A Smidge of Magic

Chapter 8

Ian let out a weak groan as unforgiving consciousness crept up through his daze of sleep. It burned away his dreams and brought back all the worries and concerns sleep had let him avoid. Ian raised his hand to wipe down his face and pull off the remaining veil of sleep. Only to find a literal veil across his face. He should've been surprised, but a man could only feel so much shock in a single day.

The veil was light-weight but incredibly sticky, and it stubbornly clung to his fingers. The more he struggled to shake it off, the further he became entangled. It stretched, and expanded, but refused to tear. His mouth and nose were uncovered, but the upper half of his head was encased tightly in the stuff, effectively muting his hearing and blinding him. Two things that were unpleasant to wake up too.

It doesn't much matter. If that woman wanted me dead, she wouldn't have gone to all this trouble. She'd have just let Wolfenstein eat me, Ian reasoned.

He managed to poke a hole through the material over one eye and got a glimpse of his surroundings. His roving cyclopean vision settled onto the figure of the wolf first, then shifted about the camp in search of its owner. He found her sitting on a log across from him, a campfire blazed between them.

She was facing away with her attention drawn to something on the log beside her. He couldn't see from his prone position what she was fidgeting with, but it did give him a minor advantage as she hadn't noticed his stirring yet. The hood of her cloak was now thrown back, revealing long blonde hair. There were also protrusions on either side of her head, sticking out through the hair by three or four inches.

Are those... her ears? Nope. Still asleep. They must have me on some very good painkillers.

He thought about his earlier encounter with her and tried to reason if it was part of the dream or part of reality. While he didn't think she was trying to kill him, he knew she had a weapon. If left him with the assumption he wasn't safe.

He continued to pull at the webbing, careful not to move any more than he had to, lest he draw his captor's attention. There was a faint growl at his feet. He froze, snapped his eye shut, and pretended to be asleep. Ian could sense the silver-red eyes of the predator boring into him. After a few quiet minutes had passed, he snuck another peek. The dog/wolf/beast (he still wasn't quite sure what it was) had lain back down, so he worked at removing the sticky head-wrap once more.

"Leave it," The soft voice he'd heard earlier said. Even muffled he made out the odd almost musical accent.

As the last vestige of sleep left him, he stopped abruptly. The realization he was using his broken arm left him stunned. He recovered from the surprise and pulled his left hand away to where he could see it. He flexed he wiggled his fingers, and moved his arm around, testing out the restored limb. He felt no mind-jarring pain or waves of nausea. Miraculously he could sense no trace of the break. The memory of a medicinal tasting drink forced down his throat and his sudden blackout flashed in his mind.

What on Earth did she give me? Ian wondered. He wasn't sure that he could deal with the answer just yet, so he decided to start small.

"Where are we?" Ian asked.

"How could you not know where you are?" She asked, the furrow of her brow, and purse of her lips gave Ian the impression she though him simple. "Those wounds must've been worse than I thought," She said, putting the stick she'd been using to stir the campfire, and made to move around the fire to examine him.

"I'm alright, I think," Ian replied, holding up his hand to stop her, "What did you give me? And what is this stuff?" He asked as he pulled at the veil clinging to his face. His movements became agitated as the sticky gauze kept thwarting his attempts to remove it.