Felton lay in the forest, a fine mist collecting around him. Unable to move his right arm, he tried bracing himself with one hand to sit up. Once he did, he looked over his shoulder and realized his right arm was missing from below his shoulder. He slowly managed to drag his broken body up against a tree, leaving a bright red trail in his wake. Though, it wasn’t bleeding as bad as he thought, the demon must have cauterized some to the wound in its attack. At least the damned monster wasn’t in too good of shape itself.
As it grew harder to breath, Felton silently wished that he could have filled out his duty to the end, watching them grow up…even if he thought that place was still bad fit for Minerva. Ah, he would just have to rely on Taras to protect her from them…. He looked down at the hole in the side of his chest. Not much time left, he thought.
******
Hay. He had always hated sleeping on it. It got in his clothes, and in places someone would never, ever want. But after saving him for the second time in a row, he felt slightly grateful.
He looked up at the burning mansion through the hole in the stable’s roof. It would soon consume this place too. His eyes then came to rest on Minerva beside him. Her eyes were empty, looking off into the distance. She shivered even though it was warm and humid, drool collecting at the corners of her mouth.
"Hey, Minerva. Hey, wake up.” He gently shook her shoulder.
“…”
No response. He sat up, wincing. Apparently, hay wasn’t as good protection as he’d thought. He painfully tried to move his left arm, and was only able to wiggle his fingers. It wasn’t numb, so it must have not been so bad, but at this point he wished it was. It would take a while to heal. Though, the most pressing thing at the moment was Minerva’s condition, and Felton’s location. Judging from the fight, the old man could be unconscious or injured. Taras didn’t want to waste a second looking for him.
He raised himself off the hay pile. Trying to stand Minerva only ended in her slumping back down on the hay. He brought her out into the courtyard, finding a shed that seemed out of range of the fire, and dragged her inside. He then looked around the heaped wreckage for clues where Felton was.
The smoke had started drifting to the forest, carried by a slight breeze. The bottom rooms had finally become a blaze, the air near the ground hazy. Taras choked, gasping for air. Lowering his body to the ground, he proceeded to crawl forward, looking for any sign of where their protector had gone.
He didn’t know how long he struggled on the ground gasping for breath and peering through water eyes. By the time he had found a trail of blood leading into the forest, the fire had died down, and the smoke slowly clearing. What was left of the mansion lay in a smoldering heap. He staggered away from the courtyard, back toward the garden shed.
Minerva lay inside, still in the same condition as before, but thankfully still breathing. He managed to hoist her over his shoulder with his good arm, and set off to the forest.
Trudging through the undergrowth, he found clear signs of blood and broken branches leading him forward. He came to a small clearing; the overcast sky gave it a washed out look, only interrupted by the occasional red flower. The air seemed to press down upon Taras like a shroud, he shifted Minerva on his shoulder nervously.
Up against a tree in the corner, he spied a figure slumped over on his back. He barely resembled the man Taras had known since he was a child. Beaten black and blue, Felton’s face covered in cuts and bruises. His right arm was… gone, tattered and bloody cloth left in its wake, the other, clenched against his side. His armor was destroyed to the point of no return, laying in strips. A broken sword sat a few feet to the side.
Taras let Minerva down gently, and rushed to Felton’s side. The man looked up at him slowly, a dim look in his eyes.
“…Oh…hey kid...” He hacked out. He hadn’t called Taras that for eight summers.
“Don’t talk old man, you lost a lot of blood.”
“Hah, I know. Left a pretty good breadcrumb…trail for you to follow.”
“Please, stop. You’re wasting your energy. I’ll be right back; I’m going for help.”
“Don’t…that’s an order from your party leader… It’ll be a waste of time. I know it… and so do you.” Felton coughed again, blood gathering at the corner of his mouth.
“Bullshit, you’re tough, aren’t you? You can come out of this in no time. I saw you fighting back there, and I’ve always known you were strong! I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t let me repeat myself…again. I have something important to tell you before I go.”
“Please, no.” Taras shook his head.
“Just listen…In my boot there are two seals and two letters…one of the letters is for you to read, the other is for a friend you must meet if you want to cross…the border…the rest is explained in my letter…”
“Please don’t go…why does it have to be you? Right now, I need you, Minerva really needs you!”
“Can’t be helped…I trust you… and it’s dead…you and Minerva were both a wonderful blessing as well, so don’t be too hard…yourself…”
He was gone. The old man’s hair was illuminated by a single ray peering from the overcast sky. The white made it look like spring snow, the especially fragile kind, disappearing hours later in the noon sun. Way too fragile.
******
There were no priests around, nor did Taras have the time to fetch the one from town to perform an exorcism. The funeral pyre crackled in the night, as Taras went through the items Felton left behind. He turned over a pouch emblazoned with a rune. Various things fell out that were unproportionate to its size. Documents, a small waterskin, the two letters and seals, as well as some gold coins. He looked beside him. Minerva had finally fallen asleep, but she had still been unresponsive beforehand. He tucked the seals into his left breast pocket, deciding to leave the letters in the bag. His hand brushed up against the small orb in his right pocket. That had never been resolved, and it likely had something to do with that thing that had killed Felton. Right now, though, he didn’t care. He had to focus on keeping the remaining member of his family alive.
Minerva…he was almost glad she was in the state she was. If she had been conscious, Taras couldn’t fathom how broken she would have been. “Though, as if she wasn’t broken now”, he muttered under his breath.
He threw more dead branches onto the fire, crackling and popping as they slowly disintegrated. All that still lay in the flames were the tattered and now slightly melted remains of armor. He stood up, starting to put away the item bag, then something at the edge of the firelight caught his eye. The glint of a steel blade. He didn’t even remember bringing it back with him out of the burning mansion…. ahh well. He managed to fit it in the bag by tearing the drawstrings the entire way.
Then, he collapsed from exhaustion into a deep, and thankfully dreamless sleep.
