Badlands

5

Exhaustion clung to my bones like the mud that had splattered up our legs, a grim second skin we couldn't shake. A mile, perhaps more, had stretched out behind us, each step a herculean effort as we supported Alberon between us. His breath came in sharp hisses, slicing through the silence of the forest with every jolt of pain.

"Easy," I murmured, though my voice was drowned by the chorus of crickets and the rustle of leaves above.

We reached a clearing where moonlight fought through the canopy, casting ghostly shadows on the dirt floor that now served as Alberon's crude bed. Gently, we lowered him down, his back against the rough bark of an ancient tree. His hand, slick with blood and trembling, clutched at the gaping wound on his side.

"Rest here," Theana's voice a sharp blade. 

Rain, relentless and cold, hammered down as we crouched in the sodden underbrush. Theana stood a few paces away, her silk ivory gown once resplendent, now a macabre tapestry of Alberon's blood and the forest's grime. 

Her figure, usually so poised, appeared diminished against the vastness of the night; yet there was a defiance in her stance that belied her delicate form. 

Theana's eyes, watching the distant manor up in flames, smoke dancing wildly, reaching for the sky. It wasn't just the fire that mirrored the inferno—it was mirrored in Theana's eyes as well. Not the flickering light of reflection, but a deeper conflagration, a symmetry of fury and loss that seemed to fuel the blaze from within her very soul.

"Help, Theana!" My voice tore through the stillness of the forest. 

Below my trembling hands, Alberon's blood seeped through my fingers like a relentless tide, warm and slick. I pressed harder, desperate to stem the flow, but it was like trying to hold water in a clenched fist. His skin was pallid beneath the grime and gore.

"Damn it, Theana!" The words were half plea, half command, but they seemed to dissolve into the roar of the distant destruction. 

A moment stretched into an eternity, and then, with a blink, the spell that held Theana shattered. She turned, her face a mask void of emotion, yet somehow more terrifying than any expression of grief. Her gaze met mine for an instant before she looked down at Alberon, lying like a broken promise.

Without a word, she tore a strip from the hem of her nightgown. She knelt, her movements mechanical, as she helped press the makeshift bandage over the wound. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the steely resolve that had kept her rooted in place moments before.

"Stop being such a pussy," she murmured, her voice a whisper meant only for Alberon as he winced under her ministrations.

Their eyes locked, and something unspoken passed between them—an understanding or perhaps an acknowledgment of the pain they both bore. In their darkness, in their silence, there was a story that I couldn't read.

Despite the sharpness of Theana's tone, her touch was paradoxically gentle, her fingers working with a careful precision that seemed at odds with the steel in her voice. 

 Theana was a statue, save for the rise and fall of her chest with each breath, and I couldn't help but wonder at the resilience etched into every line of her grimy, blood-smeared visage.

Beside him, my hands trembled as I witnessed the relentless flow.

The forest's eerie silence shattered as a symphony of low growls approached, their guttural tones weaving through the dense thicket like a chilling breeze. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, prickling my skin with foreboding. My eyes darted to the shadows between the trees, seeking the source of the ominous chorus.