Present Fears Are Less Than Horrible Imaginings

Pain came first from her back looking upwards to the three-fold fork in the tree above her. While the sound of her fall was somewhat muffled by the damp leaves on the ground, it seemed deafening. If the Immortuos didn't hear her fall, they would have felt the ground vibrate enough to come. They always came. No time for fear, no time for pain, just run.

Only checking for a moment which direction was uphill and that her bow was unbroken, she ran with urgency, she ran to survive. As she ran her Healer instincts worked in tandem with her strategic mind. Each step she assessed her pain. "Ankle isn't broken though hurts like Hell, I can move all my toes, that tree is too small and no good, my arm is swelling just slightly, assess later. Wait, that tree...it's perfect!"

On the top of a steep incline was an Oak, and this one was Ancient. It had seen ages in this land, weathered it all, bore through it strongly. And the incline meant safety, as the Immortuos hardly went against an incline, too difficult to manage. The climb up was difficult and not nearly as graceful as before. Her right arm and ankle were swelling more and more with each movement. "Nothing's broken, keep going. Not much further." As she reached sufficient height, only then did she look back behind her down the hill.

He wasn't there. He never was, and yet he always is. It was a dream, but she could still feel his hand on her face.

Unwanted.

She could still feel the pressure of a hold on her neck.

Familiar.

If she were to close her eyes, she would see his eyes. She would see their passion, their desire, their seductive beauty, and the darkness surrounding it all. So that night she would not sleep, not close her eyes, not invite him in. Though he wasn't there, he never was, he somehow always is.

Instead she would focus on repairs. First her ankle which was not nearly as bad as her arm. The small and tightly packaged bundle that was strapped to her back in thick, brown cloth was loosened to obtain wraps. Pressure and warmth, and rest. The fall was foolish, the frightful night terrors of a simple child, and she cursed herself for allowing it. Not she had to use her supplies that were difficult to restock to heal. As she rubbed the salve and wrapped her ankle. The glow from her hands was faint as she softly sang old words, nearly forgotten in time and hardship. Healer's words, Healers song's, the kind that still held magic.

Normally she wouldn't dare in the night, the glow would give her away. But this tree was perfect with thick branches and giant leaves that hid her almost completely. And even if she was spotted, there would be no way the Immortuos could get up this hill. Her soft singing made a soft wind blow and the leaves sway. It was as if the very earth were awakened in joy at the sound of music too far forgotten. She pressed a hand to her arm where she was swelling. As she rubbed a reserved amount of salve on it, she sang louder. The wind became stronger and danced about her, it was almost beautiful. But it was cold, and as she shivered her concentration broke and the song was lost.

It was enough for now, she would heal the rest on her own. What her mother could have done with those words, or better still her Grandmother! The line of Healers was thinning, not many left now. When the Immortuos came, those who stayed behind to heal those who could not run were taken easily. Now there are so few Healers left, and even less with the heart and strength to endure.

Whether she knew it or not, she was needed, and no one else will do. She felt the pull to go back and help, and deep down she knew she had to. With every step she ran away with her feet, her heart resisted.

But there was always fear. Fear beyond the Immortuous, fear beyond the Purple Mist, fear that took her to Base Village, her Majesty's court, and the love the consumed her and violently devoured her.