Odymn waits.
A single throb
from his heart.
Then nothing.
Joyful but afraid,
she puts her mouth on his.
Breaths into his lungs.
Chafes his shoulder.
Another breath.
His pulse quickens.
He draws air,
opens his eyes.
Odymn laughs.
Runs her hand along his jaw.
"Your shoulder,"
she says.
"Can dislocate joints at will.
Prevents breakage,"
he says and smiles.
"Can slow my metabolism
when air is scarce."
"Can you wiggle free?"
says Odymn.
"You are too heavy
for me to lift."
"My staff,"
says the Slain.
Wedges it across the opening.
Flexes one muscular arm.
Draws himself
head by shoulders,
chest, abdomen and hips,
from the bowels of the tree.
A cork withdrawn
from a bottle of mead.
Odymn uses the rope
to help.
At last the Slain
extracts himself
from the tree.
Tumbles to the ground.
Odymn checks his wounds,
back and front.
His upper body
shot with splinters.
The Slain pulls on his boot.
They leave the woods
(in case the marl return).
Find a camp for the night.
Odymn picks splinters
from his skin.
A salve of arbel
to every wound.
The Slain watches
as she builds a fire.
He holds up
two dead marl.
Lays them on the fire,
heaps coals around them.
Licks his lips and smiles.
YOU ARE READING
Meniscus: One Point Five - Forty Missing Days
Science FictionAfter the Slain is shot, Odymn and an Argenop elder work together to try and return him to good health. As they journey towards the Themble, survival is a challenge. Odymn must add to her foraging skills and survive an attack by the vicious kotildi...
