I had a lot of time to think while I sat there, day after day. My tally on the wall now showed that I had been living in this dungeon for twelve days. I was beginning to notice how thin I too was becoming, yet of course nowhere near as thin as my human companion. Looking down at my hands I studied my twig-like wrists and sighed.
Mostly I had been thinking about Jack and Hawthorne. I wondered where Jack was, and what he was doing. Was he thinking about me? Did he even know where I was? Somehow I knew he was perfectly safe, and that gave me peace. But then Hawthorne would pop into my mind, and my heart ached for my best friend. My pet. He had been stolen from me, and I had no way to help him. I often wondered if he were still alive, and if he was, was he being treated okay? What if he were harmed, tortured on a daily basis? The reason I had rescued Hawthorne was to prevent some sick Mage from dissecting him. Clearly that was why he had been stolen.
When these thoughts entered my mind I found it very hard to stay calm. I would often find myself shaking uncontrollably, but I was too weak to have a tantrum.
On my twentieth day of imprisonment I realised that I was slowly wasting away. I no longer bothered to sit up, stretch my muscles or try to make myself more comfortable. I just lay there unmoving. A couple of times my meal arrived and I didn’t even bother to reach for it. My human companion, seemingly realising that I had lost hope had brought the tray to me, and like I had done to her, forced the food into my very hand. The gesture made my chest ache with emotion but I was too tired and indifferent about the world to care now. I was going to die here, it was clear to me now. I was not going to go out with a bang and a fight, like I had expected. I was going to lay here and let death take me. Perhaps I would take death’s hand with a sigh of relief.
I didn’t bother opening my eyes anymore, and I soon lost count of the days. I’m not sure how much time slipped by as I lay curled in a ball upon the floor, my eyes closed because I did not have enough energy to open them. I often slipped in and out of consciousness, though I seemed to come around when the guards stomped down the stairs to throw the food at me. The clanking of their boots annoyed me and I wished for silence once more.
However, when I next heard the sound of footsteps it was not the familiar clanking and stomping of the bad tempered guards. These foot falls were much softer, and by the sound of it this person did not pick their feet up enough when they walked, for I could hear their shoes scuffing along on the stone. The heavy boots of the guards could not be heard. I was tempted to peek, yet my eyes seemed glued shut. I realised now that my brain was more alert than it had been for several weeks, yet my body was so weak that I could not muster up the strength to be the slightest bit interested in my surroundings.
A familiar smell reached my nostrils and made my heart throb, yet not as powerfully as it was meant to. This familiar smell was many things all at once.
It smelled of fresh, crisp winter air, a hint of firewood and a very subtle whiff of perspiration which wasn’t the least bit unwelcome. It was the smell of this particular person’s perspiration that had made throat feel tight. It smelled good.
The scuffing footsteps stopped for several moments. I heard an intake of breath and much fumbling around. Before I knew it I could hear keys jingling and the door to my cell opening. A moment later a shadow had blocked out the light spilling in through the doorway as a tall figure loomed over me and fell to its knees beside me.
Warm, familiar breath washed over my face and I thought that I could hear the most wonderful voice in the world calling my name. The person beside me was panting, their breaths short and panicky. I felt their hands upon my face, holding, stroking.
I was so caught up in this new development that it took me a long while to realise that I was dying. I had been lying in this spot for several days, without food or water. Without moving. Barely thinking. Now I was too weak to even let my visitor know that I was still alive – barely. Come to think of it, I had not heard my tiny human companion move for several days. She had stopped force-feeding me like I had done to her so many weeks ago.
I heard my name being called again. Like the smell, the voice was familiar, and the voice was sad. Sobbing.
“Ava. Oh, god. I’m sorry.” It was barely more than a whisper, his voice breaking as fresh tears flowed, “I couldn’t come sooner, they were watching me so close. I tried. I tried.”
I tried to talk, to let him know what I was still lingering, but my mouth didn’t want to move. All I needed to do was move one limb to signal some kind of life.
Next thing I knew I was being embraced by long, warm arms. I was cradled against his chest. His chest. I felt his body shaking as he sobbed into my hair. It made my heart hurt to hear him so sad. The warmth felt good against my icy skin. I dangled uselessly in his arms, willing myself to move. I concentrated as much as I possibly could in my deprived state.