The Blood King's Love

Twelve

Luckily the water only goes up to my neck, but this kid is half my size, so it's not good news for him. I grab him by the waist and throw him over my shoulder. He's passed out, and I'm soaking wet. I gesture to the kids on land. "Get over here!" I haven't spoken in a while, so my voice is hoarse, but it matches my mood so I'm going with it.

The kids look at each other and back to me, but don't move. It might be because of my sickly appearance, or because they don't know me, or whatever, but frankly I don't give a fuck. "Did you not hear me?!" I scream with rage. "Get. Your. ASSES. Over here. RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"

They comply, most likely out of fear, and reach for my hands. They manage to hoist us both over and onto land, and immediately I lay the child down and begin to press down on his chest repeatedly--it's a technique I read about in a book once. To be honest, I don't remember it too well, and I've never done it on a real person who needed it before, but there's no other option right now.

It doesn't seem to be doing much, so I pinch his nose and blow air into his mouth. I switch between doing these motions a couple times until I see his chest project into the air, and hear a big gasp come out of his mouth as his eyes shoot open and he starts coughing up water.

I nearly collapse from relief. He tries to sit, and I rush to his side to help him up. Between his heavy breathing I observe him. His entire body was wet, but he was wearing a light green durumagi and wooden sandals. He looked about seven or eight. His nose was flat, his cheeks full, his hair was thick, a light brown color, his skin was porcelain white. His eyelashes were long and his eyes (currently bloodshot) were a soft green. Being entirely objective, he was beautiful. He was the pinnacle of upper class Valonian beauty. The fabric of his durumagi wasn't cheap, either--what was he doing in a place like this?

"Are you okay?" I ask him gently. He's looking around frantically, shooting a questioning look at the boys behind him. I turn around and snap at them, "What the hell is the matter with you three? How could you make him go out there?" They take a few steps back, fumbling with their hands, unable to say anything. 

I growl. "Well, if you've got nothing to say, go back where you came from and get someone that can help and make sure he's alright. It's the least you losers can do." They hesitate. "Go," I say. 

They run off into the woods. There's a chance they won't come back, but my gut feeling tells me they will. Those kids were old enough to know the potential severity of what may have happened, but they're not old enough to be malicious and completely leave us behind. And in the small chance they won't return, I have a couple options: the young child in front of me can make his way back home; if I can somehow influence him into taking me with him so I have a means of escape, that's the best case scenario. If I can't do that, I'll just have to go back to that room and wait for another chance to get out. 

I'm sure the kid will be fine either way. I smile and reach out to touch him, but he swats my hand away. His eyes looks me up and down; he horrified. I don't blame him--I still look a bit like I walked out of hell. I almost laugh at the thought of him seeing me a a week ago--compared to that, this is nothing. 

He tries to get up, but I grab him by the shoulders. "No--no, calm down, I'm not going to hurt you," I say in the sweetest voice possible. "Something very dangerous just happened to you, and you shouldn't stand so suddenly. Now, I'm going to ask you a few questions to make sure you're okay." I show him a calculated grin. "Don't worry, you can trust me. I promise I won't hurt you."

He doesn't look convinced, but he slowly sits back down. 

I hold up two fingers and ask him to count them; I take my pointer finger and ask him to follow it with his eyes without moving his head; I check his breathing by pressing down on his chest. Everything seems fine, and he's clear with his answers. The entire time he's just studying me, watching me intently.