A shriek from above her, and then a storm descends. A beast the colour of an iridescent oil slick erupts from the spot where the girl was. Edith sees this in flashes as she rolls away; dark sky, dark ground, dark horse. A hoof hits the boards by her head with a sound that rattles through her bones and catches in her throat in a silent, consuming fear. A fistful of hair is caught under the hoof and rips out as Edith pulls herself away in blind panic.
The back beast kicks forward in an awkward hobble, catching her in side with a sound like a boot stepping on a wafer. Saliva and breath erupts from her chest and she instinctively curls around herself, expecting a killing blow any second. The beast is stomping and kicking in a wild, flailing way. The heavy hooves crash around her like some hellish hailstorm. Something sharp slams into the back of her thigh so hard her body scraps forwards against the boards. She can feel the flesh split and the bone bend ominously. Oh god, she's trying to kill me. Her shoulder suddenly crumples and slides out from beneath her as the horse kicks off and flees. Her head snaps back and her shoulder blades slam on the boards with the force of it.
There is thunder in the ground as the black horse hobbles down the dock as fast as it can. Scraps of the white dress flutter behind it like ghosts. Shock keeps Edith’s heart running and pain keeps her immobile. Blood is pooling under her skin as colossal bruises, and something in her chest grinds against each other in a way that guarantees broken bones.
The sound of someone being sick over the side of the dock reaches her dimly with the sour smell of salt and bile. The people who fled when the horse appeared start to slowly disperse, repelled by the scent of disaster. No, come back, she pleads internally, her mouth wide as she pants in shallow breaths, as if that will help get more air into her starved lungs. Tears, snot and drool run down her face and blood is crusting in her hair. She feels beaten down to her soul. The humiliation when she was held down has given away to a soul numbing degradation as she is beaten and thrown aside. Maybe the Kelvic was right, strength does count for something.
Please, I need help she begs like a dog, expecting no one.
But as if answering her unspoken plea, someone does come. The preacher gets to his feet and hobbles over as if every step causes him pain. Blood is drying on his lips, she can smell it as he slides his arms under her. He quakes with exertion.
"Do not move. Don't stress yourself in any way. Please trust me."
But just the movement is stressful, as carful as he is, and she groans as her body bends to rest against his. Black dots gather in the corner of her vision as the pain spikes as bones grind together. Consciousness starts to slip away, but she holds on tight. And to think this all started out as a bad day; joblessness, pathetic self pity, anger, injustice, humiliation and now this. Somewhere, somehow, the gods are having a great laugh.
She cant seem to close her mouth, feeling that if she did, she would somehow suffocate. Leaving her to drool and bleed on his chest, inhaling the smell of sweat, blood and sick. Above her head the man repeats his name as a mantra like it's the only thing keeping him going. And maybe it is. She's not sure how he’s standing, let alone carrying her. There are a lot of things she doesn't know about him. Every few agonizing steps he'll tell her she's safe, and to have faith.
Faith? Faith in what? he must mean his deity. Is that how he still moves? It's a sobering thought. For her it's different though, without faith in the gods, her faith is aimed at him. But why does she trust him again? He stepped up to help her even as he himself stood in ruins, twice. Yes, but before that. What was it? Coffee, her mind supplies unhelpfully. She trusts him because coffee. And yet that seems legitimate, even logical, in her current state. She would laugh, but she cant summon the air required to do so.
And slowly, without warning or trauma, she slips quietly into unconsciousness hearing him whisper his name.
The back beast kicks forward in an awkward hobble, catching her in side with a sound like a boot stepping on a wafer. Saliva and breath erupts from her chest and she instinctively curls around herself, expecting a killing blow any second. The beast is stomping and kicking in a wild, flailing way. The heavy hooves crash around her like some hellish hailstorm. Something sharp slams into the back of her thigh so hard her body scraps forwards against the boards. She can feel the flesh split and the bone bend ominously. Oh god, she's trying to kill me. Her shoulder suddenly crumples and slides out from beneath her as the horse kicks off and flees. Her head snaps back and her shoulder blades slam on the boards with the force of it.
There is thunder in the ground as the black horse hobbles down the dock as fast as it can. Scraps of the white dress flutter behind it like ghosts. Shock keeps Edith’s heart running and pain keeps her immobile. Blood is pooling under her skin as colossal bruises, and something in her chest grinds against each other in a way that guarantees broken bones.
The sound of someone being sick over the side of the dock reaches her dimly with the sour smell of salt and bile. The people who fled when the horse appeared start to slowly disperse, repelled by the scent of disaster. No, come back, she pleads internally, her mouth wide as she pants in shallow breaths, as if that will help get more air into her starved lungs. Tears, snot and drool run down her face and blood is crusting in her hair. She feels beaten down to her soul. The humiliation when she was held down has given away to a soul numbing degradation as she is beaten and thrown aside. Maybe the Kelvic was right, strength does count for something.
Please, I need help she begs like a dog, expecting no one.
But as if answering her unspoken plea, someone does come. The preacher gets to his feet and hobbles over as if every step causes him pain. Blood is drying on his lips, she can smell it as he slides his arms under her. He quakes with exertion.
"Do not move. Don't stress yourself in any way. Please trust me."
But just the movement is stressful, as carful as he is, and she groans as her body bends to rest against his. Black dots gather in the corner of her vision as the pain spikes as bones grind together. Consciousness starts to slip away, but she holds on tight. And to think this all started out as a bad day; joblessness, pathetic self pity, anger, injustice, humiliation and now this. Somewhere, somehow, the gods are having a great laugh.
She cant seem to close her mouth, feeling that if she did, she would somehow suffocate. Leaving her to drool and bleed on his chest, inhaling the smell of sweat, blood and sick. Above her head the man repeats his name as a mantra like it's the only thing keeping him going. And maybe it is. She's not sure how he’s standing, let alone carrying her. There are a lot of things she doesn't know about him. Every few agonizing steps he'll tell her she's safe, and to have faith.
Faith? Faith in what? he must mean his deity. Is that how he still moves? It's a sobering thought. For her it's different though, without faith in the gods, her faith is aimed at him. But why does she trust him again? He stepped up to help her even as he himself stood in ruins, twice. Yes, but before that. What was it? Coffee, her mind supplies unhelpfully. She trusts him because coffee. And yet that seems legitimate, even logical, in her current state. She would laugh, but she cant summon the air required to do so.
And slowly, without warning or trauma, she slips quietly into unconsciousness hearing him whisper his name.
