The Wildness Within

Cold and Warm 1

Everything was wet.

His clothing was stuck to him, his hair was wet, and even as he struggled out of blackness – his nose telling him that he was in their house and no longer in that horrible stone castle – he knew he'd been pulled through the water again. They'd made him unconscious. The bird-King had made him blackout and now he was wet and there was fire in his ribs and the bird-King had rifled all the way through him with his magic and it was awful.

Gwyn screamed, flailed out before he'd even opened his eyes. Heard the clipped sound the cold one made, and then a cry when Gwyn managed to land another solid hit. He was in the lounge, dripping wet, the rug was beneath him and Augus was two feet away where Gwyn had managed to shove him.

Teeth bared, a growl in the back of his throat, Gwyn lunged at him. Gwyn had trusted him and the cold one – Augus – had said the bird-King would help them and instead everything was fire in his ribs and he knew it wasn't a normal injury. He knew. They'd done something in exactly the same place where his parents had put the crystal in him.

The cold one scrambled out of the way, eyes widening, and then he was bellowing for the other one. The warm one.

'Ash!'

Gwyn got a hand on Augus' ankle, dug his fingers in, fingernails splitting through skin and now even more blood in the air. There were running footsteps and now, now they would betray him or sell him back or change their minds and Gwyn was bleeding all down his side and they'd done that. He hadn't even wanted to go to the stupid palace. All life had taught him was that any edifice made of stone was something to be avoided.

The warm one – Ash – in the room now and he was normally the nice one, and there was even more shouting, and Gwyn didn't care about words anymore.

Then, waterweed – everywhere. Four directions. He couldn't fight back against four wrists shooting rubbery, wet, living rope at him. He tore through one, got sticky sap on his fingers, and then shrieked so loudly he hurt his own ears when they got it around his legs, and then his arms, and finally his torso, the stuff twisting painfully over the wound in his back.

'Fucking hell,' said the warm one. Ash.

Gwyn heaved for breath, still wet, blood still spilling from his flank. There were words tumbling in his head, piling up like unbalanced bricks until they'd topple over. Just syllables and broken sounds. He settled on a bitter, betrayed glare at the cold one. At Augus.

Augus stood up, swore when he stumbled slightly and then rested all his weight on one leg.

'It wasn't fun for me either,' Augus spat at him, limping out of the room. 'You deal with it,' he said to Ash. 'I'm...I can't even look at him. Call me if you think he's going to kill you.'

'Yep,' Ash called back, not looking away from Gwyn the entire time.

The room was already warmer. That's what Ash did. He made the room warm. It was like...being in front of a fireplace in a room with soft rugs and blankets. Gwyn stared at him, his eyes flickering to the place where Augus had exited.

It wasn't fun for me either.

His eyes narrowed. But then...the cold one hadn't tricked him yet. Had he? Maybe he really didn't know that it would end like this.

'Hey,' Ash said, crouching beside him. 'Hey, easy, buddy. Easy there. Jesus, you're a fucking mess. What did they do to you, hm? They hurt you? Fuckers.'

Gwyn blinked at him. Everything was so warm. Ash smelled of salt and chemicals and silt and water and the same hair products as Augus now that he'd been staying here for some time. He wore soft clothing, had curly hair, little springs of grass green-yellow waterweed, and his eyes were bright hazel instead of bright green like Augus', but he made the same eye contact like Augus did. It was focused, unblinking. Gwyn returned it.