She shifts uneasily, looking away for only a moment -- just a moment -- searching the darkness for anyone who could help. And when she turns back, he's gone.































"No."

'Please. Please. I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt him.'

His voice is as soft as summer wind in her ear, murmuring her name so only she can hear. Whether or not it carries across the water doesn't matter.

'No! Trout!'

Her ears are ringing, a smell like chalk and burnt paper curling in her nostrils. But they're just footnotes to the feeling. Like rain on her neck, droplets pattering against her closed eyelids and into her mouth, leaving the taste of iron on her tongue. He slouches against her, and she screams.

"Ben!"

She pulls him into her arms.

'Not cold no more. You're here.'

Fingers rough from iron and leather catch on her skin. It almost hurts, tears and blood forming like glue on her face, but it's the last time he touched her, and it's a memory she'll never shake.

'Please don't leave me!'

There's so much blood. More blood than she's ever seen. Pools of it, lakes of it, rivers, streams. He's wearing it, leaking it, vomiting it. It's in her hair, on her tongue, in her eyes. Everything stinks with the acerbic tang of iron. But she doesn't let him go. He's in her arms, now. Finally. He's right where he should be. He's in her arms, and he's safe, and she's not letting him go.

He's a grown boy; it takes everything she has to lever him from the tree. But she can't carry him to the bar on her own. She needs help.

"I need help!"

Her voice echoes from bough and branch, slapping back in her face, mocking her. He's heavy, and his blood is soaking through her clothes.



She's not going to do this again.



She is not

going

to hold another man

while he dies.



"Ben Hawkins, you open your eyes!" she growls, voice thick with tears and anger.

Her boots scuffle in the dirt, mouth to his temple and tears in his hair.





She won't let him go.