244 Thomas's Natural Charisma

Thomas opened his eyes and sat up while coughing the vile smoke out of his blackened lungs. The night's cold, clean air was so refreshing even as it dove under his wet clothes and made goosebumps run along his skin. He took in as much fresh air as he could in between his heavy coughs. Two heavily scarred hands gently pushed him prone, back on the hard dirt.

"Take it slow," a faintly familiar voice said. The hands guided his breathing by pushing up and down on his chest. "In through the nose." Thomas breathed in. "And out through the mouth." The hands pushed down, pushing the fresh air out. Four fingers were held out in front of him. "Thomas, can you tell me how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three…no four," Thomas replied, his blurry vision steadily focusing. He glanced to the figure kneeling next to him, someone a year or two older than him and dressed in a white robe.