The Village Idiot [Tsarashi]

Fletcher squirmed as Heron put his hand on his wound. "Careful." Fletcher said, wincing. He didn't say anything else after that, letting Heron speak. He was not offended that Heron had called whatever his condition was, weird. It was weird, even Fletch though so. "Nah, they don't change." He answered. "But different forms of the words have different tastes. Like 'cat' and 'cats' are completely different. I don't think I'd want to taste when people lie though...I think that life would be much sadder if I did. People lie all the time, and about silly things."

"But love...hmm. Love." He repeated, furrowing his brow trying to discern a taste from it. "I can't really describe it, it's a bit ambiguous. First it is sweet...but then as the favor fades it gets sour. It starts off really warm and milky, but leaves your mouth cool like mint. Love." Fletcher wasn't a typical guy. He did not question Heron's statement of 'I know he loved me' or him bringing up the word 'love.' To any other male, Heron would get the crap beat out of him, especially since they were in a dark confined space, hanging on each other. But Fletcher didn't see any problem with it.

They were raising. Fletcher could feel it. The air was lighter, and it was getting colder. They were getting close. It was a good thing to, because the light on Fletcher's helmet was getting dimmer and dimmer. Fletcher increased his pace, eager to get into the fresh air. And well, he was excited about seeing the outside of the district. He had never been in the forests before.

Fletcher could hear wind moving through the trees, and a second later he felt another breeze hit him. "You're right!" He grinned, excited. But he felt a huge wave of disappointment when he finally saw their exit. It was a hole in the ceiling of the mine, meaning they'd have to boost each other up. Any other time, that wouldn't be a problem, since they were both strapping young men. But now, when they had been through hell and back, well, it was going to be tricky.

Fletcher detached himself from Heron, and went and stood underneath their exit. It was a fairly small hole, and Fletcher wondered how his workmates could squeeze through it. But if they could, then certainly Heron and Fletcher could. Through the hole, Fletch could see a patch of starry sky. They had been down there for quite awhile. He sighed, and he let his body sag against one of the walls. "Okay, you go up first, and then pull me up." He closed his eyes, and leaned his head back, resting for a moment.

After a minute or too, he pulled himself off of the wall, and stood below the hole again. He bent his knees, and laced his fingers and front of him for Heron to step on.

Fletcher gave a feeble attempt at giving Heron his jacket back. "But you'll get cold, and I'll get blood all over it..." He weakly, picking up his arm to move it, but then just let his arm flop back down. It was really cold outside, especially in comparison to the hot mine they just left. But at least it helped Fletcher stay conscious.

"My brother and mom are gonna be so worried." He whispered, as an answer to Heron's question. That was typical Fletcher, worrying about his family, and not himself. He sighed, and maneuvered slowly onto his stomach. He got to his hands and knees. "You know, you might be able to reach the District before morning, if you went on without me. You could return with help..." Fletcher said, without much conviction. He doubted that Heron would just leave him in the woods...

"Hey!" Fletcher said suddenly, twisting quickly to look at Heron. He blacked out for a second out two from the pain of moving his side. "Uh..." He said, waiting for his vision to return. He shook his head. "The miners talk about a little concrete shack by a lake. If we could find that..." He trailed off, letting Heron fill in the blanks because it was getting hard to think.

Fletcher leaned back on his knees, then struggled to his feet. He tried to straighten, but couldn't so he remain slightly bent at the waist. "Come here." Fletcher said, and put his hands on either side of Heron's face and dragged his face toward him. Fletcher turned Heron's left cheek to face him, so he could inspect the wound. "I don't know how we are going to wrap it..." He said. The wound in was a place, just below his left eye, where there wasn't a place to wrap a cloth around. "You will just have to hold something up to it." He looked down at Heron's shirt, releasing his face. "Just rip a strip off of your shirt."

Fletcher looked down at his own shirt, still wrapped around his torso. It was stained red. He reached down with shaking hands to unwrap it, exposing the mangled flesh beneath. All the moving around had opened many, if not all the healed cuts. The entire length of his side was an unhealthy purple and blue color. The flow of blood had eased a bit, fortunately, as clots started to form. He threw the ruined shirt on the ground. "We need to leave, now. I don't know were the lake is, all they told me was it's east, but it doesn't matter. We can't stay here." Fletcher said, panic raising in his voice, as something dawned on him. He looked at Heron, and just had to say one word to get the urgency of the situation across. "Wolves." He hissed, the taste of onions filling his mouth.

Fletcher stumbled forward, heading east.