The Unhappy Heart (Book 1 of The Wolfheart Trilogy)

3. Anruen

A warm gush of air filled Andrea's lungs, forcing life into her. She was gently rolled onto her side as she vomited up what seemed like an ocean of water. Then she was rolled back onto her back and a cold hand pressed to her forehead for a moment.
The cold touch disturbed her and she stirred, trying to bring herself back to full consciousness. There was a scurry of movement beside her, then silence. 

Andrea's eyes flickered open. Her chest ached painfully, and she was shivering with cold. Glancing around, she saw she was alone on the forest floor. Easing herself up into a sitting position, she tried to remember what had happened. She remembered the phone call, of course. Then her running away. Francis had chased her, and she had fallen into a deep pond. That must mean he had pulled her out.

But looking around, the place didn't look how she remembered it. The pond was by her side but there was no ruins, no fence, and no garden. Just a pond in a forest. 

She took a deep breath to calm the rising panic and began coughing. The coughs sounded terrifyingly loud within the forest as they echoed back and forth. The sudden sound startled a large blue bird that had been sitting on a branch nearby. It gave flight, calling out loudly in a beautiful but irritated tone. It circled her twice before rising higher and flying away. 

Andrea lay back down, feeling faint and trying to get her breathing back to normal. Had someone really just saved her? If so, where were they? Where was Francis? Why was everything different? Was she dreaming?

She shivered. "So cold," she mumbled, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. "So...so cold." Her lids closed. 

Before she blacked out for the second time, she felt something heavy, yet fluffy and warm cover her body. As the darkness overtook her, she heard an eerie howl fill the air.

* * * * *

"Wake up, child. You have slept long enough." 

Andrea stirred as the voice broke through her dreams, pulling her away from the peaceful void and back to the world of the living.
A shuddering gasp left her lips and her hand jerked as she tried to lift it to cover the bright light that hovered above her head. But it was as if her limbs were not her own. They lay heavily by her side, and she had no strength to lift them.

"Move the light away, Hugo," she heard the voice scolding. "It disturbs her, and I don't think we shall have need of it anymore." 

It was a tender voice that held a motherly tone. For some reason that Andrea could not grasp, it made her feel sorrowful. A tear trickled down her cheek. Immediately, someone grasped her hand and squeezed it gently. 

"It's okay, dear. Everything will be okay."

Those words. I know those words. Andrea stirred restlessly as she racked her brain for a memory. Anything. Just anything. But they all faded out of reach. She didn't know where she was, why she was here, or even who she was. There was nothing but darkness in her mind.

"Do you want to give her this now?" murmured a man's trembling  and concerned voice.

There was another movement by her side, then she felt her head being tipped back. Something touched her lip before a warm and bitter liquid was trickled into her mouth.

"Swallow it all up. That's a good girl," crooned the woman. "A bit more. Just another swallow. There we are." 

The cup was taken away and Andrea was eased back onto the pillow. 

"She'll sleep for a few hours now, the poor dear. But not as deep as the one she just came out of. I was worried for a few moments there. She drifted so far, I thought we had almost lost her."

Andrea tried to open her eyes to see the owners of the voices, but sleep swiftly overtook her.

* * * * *

Dark water. Arms flailing weakly. A pale face with deep eyes.

Andrea sat up abruptly, gasping for breath. Gazing frantically around, she realized with relief that she was in a dimly lit room. She was safe at home in bed. She wasn't really drowning. It had all just been a nightmare then. Startlingly vivid, but just a nightmare all the same. 

She closed her eyes, and sucked in a deep breath of air. The noise of her breathing was the only thing to be heard in the stillness of the room. Usually the silence frightened her, but tonight she was grateful. It was better than hearing herself screaming as her feet slipped out beneath her.
It had seemed so vivid and real, almost like it was more than a bad dream. It had felt like a memory. 

She climbed out of the bed, and stood up on weak shaky legs. Staggering over to the windows, she threw it open and stared out into the mist-blanketed night. A clouded memory entered her confused mind.

The pounding of feet as someone ran after her, calling her name. But who? Who had been calling her name? 

She tried to picture their face, but it had already faded into a haze. The only clear thing that remained were those eyes. Hazel eyes.

Another memory floated through her mind and this time she grasped it. Hazel eyes set in a tanned face, framed by dark brown hair. Francis. The boy's name was Francis.

And with the boy's face came all her other memories. She remembered the hurt she had suffered, and why she had run into the forest. But most importantly, she remembered herself, and the ones she had left behind. She muttered it out aloud, as though it would stop her from forgetting again.

"My name is Andrea. Andrea Mia King. I am 15 years old and I have a Siamese fighter named Caleb the 4th. My parents are Leonard and Vivian. And my best friend is Francis." 

She spun around as she heard the door open behind her. Moving too fast on her weak legs, she fell to the floor with a loud thud. There was the sound of heavy footsteps, then someone swooped her up and carried back to her bed. They placed her down gently and tucked the blanket around her. In the dim room, Andrea couldn't see the person well. He was just a tall figure, silhouetted against the dark. The man sank down beside her, running his hand over his face as if trying to wipe away his weariness.

"I heard you talking. Is it a habit of yours to talk and wander about while sleeping?"

Andrea shook her head, strangely not at all uncomfortable by the man's presence. "I went to the window to clear my thoughts. I was trying to remember who I was, and I remembered. My name is Andrea King."

The man frowned. "Andrea King," he repeated slowly. "A strange name." He glanced at her thoughtfully. "I suppose your ways are different from ours. Harriet says you come from Earth."

"What do you mean?" Andrea asked as she sat up. Studying the man more closely, she noted for the first time his strange clothing. It reminded Andrea of the medieval peasants in her old history book. A plain knee-length tunic over a pair of worn trousers. He had a thick belt about his waist with a knife scabbard and a small leather pouch.

The man grinned. "Yes, kiddo. You aren't in Earth anymore. You're in Anruen."

"Anruen?" Andrea felt faint. Surely, this was all a dream. A bad dream from which she would soon wake.

"Yes. Anruen," replied the man, his grin widening. "To warn you though, if anyone asks for your name, just give them your first one. Your family name sounds too odd. There are no surnames like that here, just titles." He rose to his feet and stood looking down at her. A strange expression had crossed his face, like he was studying her. It was almost as though he had something to say, but was unsure of whether to voice it. Then suddenly it was gone, and he was smiling at her softly. "Well, I'll leave you to ponder over it and take it in. Good night, kiddo."

"Good night," Andrea murmured softly.

There was a soft thud as the door shut behind him, and Andrea was left alone once more. 

"Anruen," she whispered. 

She lay back down against the soft but course pillows, and stared up into the darkness.

 "Anruen," she repeated. 

For some strange and unknown reason, she no longer felt afraid. In fact, it almost felt as if she was home.