longer. I fall to my knees with a roar. And the movement is so violent that it shakes my entire body, including the wound on my chest.
The stitches split open, and blood bursts from my chest wound just as the wolves pounce on me.You should jump up and defend yourself! You should fight! You should fight! You could kill them all!
