Using Hawthorne as leverage, I got to my feet, staggering slightly before filling the old jug I’d found in the windmill with the fresh stream water. It should last me the night, at least.
And then I heard it; the unmistakable sound of heavy footfalls mere meters away.
I spun around, looking for the source of the sound, accidentally putting weight upon my injured leg. The resulting pain shocked me so much that I dropped the full jug into the stream. It shattered upon the rocks and was quickly swept away by the current. The bushes across the stream rustled, their branches cracking as something large pushed its way through them.
I held my breath, my fingers tingling as flames kindled on the surface, ready to ignite completely. Something large and white emerged from the shrubbery. At first, I thought it was an enormous wolf, but then its wings came into view. Leaves and twigs were poking between the fur and feathers of the astronomical beast.
‘Emilija!’ I gasped.
It was Nicholo Martinez’s Vulmessian, Emilija. I’d met her on only one previous occasion; when Martinez had threatened my imprisonment if I didn’t hand over Hawthorne for breeding purposes.
She looked a mess. Her usual white fur was grey and matted with dirt, twigs, leaves, and what looked like dried blood. She swayed on the spot, struggling to remain standing as she stared at me and Hawthorne from across the stream.
She revealed herself completely, and I saw the severity of her situation. Her stomach was large and swollen; the skin of her underbelly was bright pink, and chaffed as though she had been laying on it for too long.
I stared, my mouth hanging open, and my eyes wide. ‘What … what happened to her?’ I said, flabbergasted.
Hawthorne bounded across the stream to Emilija’s side, nuzzling her affectionately, and suddenly I understood his strange behavior over the last couple of months; Emilija had been following us. But she was ill - very ill. It looked as though death was on her doorstep; she could barely hold up her own weight.
Was the absence of her master, Martinez, slowly killing her?
‘Hawthorne,’ I breathed. ‘She’s been trailing us this whole time, hasn’t she?’
Hawthorne glanced over his shoulder, his expression guilty.
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Why didn’t you tell me – show me … anything?’
Hawthorne began licking Emilija’s face, cleaning it of the dirt and debris that had become matted in her fur.
The two Vulmessians crossed the stream to meet me. I raised a hand and gently ran my fingertips along the bridge of Emilija’s nose. She closed her yellow eyes and let out a purr.
‘Oh dear,’ I muttered. ‘You don’t look good.’
Emilija swayed on the spot, her eyelids fluttering.
‘C’mon, Hawthorne. We need to get her back to the windmill so she can lie down.’
By ‘we’ I actually meant Hawthorne. I would not be much use in shifting a one-ton animal. I couldn’t even shift myself, for that matter.
Clambering onto Hawthorne’s back, we began to herd Emilija into the direction of the windmill. I muttered under my breath all the while.
‘I can’t believe you kept this from me,’ I said to Hawthorne. ‘Is this why you were so distant when we got back to Mortlock? Was she living in the forest with you?’
Hawthorne ruffled his wings indignantly.
‘It’s not like I would have minded,’ I continued. ‘I mean … even if she is the pet of a slaver. I guess it’s not her fault.’
Hawthorne sighed audibly.
‘How long has she been ill for?’ I asked. ‘And why did she follow us if she was in such bad form?’
I had so many questions that Hawthorne was unable to answer. Part of me felt as though this was my own fault. Had I done this to Emilija?
We arrived at the slope that led to the windmill. Emilija struggled up the incline, her knees wobbling dangerously. Once or twice, she buckled under her own weight, her knees becoming stained with the blood from the grass.
Finally, after much pushing and shoving from Hawthorne, we made it to the top of the hill, where Emilija staggered into the windmill and collapsed instantly.
I slid from Hawthorne’s back and hobbled to her side. I thought I should check her temperature, however, due to my Power, I had no way of telling whether she was boiling up or not.
‘Hang in there,’ I told her, stroking her neck. Hawthorne sat by Emilija’s head and began to clean her face with his tongue.
‘What does she need, Hawthorne?’ I asked him. ‘Has she eaten? Does she need water?’
Judging by the size of Emilija’s stomach, food was not the problem. She couldn’t have survived the last few months if Hawthorne hadn’t been hunting for her. Even Martinez had mentioned that he did not allow his Vulmessian to hunt her own food. I, on the other hand, had not been able to afford luxurious meals for my animal companion, and he’d learned to hunt on his own, something for which I was grateful.
Hawthorne nuzzled Emilija’s neck, and I suddenly felt extremely awkward as I watched the two beasts sharing what appeared to be a tender moment.