Part Four

Her Broken Wings (Part Four)
by Phoebe Lee Mathius

"Hear me and answer me.
My thoughts trouble me and I am distraught."
Psalm 55:2

She woke up, startled.

The nightmare had seemed so real. Her heart was still ramming hard against her rib cage and she was sweating. Everything ached. Pulling herself up, she continued her strenuous journey. Where she was heading, she didn’t really care now. If she were to return to the palace only to be ridiculed as in her dream, she was better off dying in the forest, she had concluded.

She didn’t know what time it was, whether it was day; or whether it was night. All she saw… was darkness behind her, and darkness ahead of her.

She walked for what seemed like a long time. She had not eaten or drunk anything for days and she had lost a lot of blood as it is. Having nothing left in her reserve, her body gave way…. again. She fell on her hands and knees. Her world was spinning and she felt nauseous. However, there was nothing in her to vomit out.

"How much longer, My Lordship? How much longer before I die?"

"How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me?" Psalm 13:2

Sitting down, she cautiously turned to inspect the bloody gash on her back. She still couldn’t believe it.

Her wings. Were truly gone.

******

He saw the thing fall. All this while, he was observing it from afar. So that’s where the blood had come from! He thought. It looked a sorry sight, but he could not be sure if it was foe or friend. The Forest of Darkness was littered with Temptors and other evil Beings. It could be Anything.

But then again, Temptors don’t bleed red. They disgorge grit and spew out muck-like liquid when dying (he’d killed a few); so they can’t bleed red…

Or can they?

His train of thought was cut short, as the thing had begun moving again. He crept across the path and hid behind the closest tree to have a closer look. Why, it was merely a girl! He watched her tear off her sleeve to tie over her wound. She was trembling.

The wound was deep. “Temptors,” he snarled. He watched her tend to her wound quietly.

“She won’t survive,” he murmured.

******

“Sssshe wohon’t ssssurvive,” sniggered something else that was observing the dying heir. It was replied with many other hisses and sniggers of agreement.