Chapter 5

When I woke, I was wrapped in warm light. Floating. Or maybe I just didn’t have a body anymore. It was hard to tell. Everything felt soft and distant and fuzzy, like I was half-asleep inside a screensaver. Colors drifted lazily in and out of the glow - indistinct shapes moving through their day - going to work, coming home, buying groceries. Totally normal stuff, which made absolutely no sense. Or did it?

One of the shapes drifted toward me. As she got closer, her features sharpened. Bright green eyes. Pale, almost glowing skin. An adorable little nose. A warm smile that felt like a blanket around me.

“Are you an angel?” I whispered. My voice didn’t sound like mine. Too high. Too slow.

“You’re cute,” she said, and her voice somehow made the light warmer.

“Is this heaven?”

“Nope,” she said with a smile so radiant it hurt where my heart used to be. “This is a tent. You’ve been **** for three days. Wait here and I’ll go get Ashie.”

I tried to reach for her, but something heavy pressed against my chest, squeezing my breath. “Easy, hero,” she laughed softly. “Relax. I’ll be right back.”

She faded away, turning fuzzy again until all I saw was light.

The glow flickered, like someone dimming a lamp. I tried to look around, but I only drifted. The light flickered again. Was that… me blinking? I focused hard, and dimmed the light once more, though this time for longer. When it came back, the world looked a little sharper. The warm glow resolved into something more brown. The fuzzy shapes grew outlines.

I tried turning my head. This time the world tilted with me. A dull ache throbbed where my neck was supposed to be. I felt like that should matter, but it didn’t quite stick.

Another blink. When the world brightened again, I saw light brown fabric above me - tent canvas. Shadows danced across it in pretty patterns.

Rustling. Then more light. Then my angel reappeared.

“You’re back,” I murmured, smiling. My voice still floated, but at least it sounded more like me.

“Right-O,” she said brightly. “Just relax. Ashie is here.”

“That’s not my name,” came another voice - deeper, feminine, and seemingly annoyed.

“Who’s Ashie?” I asked.

“What’s wrong with him?” that other voice questioned.

“Oh, he’s as high as a kite,” my angel said cheerfully.

“What’s a kite?” the other voice asked.

“Oh! They’re great. Woven reeds tied to a string so they float in the air! My Grams taught me how to make them.” She practically glowed with pride.

“…And what do you do with it?” the other voice pressed.

“You fly it, obviously. It’s relaxin’. And so much fun!”

“I’ll take your word for it. So he’s gonna live?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Even though my magic didn’t help much, he’s healin’ crazy fast. He might even sit up tomorrow.”

“Great,” the other voice replied. She didn’t sound thrilled. The light brightened again, then settled back down.

“Don’t mind her,” my angel said, leaning over me with a smile. “She’s just mad she had to kick the shit out of those flaccid fuckwads back in town…”

* * *

I woke slowly, drifting up from dreams of angels and kites and warmth. The world came back in a strange sepia haze, and every inch of my body ached like my bones had been sanded down. I blinked a few times before realizing I was staring at the inside of a tent.

When I tried to sit up, a gentle but firm hand pressed against my chest.

“Relax, hero. Sit tight.”

I turned toward the voice. Soft. Warm. Feminine. She sat cross-legged beside me - small, delicate, and youthful, though I had no idea how to judge age here. Late teens? Early twenties? Petite frame, narrow hips, a leather vest painted with bright paint. Her skin was a flawless, pale gray, her hair braided neatly and so black it shimmered blue. Pointed ears poked out from the sides of her head, her green eyes sparkled like polished glass, and her smoky-gray lips curved into a smile that lit the entire tent.

“Where am I?” I croaked.

“In a tent,” she said simply.

I let my head drop back onto whatever counted as a pillow. “My angel,” I murmured.

“Yep. Still cute,” she said to herself. Then, “Want a drink?”

I nodded. She shifted around, and I heard water trickle into a cup.

“Alright, slow and easy. Let’s get you up.”

She guided my head into her lap, and thank god she did. My ribs lit up in agony the moment I tried to move. I hissed through my teeth.

“It’s alright. You can relax. Here.” She lifted the cup to my lips and tipped it carefully. A tiny sip, barely more than a taste, slid into my mouth. It tasted like spring water filtered through forest moss. I swallowed greedily, but she pulled the cup back. “Go slow or you’ll ****,” she scolded. I obediently took the next little sip she offered.

“Are you really an angel?” I asked.

She giggled, a sound that was light and musical. “Fuck no. I’m just a bitch with bad luck. Well… until recently.”

“I’m… sorry?” I tried. It sounded more like a question than comfort.

“Don’t be. If you hadn’t stood up to those shit-eatin’, no-nut ass-weasels, I’d be enslaved or dead right now.” She flashed me a grin that shone like the sun. “Stupidest brave thing I’ve ever seen. But it worked out for me, so I won’t complain.”

“You’re… the girl?”

“Mirri,” she said proudly. “Yep. And you’re my hero.” She beamed. “Good thing Ashie showed up when she did, or we’d both be corpses.”

“Ashie?” I echoed. I was struck by a strange sense of déjà vu.

“Your orc friend? Big, green, really fuckin’ scary when she’s pissed?”

I let out a low exhale. “Gotcha.”

She raised an eyebrow at that.

I closed my eyes for a moment. “So… where are we?”

“In a tent,” Mirri chirped with a mischievous grin.

“I mean where in the world.”

“Oh! About three days south of Wolfsend.”

“What’s Wolfsend?”

“The town we were in,” she said matter of factly. “Not a bad place if you ignore the dick-chokers and fuck-failures. And they ignore you.”

“Right,” I said, because what else could I say.

“So how do you feel, besides sore?” she asked.

“Sore,” I said. If she could be a brat, so could I.

She grinned but waited.

“My ribs hurt. And my head, right here -” I tried to lift a hand, but she caught it mid-air and set it gently back down.

“Yeah, well. A fractured skull, punctured lung, and shattered ribcage’ll do that. But you’re healin’ fast.” She said it like she was commenting on the weather.

I blinked at her.

“How about mentally?” she pressed. “Is your thinker thinkin’ right?”

“Maybe?”

She held up three fingers. “How many?”

“Three.”

“What year is it?”

“Uh…” I hesitated. Did they measure time the same here? “What… calendar are we talking about?”

“Calendar?” Her face wrinkled in confusion.

“I mean like standard, or Gregorian, or, uh…”

“Okay, so maybe a little brain damage,” she said cheerfully. “But don’t worry, your looks’ll probably carry you through.”

She smiled. And somehow, beat to hell as I was, I smiled back.

* * *

Mirri and I spoke for a long while. It all felt natural.The conversation never felt ****; the silences never awkward. It was… nice. Strange how quickly “nice” had become something precious.

I learned the man who’d held her was named Hek, apparently a big deal in Wolfsend, important enough that Ashie figured she’d burned any chance of ever returning after the beating she gave him and his pack of bootlickers. I made a mental note to apologize for that later.

Ashie had carried me the entire three day trek to wherever here was, with Mirri’s magic patching me together just enough to keep me breathing. I’d have to thank Ashie for that, once I could manage anything more strenuous than existing.

According to Mirri, my injuries were bad enough that she hadn’t been sure I’d survive even with her spells. When I asked what “magic” meant to her, she told me her Grams had been the tribe’s shaman and had trained her to take over. The way her voice went quiet told me something had happened - something she wasn’t ready to talk about. I didn’t want to pry, so I let it go.

Instead she showed me a bit of what she could do: a small butterfly of pale blue and pink light that fluttered once before dissolving like dew in sunlight, then a stream of clean water conjured straight into a cup. Real magic. Not herbs, or charms, or dances you later attributed to coincidence. The genuine article. I wasn’t prepared for that, not even close.

After that, I asked a whole lot of questions. Mirri answered every one with that patient, amused smile of hers. She promised to teach me once I recovered, assuming I didn’t do anything catastrophically stupid in the meantime.

Somewhere in all that talking I noticed I was naked under the blanket draped over me. Apparently my clothes had been too far gone to save; Mirri burned them after deciding they were beyond the reach of gods or laundry. She’d also washed the crusted blood, dirt, and ichor off me while I’d been ****.

I managed an embarrassed, stammering thank-you. She only laughed softly, like she’d been waiting for that moment.

* * *

The next morning, Mirri helped me into a long, rough-cut leather vest - more of a suggestion of clothing than actual modesty. It covered the essentials, barely, but I still felt like one stiff breeze would rob me of whatever decency I had left.

With her steadying hands, I managed to stand and shuffle out of the tent. My ribs and skull throbbed dully, but the rest of the soreness had faded into something manageable. When I glanced down at myself, I was shocked at the lack of bruises.

“Soft tissue heals fastest,” Mirri said, noticing my confusion. “It’s the bones that take their sweet-ass time.”

I supposed that made sense. Still, considering the curb-stomping I’d taken less than a week ago, I expected to look a lot more… corpse-adjacent.

The outside air felt cold after the heat trapped in the tent, raising goosebumps across my skin. Mirri guided me to a fallen log beside a small campfire that had burned down to glowing coals. Weak as it was, the warmth helped chase away the phantom chill.

The camp itself was small, just our small canvas tent strung up between trees, Ashie’s bedroll and pack across the fire, and two crude wooden racks where stretched animal hides were drying. The orc herself was absent, which sent a little pulse of unease through me. Hard to miss someone that size.

Mirri brewed a thin soup over the coals while I tried to get my bearings and acclimate to being something other than horizontal. Judging by the sun filtering through the canopy, I guessed it was mid-morning. A soft breeze stirred the leaves overhead, birds chattered, and small things rustled around in the underbrush. The world felt… peaceful. Like it hadn’t yet remembered how cruel it could be.

As I sipped the warm broth, Mirri and I slipped into easy chatter. Eventually my thoughts drifted to our missing companion.

“So where’s Ashie?” I asked.

“That’s not my name,” came a low, irritated rumble from behind me.

I jerked in place as the orc emerged from the trees, dropping what could only be described as a mountain of freshly gathered branches beside me. I flinched again when the pile thudded down, showering bark and twigs everywhere.

“Don’t be like that, Ashie,” Mirri scolded lightly.

“He’s already confused enough,” the orc snapped. “Stop filling his head with garbage. I won’t be there next time someone tries to kill him”

“Uh… if it’s not Ashie, what is your name?” I asked quickly, hoping to diffuse the tension and save myself from whatever counted as an orcish faux pas.

Ashie narrowed her eyes at Mirri, jaw tightening. She turned away and muttered something under her breath.

“I… sorry, I didn’t catch that,” I said. “Could you say it again?”

She turned her head just enough to deliver it clearly, and with the grace of someone passing a kidney stone. “Ashlara.” Then she stomped back into the trees without another word.