Sometimes the Universe sends people to do nothing more than help us make it to the next chapter in our lives.
Amidst the swirling void of emptiness, where Wendell’s consciousness lingered, a twig snapped.
“Shhhh. Do you want to scare it off?”
“Look who’s talking.”
The sounds of crunching leaves and grass drew closer. Breathing, controlled and steady.
Then it stopped.
“Evan!” hissed the young voice.
“Shhhh! How many times do I have to tell you, Hiram? So help me, if we lose our dinner again, mother is going to skin US!”
“…but Evan,” pleaded Hiram.
The movement was muffled, but quick—shifting through the grass, and then it stopped short. For long moments there was complete silence and the emptiness rolled back in.
“What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know. That’s a lot of blood.”
“Do you think it was a bear?”
“No—there’s no maul marks on him. It looks more like he’s been beat up.”
“Why is there a branch sticking out of his side, Evan?”
Again the sound of foot falls, slowly circling.
“Look at the bark—it’s covered in moss. He must have fallen onto it…in the water. Hit something floating, maybe? I don’t know. Maybe someone threw him on it.”
“What would make someone want to throw a person onto a log?”
“Well I’m sure I don’t know, Hiram. I don’t usually find dead bodies in the forest, do you?”
“Evan!”
“For heaven’s sake, what?!!”
“His hand…it…”
“What about his…”
“THERE,…did you see it!? It moved!”
Cold hands. Rough, scratchy fibers against hot skin.
“By The Makers…he is alive.”
“But,…how could he be? Look at him Evan! And the branch sticking out…”
“Open my sack, Hiram—get out my blanket.”
“Why?”
“Do as I say! He’s alive and we’re going to help him.”
“I’m not touching him. He’s,…bloody and…yucky.”
“What did you expect was going to happen when you started hunting with me? Did you think the animals will neatly fall upon the grass and roll into little packages for you to take home?”
“No. I thought that we’d shoot a deer, skin it and then go home—not find a dead boy in the forest with a tree growing out of his stomach!”
“Well, he’s not dead, so give me that blanket already!”
“Here.”
“Alright—we can’t move him unless we pull that wood from his side.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“If we don’t, Hiram, he’ll die.”
“He hasn’t died so far…we could leave him here for someone else to find.”
There was a long pause, followed by a sigh.
“I know this is scary, Hiram, but if you were badly hurt and alone in a forest…and by a slim chance someone found you—wouldn’t you want to be helped?”
There was another long pause, then a heavy sigh.
“Yes.”
“Then help me.”
“Alright.”
Rough hands once more, pulling and turning legs.
“Why is he dressed so weird?”
“Don’t know—maybe a jester…or worse, a foreigner. Doesn’t matter, he’s just a kid.”
“He’s a lot older than me.”
“Just…don’t think about it, ok?”
The sound of cloth rending in two echoed in the blackness.
“Mom made that!”
“…and now mom is going to help us save a life. Here, fold it into a thick square. I’ll make some strips so we can bind the wounds.”
“How are we going to get him back to the village? It’s more than a days walk—you can’t carry him all that way, Evan.”
“No…no, I can’t. Good point. We’ll have to use a couple of these branches, make a cot and drag him.”
“I’ll get started collecting the wood.”
“Thanks little brother.”
The foot falls were louder now, twigs and limbs snapping, shifting, dragging of heavy things unseen.
“Hey, Evan?”
“Yeah.”
“You think mom’s gonna skin us?”
There was another pause and another sigh, “Probably.”
