I next rise from sleep without opening my eyes, content to simply lay in that sweet spot between dreams and waking life. Happy to enjoy the warmth of the sun on my face until my weak attempts to swallow through my painfully dry throat push me to reenter the world. Lamenting the loss of whatever dopey sleep hormones are keeping me warm and cozy, I crack open the one eye, the other still stuck shut, and take in the morning.

The fire is nearly spent, having burnt down to glowing coals during the night. I tense up, the sight of the burning red embers bringing unwanted memories with them. I look away in a vain attempt to stem the imagery, but the sight follows me regardless. My neck tingles and itches along with my thundering heart. A desperate voice in my head pleads for me to turn around and check for threats, the unknown weighing heavily on my sanity. I only want to curl up, smaller and smaller until I dissolve away into nothing. The fear of what lies out of my sight setting my world aflame with terror.

In my forced attempts to look away, I spot a round, bloated sack of what looks like leather, a cork-shaped piece of wood jammed into the top. Condensation drips down the side and I hurriedly reach out to what I pray is an answer to my thirst, promises of water from the night before sparking me to action.

My lips lets loose an unholy shriek as my stretch proves to be much too hasty. Something rips open on, or in, my chest. It’s hard to tell exactly what happened as the pain spreads like static, down to my toes and up to my head, scouring away everything in its path. My grasp on the world is torn to shreds and I once again retreat from the trauma of my body.

* * *

I burst back into the light, trying and failing to take in a breath. My burgeoning anxiety is soon replaced by befuddling confusion as I process the sight in front of me.

Big brown eyes stare back at me, framed by short black hair. My eyes slide away from the smirking face, down a pale arm and ending at the hand grasping my nose shut. Gears turning, I begin to breath through my mouth, unable to do more than stare at the woman in front of me.

Abruptly letting me go, she continues to kneel in front of me, unblinking as she gives me a quick once over. Her smirk falls away into a small frown.

“Don’t do that again.”

What does she mean? Don’t do what? Breathe? Why doesn't she want me to breathe? With mounting worry I hold my breath in wide eye silence, unsure of what to do. She responds by poking me hard in the chest, forcing out the held air with a pained yelp.

“Don’t. Tear. Open. Your. Wounds.” Each word punctuated by a sharp tap to my chest, setting off hot sparks of pain that bloom into a wide pulsing throb in my torso.

For the first time I look down and see wide strips of linen? Cotton? Some kind of cloth, for sure, wrapped around my chest. A dark stain slowly spreading out into the material where I was repeatedly poked. The dark haired woman follows my gaze and locks eyes with me when I look back up, as if daring me to comment on the dissonance between her words and actions. I give a quick nod, hoping to convey that she has my full permission to inflict bodily harm on me if she so wishes. Not exactly a good precedent to set, but I don’t have a lot to work with at the moment.

I spend a few moments clearing my throat. And a few more after that. Unable to properly wet my parched excuse for a throat, I try once more, only to have the lady – I really need to find out her name – finally hand me the sack of water. I waste no time grasping onto the blessed item, but she doesn’t let go. Pointedly, she pulls me a fraction towards her and waits until I tear my eyes away from the tantalizing water. Once assured I’m looking at her, not the bag, she begins to speak to me like I’m a child. Which to be fair, I kind of am: physically at least, after my near death experience, if not emotionally, from the whirlwind of horror I’ve been put through.

“You start knocking that back like I know you’re going to and you will end up a coughing mess, with very little water in your stomach to show for it. And…” She pronounces the next words with the slow and careful delivery one might expect when dealing with the the emotionally disturbed or especially stupid. “If you spill this water, I won’t be getting you any more. You will have to drag your mangled ass to the river yourself or pray for rain.”

Her brown eyes bare into mine, delivering an unspoken warning, or maybe more of a question. Waiting for my reaction, the query something along the lines of: now, how stupid are you?

I smile in the most disarming manner I can, which isn’t very since my cracked lips bring a grimace and a new round of pain to my already saturated body.

With a slight narrowing of her eyes, my aggressive yet caring savior releases her hold on the water bag. Under her watchful gaze, I take small sips that tax my limited reserves of discipline. The cool nectar swirling around my mouth and down my throat in a heavenly stream that leaves me literally gasping in stunned relief. I've said it before and I’ll say it again. Water is so underrated.

Soon enough, my thirst feels quenched enough to attempt dialogue. My throat no longer full of dead heat and sand. One last clearing of my throat, which earns me a roll of the eyes from the still crouching woman, and I croak out my first words in days.

“Thank you.”

The words bring out a fleeting smile on her face. “Oh, so you’re capable of manners after all. I was sure you were limited to passing out and pissing yourself. A welcome change to be sure.”

Hah. Shows what you know. I’m almost certain I shit myself at some point. I’m a triple threat if nothing else. And honestly, too numb inside from the constant bouts of suffering for her teasings to sting in comparison.

“What’s–” the rest is lost in a string of hacking coughs, my throat and lungs still tender and weak despite slaking my thirst. I quickly bring the water back to my lips only to be stopped by a knowing look. With exaggerated care, I take in a little water between my coughing. Eventually riding out the fit, I continue on where I left off. The question burning in my mind.

“What’s your name?”

“Tolsti” she replies. “And you, my little seedling, are very lucky to have met me.”

I can only nod in mute acceptance. The last thing I can firmly remember leaves me almost happy the rest is unaccounted for. Eaten alive or drowned if I were lucky. How I escaped those twin fates a story to suss out later. Something to pack away in favor of the here and now. A trick I’ve been whipped into adopting as of late.

Tolsti’s voice brings me back from my weary thoughts. “I told you before that the hardest part has already passed. And I stand by that. But that doesn’t mean the road forward will be easy to walk.” She reaches behind her back and produces my missing dagger. Well, technically missing. I hadn’t even noticed it was gone. Spinning it around her finger, Tolsti gives an easy shrug.

“I was once very lucky, much like you are now, to have met someone who offered a guiding hand. Take the help or not, the decision is yours, as it was mine. But I will say this…” With a conspiratorial smile on her face, she removes her finger from the end ring, the dagger continuing to spin in mid air, as if her hand had never left. I stare dumbfounded at the rotating blade, watching its surface reflect the morning sun in lazy waves. I lose myself in the display until the untethered blade stops its movement without warning. Blade first, it glides closer to me in a slow but threatening manner. Inching closer before spinning one last time and stopping in front of me, handle first.

“I cannot walk the path for you. And I cannot guarantee it will be easy. All I can do is make sure your first steps hold true. The rest will be in your hands.”

With a final look at her grinning face, I shrug in casual imitation and make the easy decision. I reach out and take hold of my dagger, running my thumb over the flat of the blade.

“So…” I start, my weary body at odds with the nascent thrill surging though me. “…What now?”

“You sleep. You heal. You let yourself recover.” Tapping her finger against her cheek, Tolsti continues, her brown eyes taking on a golden glow around the edges. “But for now? Now you dream.”