society is no comfort to one not sociable

August

They all scattered at the sound of the cannon, which had seemed inevitable after the quantity of blood August’s knife drew from Revel’s neck. The immediate sensation of blood, dripping down onto his wrist, then his elbow, before falling into the dirt, was enough to make him freeze in place, his heart pounding in fear. At what? Himself?

It was Tsiuri who had stepped in for the final blow with her spear; when she did, August was left feeling like he had failed her, not finishing the dirty work, taking the burden off her shoulders. Sure, they had done it together. But watching the light leave someone’s eyes, knowing you were the one who made the decision to snuff it out for good, was another thing entirely.

When the spiders seemed to grow bored with their entertainment for the night, and Eulalie slipped out of sight, August rushed to check on Thompson.

”Hey, they’re leaving. We’re okay. Let’s get out of here so we can get you patched up.” He was trying to sound calm for his ally’s sake–it didn’t seem like a good idea to cause panic by mentioning he was losing too much blood–but his voice trembled from the adrenaline.

”I think we’re okay here,” Thompson said in an oddly distant tone. Like he was on one of those medications that softened all feelings; leaden, flat. Directed at no one in particular. August peered at him, eyebrows furrowing in concern. He hadn’t seen Eulalie hit Thompson in the head, but he was acting like it. Something was seriously off; from his voice, down to his rigid posture, the cold stiffness to his shoulder that discouraged any physical aid that August could give. Hesitantly, he waved a hand in front of Thompson’s face. It seemed to do something; the boy looked at him then.

”Do you need anything.”

August blinked, surprised. A mixture of guilt and pity washed over him, cold and warm in quick succession. Then he smiled all of a sudden, shaking his head. How many people on this earth would ask, while all their blood was escaping their chest, if someone else needed anything?

”You know what, Thompson? You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I mean that.” What a shame that they hadn’t had the chance to meet before, he thought; not for the first time. ”I’m more worried about you right now. I think that’s gonna need stitches.” He nodded to the gash in Thompson’s midsection, frowning when he saw the wound already graying roughly at the edges. There was something sinister about it, he thought; but then again, maybe that was because of how entirely unprepared he felt in the face of the stitches he’d need to figure out how to do all of a sudden.