Lohengrin sometimes wondered if he was dead and remembering or alive and dreaming. He floated in and out of consciousness with no concept of how quickly time passed. Voices rang incoherently in his ears, snippets of conversations in languages he couldn't understand. Occasionally he felt hands on his forehead or a bottle of water was brought to his lips to allow him to drink.
His rescue barely registered. He felt a bony hand on his shoulder, a feminine voice speaking to him, asking him something. He nodded to her question, whatever it was, and a second later strong arms were lifting him up off the cold, damp ground and throwing him over a broad shoulder. Tauren, he assumed. Maybe Orc. He was too delirious to care.
They carried him out into a swirling white world, snow caking in his hair. Dully his leg ached, but the cold had already numbed him. He narrowed his eyes, but the world remained blurred, figures darting in and out of focus in a world gone gray.
It wasn't until they had him inside a bunker, wrapped in front of a fire that it really hit him that he was no longer a prisoner. The undead priest who had accompanied the Tauren carrying him here handed him a mug of something warm and tasteless. She was smiling at him, or at least he thought she was. The left half of her face had rotted away to reveal the bones of her jaw.
"That drought will have you asleep soon, blood elf. Tell me your name while you can still speak."
Already his tongue felt leaden. He managed to tell her, slowly. "Lohengrin. Lohengrin Neverdusk."
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment