To the Point

Desmon Rune

Today’s snippet is inspired by Casz’s SnoValleyWrites! prompt.

Desmon Rune doubled over in pain, furious that his body waged war against him. One bridge. One bridge left to cross and he couldn’t do it. Eyes watering and ears ringing, he could only guess that Jalem made it across and that Allen was somewhere in the middle.

“Takes a liar,” Allen said.

“To know a liar,” Jalem finished. “Desmon, can you move your fingers?”

He made a guttural sound.

“Translation, yes,” Allen said. “Do you see a lavender plant at the base of that tree?”

Desmon stopped listening as he lay on the ground. Strong arms pulled him up and close to him, bringing a brief memory of kindness Desmon’s father showed him whenever the child fell ill.

Voices overlapped – “Safer here. I’ll build a fire. No dying allowed.”

He allowed himself to be cared for, not as if he had any choice or say in the matter (had he not lost his voice).

The soothing air enveloped him like gentle waves just below the township. No regrets, no restraints, no judgments. The internal fires he had continuously stoked for the sake of survival, for social standing, from schooling, cooled to an ember as Desmon Rune slipped into sleep.