♠The Mill♠

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Finn's POV

       I feel tight pressure on my cheek, and nose. I take in air through my mouth as it becomes hard to breathe.

"What do you have, asthma?"a growl awakens from Wirt as he points the lantern at me. I squint.

     I set the arm down as I blink twice with hands on my knees. "N-No." A pinch of pain sparks in my head as I glance at my arm.

     The once crimson red drooling down my shoulder now turned a scarch brown red stain. My arm throbs. It doesn't hurt as much as before. Wirt spilled some dirt and fungi over my injury.

"Then there should be no problem with pulling a possible dead body."He snarls as he turns away.

     Whenever he turns away his lantern, I panic feeling reaches out like a hand popping out of my mouth from my stomach. The feeling of nessesary. The feeling of being safe.
      It feels like he's encouraging me to keep going because without him possesing this light, I would be lost. Alone. Hungry and cold.

I don't want to be cold anymore.

     I think back to my crown in my sweater. I don't trust myself enough to out it in my green backpack. I hardly use that tool now anyways.
     I pick up Bill's arm. His body was heavy before, now it's light and limp. Easy to move effortless. But I don't have the strength to do it effortlessly like as in just throw him over my shoulder, smack Wirt, then march out of these woods like a...h-hero.

If I do punch Wirt, I don't think I'll survive. I can barely survive because of his dark demeanor.

"What are you thinking about?"he demands.

     I studder at the though of Wirt asuming my thoughts were about him. Good thing I am a good liar.
      "A-About..."I got to use complete sentences," I-I was t-thinking about getting out of here."

"Liar."

     A liar would defy being called one, I stay quiet and nod. Wirt raises a brow curious before turning away. I look down at Bill's body.

      His humor is strange, he's sticking out his tounge. Drool mixed in blood drives down to his shoulder and snot rolls out of his nostrils along with a faul odor. He smelled like tar. Wirt secured bandages on Bill's body to stop the bleeding. Apparently some dark herbs contain natural healing properties in the....

"W-Where a-a-are we?"I timidly studder.

"The forest."

Yeah no duh genius.

"I-I mean, w-what is the for-forest name? Do-Does it have one?"

"The Unknown."

     I think that's enough questions to ask Wirt, I don't want to get on his bad side like the Fire Princess. Hot temper much?

     I continue to drag the passed out demon. His hair now full of dirt and twigs makes him seem like a hobo. He's weird.
     Wirt picks up the pace everytime we pass a tree like he wants to get to somewhere fast. Does he has a need of some sort? An emergency?

      I feel agitated, my bones stiff. Are we in danger?! The thought crawls down my arms and sinks into my wrist. An electric shock makes me let go of the frail demon's wrist.

"Pick up the pace."The tall gnome orders. His voice containing a low, threatening, and commanding ring.

I sniff sending the drooling snot up my nose. I grab Bill's arm weakly. Suddenly, a cold bony hand grabs my wrist. I look up quickly in fright. It's Wirt's.

He motions to me with his head to move. His cruel eyes shoving a lump down my throat as he lets go of my arm.

'If you want to do something do it yourself" That's what he's probably hinting.

He shoves his long slender sword in my chest. I almost fall at the rash action. Wirt then proceeds to lower the lantern my his side and grab Bill by his collar. He stomps on the ground down the path of trees.

I follow.

     The gloomy mood infects the trees. Their stems possessing some kind of horrified expression as if they were real human expressions, but larger. The sprouting branches cover the sky, and mist covers the muddy ground. Leaves are scattered. Twings or pieces of fallen branches lay everywhere. Ferns grow on the dry patches of dirt. The chilly wind smells like mint sented ferns.
       Kind of like that time I met my other self in a field of grass. I was made of grass. Grass Finn.
       Damn that guy was creepy.

       The breeze shifts my hair a bit. Strands of blonde hair flow at my shoulders. This feels nice. I wonder what Ja....Damn it! A headache sneeks in, my eye twitches. My left eye turns watery and my leg quivers. "Ah."I clap my hand over my twitching eye.

"Move."Wirt commands.

       Curse you. I silently walk behind him. Noises of liquid shifting fast come up ahead. We are close to a river, is he gonna throw us in? I shiver at the thought of my own body floating down a river with a stream of blood. Why am I so pessimistic?

"Put the machete down."

      Perplex, I look at him. The tall gnome only shares a warning gaze at my hands. I look down. My hands grip the weapon tightly. My vains pop out. It scares me I'll pop one.
       How could I not notice that? With the sense of foreboding slithering into my spine and stomach, I lower the extended knife.

"Traumatophobia?"Wirt ask.

       I gulp. What is that? I wanted to ask Wirt about the unusual word, but what if he hurts me?

"The fear of being hurt, or in your case in pain."

      How does he know what such a word means? Does he have extended knowledge or something? He's got to be an alien. I lower my head then pick it up again,"W-W-Who taught you that?"

"What?"

"T-That w-w-word."I lick my lips expecting a nosh of knowledge.

"The Beast."he simply states.

"Who i-is th-that?"

"Just an old beggetter, now an adversary."

       He's using big words to confuse me now, right? Damn him. I nod, faking my understanding. I guess he knew I was lying because he just turns away.

       Okay, so if adversary means enemy then that means he previously wasn't, right? So maybe 'The Beast' was a friend before? A colligue? Business-partner? I wonder in my thoughts as we continue our lonely trail.

     After a few minutes, my stomach churns. The weird noise stating that I'm hungry wiggles a noise. I blink twice.

      Wirt stops and so do I. I stare at the open view. A stream of water connects to a mill, a hut. It looks abandoned.

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