Hunted: The Awakening

Posted on Wednesday, 12 August 2020 - 10:52am by Crowe
Edited on on Wednesday, 12 August 2020 - 11:25am

Mission: Operation: Jabberwocky

He fought his way upward through a cloying mental shroud while his heart slammed against his rib-cage as though in a frantic bid for freedom. Awareness returned in minute degrees. His mouth felt dry, his lips cracked. He lay on ... something. And there were sounds ... small sounds when he tried to move. His eyelids fluttered, the heavy weight of his lids resisting upward movement, as his hands pressed against ... something.

Danger.

Unbidden, the word surfaced and he grabbed at it hungrily. A lifeline in the dark. He drew in a shuddering breath and willed his eyes to open. Once. Twice. And on the third try, saw the last rays of sunlight touching the ground, dappled by a dense interwoven canopy above him. The word for it escaped him, hidden within the shroud that seemed to fill his aching head. He was lying on the ground. He concentrated, not an easy feat, and heard a soft crackle of leaves as he shifted. Something hard pressed against his back and he winced reflexively.

He sat up slowly; no other speed was possible. Slowly and with difficulty.

Nothing came to mind. Nothing. Not a name for the place in which he lay or the reason he was there. Nothing. Panic flooded his system and he scrabbled to his feet, swaying, head swiveling from side to side, stumbling, and reaching finally for the slender trunk of a nearby tree to steady himself. His gaze fell to the complex tattoo on the back of his hand and followed the trail from one tattoo to another up his arm. Dressed in a pair of loose-fitting, drawstring pants that he didn't recognize, the tattered edges tickling his ankles, what he could see of his body was covered in mystifying tattoos. He was barefoot. And ... cold?

The wind swept through the trees, clawing at his exposed skin, shoving his shoulder-length hair across his face to blind him. He shivered and heard the sharp cry of a bird on a ... branch? ... above him. He looked up, straining to focus, and saw its ebon wings flap and settle. Crow, he thought, pleased that he understood something. Anything.

And then, the warning returned to him but this time, accompanied by a second.

Danger. Hide.

A directive issued from the black void that was his mind, he began to walk. Stumbled really. Forced himself to move. One step at a time while he searched for ... understanding ... memory ... shelter. Something. Ignore the pain he told himself Ignore the weakness. The dry, parched feel of his mouth, the split in his lower lip. Just walk. Lassitude sucked at his muscles, leaching away what little strength he had, but he kept moving. Obeying the imperative.

The forest extended as far as he could see in all directions. Not flat though. There were rises and sharp drops. Scree and small boulders. He felt no familiarity with this place. No helpful names or sudden bouts of understanding appeared. No kinship but he knew when he saw the opening, he had found what he needed half-behind a thicket of bushes.

The opening was small. Compact enough that he could crawl in and if he stayed curled up, he would fit inside. He used a dead branch to erase his footfalls though the reasoning behind it eluded him. His limbs felt leaden, weighted, as he crawled inside and pulled a good-sized rock, with the last of his strength, into position before the entrance.

The shroud fell heavily across his mind. One moment, awake and the next gone.

A Post By:

Crowe