A restless pilgrim—now by darkness prest
They stopped when his legs gave out.
No warning. Just a stumble. Knee hit a root. He went down hard. Face in the dirt.
Emily stopped. Turned. Hands on knees. Breath sawing in her throat.
"Get up," she said.
He didn't move.
She walked back. Boots crunching on dry leaves. Grabbed his good arm.
"Up. They might follow."
"Boundaries," he muttered. Face still in the dirt. "They stop at water."
"Creek was back there. This is deep woods. Nothing stops them here."
She pulled. He weighed too much. He helped. Pushed up with one arm. Staggered. Leaned on her.
Smelled like pine. And blood. And something else. Ozone. Like air before a storm.
They found a hollow. Under a fallen oak. Roots curled up like fingers. Made a roof.
He slid down. Back against the wood. Eyes closed.
Emily dropped the bag. Zipper stuck. She yanked it. Open.
Inside: Gauze. Tape. A half-eaten granola bar. A roll of old bandages, yellowed at the edges. She didn't remember packing those. Must be from Mother's kit. Still there.
She took out the fresh gauze.
"Shirt," she said.
He opened one eye. Amber. Dim.
"Take it off."
"Cold."
"You're bleeding on muscle. Move."
He didn't move. Just watched her. Head tilted. Like a dog listening to a whistle.
Emily reached out. Unbuttoned. Her fingers brushed his skin. Hot. Fever heat.
She pulled the fabric away. The wound was bad. Black around the edges. Poison.
But the skin... it was moving.
Tiny shifts. Like worms under the surface. Closing the gap.
She stopped breathing.
"What is that?" she asked.
He looked down. Didn't seem surprised.
"Healing," he said.
"Too fast."
"Fast is good."
"Not if it kills you." She pressed the gauze anyway. "Hold this."
He held it. Hand covered hers. Big. Rough. Calluses on fingers. Gun calls. Sword calls.
"Why?" he asked.
Emily paused. "Why what?"
"Save me. You know what I am."
"I know you bleed. Same as me."
"Liar."
She looked at him. Really looked. Shadows under his eyes. Deep. Like he hadn't slept in years.
"I'm tired," she said. Voice quiet. "Tired of finding bodies. Too many graves."
She thought of David. Standing at the edge of the woods. Two years ago. Same look. Ready to walk into the dark.
"Didn't check his pulse," she whispered. To herself.
"Who?"
"Nobody." She tied the bandage. Tight. "You need water. Food."
"No food."
"You'll starve."
"Won't."
He shifted. Winced. Hand went to his head. Pressed hard.
"Head?" she asked.
"Empty," he said. "Full of noise."
"Memory?"
"Gone."
Emily sat back. Pulled her knees to her chest. Sweater sleeve caught on a twig. Loose thread hung from her wrist. She pulled it. Didn't break.
"You don't know your name?"
He shook his head. Slow. Painful.
"Know pieces. Fire. Snow. A voice. Calling me home."
"Home where?"
"North. Mountains." He opened his eyes. Looked at her. "You smell like home."
Emily stood up. Brushed dirt off her jeans.
"That's the poison talking."
"No." He reached out. Caught her sleeve. The loose thread. Held it between fingers. "Safe."
She pulled away. Thread snapped.
"We rest here. Morning. Then we move."
"Morning," he agreed.
He leaned back. Eyes closed. Breathing changed. Deep. Slow.
Emily watched him. Chest rising. Falling.
She opened her bag again. Took out the book. Leather cover worn smooth.
Opened to the page.
A restless pilgrim—now by darkness prest
She traced the letters. Ink faded. Mother's handwriting in the margin. Keep walking.
"Restless," she said. Soft.
He didn't wake. But his hand twitched.
Outside, the wind picked up. Leaves scraped against the wood roof. Sound like nails.
Emily put the book away. Zipped the bag.
She looked at his shoulder. The bandage was already red. Bleeding through.
But the skin underneath... it was knitting. Visible. Like time-lapse.
She touched her own arm. Smooth. Human.
"Who are you?" she asked the dark.
No answer.
She leaned her head back. Closed her eyes.
Sleep came fast. Heavy.
Dreamt of water. Rising. Covering everything.
Woke up cold.
Moon was gone. Clouds thick.
He was watching her.
"You talk in sleep," he said.
"What did I say?"
"David."
Emily froze. Sat up.
"Who is David?" he asked.
"Nobody." She stood. Checked the bandage. Dry. Mostly. "We need to go."
"Morning?"
"Close enough."
She picked up the bag. He stood. No stagger this time.
Stronger.
He looked at the woods. North.
"Something there," he said. Pointing.
"Trees."
"Light."
Emily looked. Nothing. Just dark.
"I don't see it."
"You will." He started walking. Didn't wait for her.
Emily followed.
The thread from her sweater hung from his finger. He hadn't let go.