Icebound - Chapter 5
#7 of Icebound
Chapter 5 of Icebound
Cormanthor Forest, 1372 DR. 29th day of Highsun.
Aiden awoke to an incessant ache in his arm and a sunbeam in his eyes. Squinting, he looked around. He was still in the forest. Alive.
He almost wished he weren't. He lay curled up on his side, hurting worse than he ever thought he had before in his life. Everything felt terribly cold, and he was shaking incessantly. It felt like a smith was using his head for an anvil, pounding on it in time with his heartbeat. His mouth tasted like something had died in it. He coughed, and pain shot up from his arm.
He looked down at his arm, which somehow had been splinted and wrapped in the bandages he'd had in his pouch. He stared at the bandages around his arm in disbelief. There was no way that he'd have managed to do that himself.
Dried blood flaked off his shirt and pants, which were irrevocably stained. He smelled like he hadn't bathed in days. His bow was propped up against a nearby tree, the string wrapped neatly around the handle. His quiver and arrows set beside them with his belt and pouch.
Furthermore, there was a large chunk of bark torn from the tree above his bow. Words had been etched into the wood, probably with a knife. Aiden stared at the the tree before the message actually registered, slowly filtering through his brain: "Wrapped you up. Hope you live. Sorry."
Well, that at least explained how his arm had been splinted and bandaged. The apology puzzled him... Were they apologizing for not taking him to safety? Or apologizing that he'd been injured in the first place?
He needed to make sure that his arm had been set properly, and the only people he knew who could do that were his mother and the local temple clerics. Getting home was priority number one. As he moved, trying to get his feet under him, he realized that getting home was actually number two. Priority number one was using the privy.
As he tried to stand up, a spike of pain shot up his leg, and the pounding in his head got worse, if such a thing was possible. One foot was visibly larger than the other, even through his boots. His entire ankle was swollen, probably sprained. He limped over to a nearby tree, intending to take care of priority one.
§
Standing back up was painfully awkward, having to use only one hand and leg. He limped over to his equipment, all conveniently set at the base of the tree with his bow, and sat down. He looked around and found his small canteen. Opening the canteen with one hand was difficult, but he managed by setting it between his legs to twist the top off. He drank almost the entire thing before his throat no longer felt parched.
He looked inside his belt pouch for his waybread and pulled it out. Specs of dirt dotted one side. He vaguely remembered his stuff falling out when he'd pulled the bandages from his pouch. He definitely remembered trying to bandage his arm with the poultice he'd been carrying, and failing. He blew on the waybread, trying to get some of the dirt off. It didn't work. He ate it anyway.
Getting back to town was imperative now. He rubbed his forehead hoping it would help with the pulsing ache in his head. His head was burning hot. No wonder he was shivering, he'd probably taken a chill. He took inventory of his gear as he packed it up. Whoever had bandaged him had unstrung the bow, thank the gods.
He gently unwrapped the bowstring from around his bow and put it in his belt pouch. The bow would make for a decent impromptu staff to help him walk. He stood the bow up in the dirt, and pulled himself up on it, waves of pain rolling through his ankle and arm. As if to add insult to injury, a drop of rain hit him in the forehead as it began to drizzle.
The next ten hours were by far the most painful he had ever experienced. Every step he took sent pain radiating up from his arm and leg as he limped through the forest, boots squelching in the mud. The throbbing headache just got worse as the day went on. He had to stop every minute or so, leaning on his bow and hoping it wouldn't warp. By noon, the the rain had become a veritable downpour, and he started to get hungry again. The thought of actually eating anything nauseated him. He muttered prayer to Ilmater, The Crying God, asking mercy.
As dusk approached, he lay up against a tree. Not wanting to catch a chill, he took his soaking clothes off and draped them on a branch. He hoped they'd dry by morning. He pulled his cloak tight around himself. At least the wool would keep him warm even when it was wet. He looked up at the sky through an opening in the forest canopy.
Apparently the moon was getting close to full. He realized after a moment that he must have been asleep for at least a few days. It was a wonder he hadn't been eaten alive while he was unconscious. He started nodding off as exhaustion took its toll, despite the many aches and pains.
§
Aiden's arm was in incredible pain, much worse than it had been yesterday. He was freezing. His cloak had come off during the night somehow. He opened his eyes, only to realize that he wasn't lying on the ground anymore at all.
The ground was far below him; he was laying on a wide tree branch, several feet in the air. The splint and bandage had come off, and his arm lay flat against the bark. He was also completely naked. His arm was a mess: purple with bruising, and still clearly broken. He levered himself upright, his arm in agony. He must have been a good ten feet up in the tree.
How in the name of the Divines had he gotten up in a tree, naked? More importantly, how was he going to get down? He didn't see anything to help him out, no branches below him at all.
Maybe he'd climbed up here and forgotten about it. Or maybe he had somehow climbed up here in his sleep. There was one man in Shadowdale who was known far and wide for taking walks in the middle of the night, eyes closed and completely unresponsive to people calling out to him. Perhaps it had been something like that. Or maybe he had gone insane and torn off his cloak and then climbed a tree. He shivered at the thought. He sat there a second and then decided to risk it.
His buttocks scraped against the bark as he shifted toward the edge of the branch and slid off it, trying to land on his good leg. Hitting the ground sent pain shooting up his arm. He started to fall and put his sprained leg down. Unfortunately, his ankle gave out and he started to fall over. He threw his arms out in reflex, which turned out to be a big mistake. His bad arm folded uselessly, and the other did little to slow his head's descent toward a rock laying on the ground.
§
This time Aiden awoke lying on the forest floor. He must have fainted when he'd hit the ground. His head pounded. His stomach reminded him noisily about how long it had been since he'd last eaten. After lying there on the dirt for a minute, he sat up, still cradling his broken arm. Where had his clothes gone, and where was his bow? He'd have given anything just then for his brother's help. At that thought, he choked down a sob.
Slowly, painfully, he managed to make it upright, standing on his good leg. As he looked around for his clothing, his tracking instincts came to the fore.
The tree bark had been gouged where something had climbed its way up the tree he'd been in. There weren't any tracks in the soft loam nearby, at least not human ones. The prints of some large beast, like an impossibly large wolf print, were clearly visible in the dirt and mud at the base of the tree. Each print was as wide as his hand with fingers outstretched. He shivered. Dire wolves were a very real danger.
He limped around the tree, spotting a piece of shredded cloth. It looked like part of his cloak. As he picked it up, he realized it was most definitely his cloak. The clasp was certainly his, though it had been torn apart. The only tracks here were the large paw prints that led to the tree he'd been in. He wondered if he'd been dragged up the tree and left there by something, intended as a mid-day snack. The creature had probably dragged him from where he'd been sleeping. With any luck, his gear would still be there.
Following the tracks wasn't hard, but seemed to take forever. He eventually found his gear scattered around the ground like it had been flung haphazardly about. He couldn't find his belt and belt pouch at all. After a bit he gave up searching. He needed to re-splint his arm.
Wrapping up his arm was just as painful as he'd feared. His clothes were dry at least. He could only put one boot on, the other would not fit over his swollen ankle. He spotted his belt with teeth marks embedded in it and the buckle snapped off, and left it. He picked up his bow and looked up, trying to orient himself. He had no idea if it was morning or evening, and sat down, waiting for the sun to move.
After determining that it was mid-morning, Aiden slowly continued limping west toward home. By the time sunset fell, he was covered in scrapes, bruises, and mud. His stomach had quit making gurgling noises hours ago. Dropping his bow and leaning up against a tree, he slowly slid to the ground. He sat there, trying to ignore the pain in his limbs and the hunger gnawing at his gut. Sleep took him.