A/N: It's nearly midnight, so please excuse any grammar/spelling errors, but I'd appreciate if you'd point them out. This is for the Martin/Rose contest, if you were wondering. I'd just like to mention I looked up information about head injuries and post-traumatic stress before I wrote this. And yes, I know Rose is out of character. But wouldn't you, if you got thrown against a stone wall?
One more thing, just to mention it in case anyone notices, I got the idea for the style based on the book As I Lay Dying, by William Faulkner.
Blink. Blink. I hurt. Not just any one part of me, all of me. It starts in my head, in the back, then creeps down my neck and spine, spreading its wrathful fingers into my body. Right around my ribcage, right around to where my lungs touch each time I breathe and where my heart pounds each time it beats.
It doesn't stop there – one of my legs feels funny. It's more of a dull throb compared to the rest of me, but I can tell it would like to bend somewhere other than just my knee. Something's blocking it, but it wants to resist.
I blink again. The sunlight makes the front of my head hurt too. I decide to keep my eyes close. Never mind, I know the sunlight's still there, my forehead still pounds. This time when I blink I let my eyes stay open.
Why do I hurt so much? I can't remember, but it must have taken a lot. The only time I ever came close to hurting this much was when – when – I was... I can't remember. I search for some comparison, but nothing seems to be there. I have not been, I merely am and will be. But if I will be, will I be able to remember when I was?
That slurry of a sentence makes my very brain hurt more, so I let it go. Now I'm thirsty, and I notice my body feels unnaturally warm. The sand I'm on is cool against my fur, therefore this burning heat is internal. Is it bad? Probably. None of me is currently in good shape...maybe this occurs along with pain?
I can't remember, but that doesn't bother me. Should it? I can't remember that either, because I can't remember not remembering something other than right now.
This thinking is making me feel even worse. Maybe I should just cool down. How do I cool down? I can't remember ever being hot before this. I lay a moment thinking: The sand beneath me is cool. My back is cooler than any other part of me. I'll try to surround myself with sand.
The idea seems simple, just roll over and shove myself down until I'm covered. I forgot I'm in pain. For the first time I feel worried, or what I imagine is worried. I can't remember worrying about something, or what types of things somebeast should worry about.
I keep laying there. I was going to do something...what was it? Never mind, it probably wasn't important. There's a mouse above me, staring at me. My forehead hurts, so does my left leg. The mouse is quiet. Why is he here if he's quiet? Seems rather pointless.
What do you want? Is there a reason he doesn't – Dark Forest, does my leg hurt now.
"How are you, Rose?" I look at the mouse. Since when has he been here? He's rather handsome, I wish he'd stay.
Who's Rose? I ask him another question. Sand is starting to blow on me. It will cool me down. That seems like a familiar thought. Nothing else does. I should focus on that thou-
"Can you hear me, Rose?"
Of course, you imbecile. I think you're the one who can't hear me. Can't you see I'm busy. Wait, I'm busy? Doing what? One of my ribs gives a sudden spasm of pain into my system. My over-heated system.
I'm burning up! Why won't somebeast come cool me down? Water...so thirsty. The mouse still stares. Why can't he go get me water, instead of standing there, staring like an idiot.
Why aren't you helping me? I feel some other emotion creeping in...panic seems to describe it. It's like foreboding, fear, and pain all at once. It needs to go away, it doesn't feel nice. I'll move away from it. My waist doesn't want to bend upwards, so I thrash my good leg and arms, trying to get the mouse's attention.
He bends over me, still staring, this time directly into my eyes. Help me, help me, I scream. He doesn't move, just says something useless – again. Why won't anyone help me? I hurt so much. Make it stop! Please, make it stop! Something bad's coming.
The mouse is too close to me. He isn't helping, he will hurt me. I thrash more. Won't anyone come and save me? The mouse grabs my paws. "Rose, calm down," he screams in turn. I can't calm down. If I relax I'll be hurt. I have to keep moving.
Why does it hurt to move? I can't even remember not hurting...how do I know this isn't how I'm supposed to feel? This makes me panic more. I whack out wildly with my right footpaw, the only one not being held or immobile. It touches the mouse.
He is warm. I'm warm. Warm feels bad. The mouse is bad. Bad creatures want to hurt me. Wait, how do I know that? I can't remember not hurting. Maybe I'm supposed to be in pain, and he's helping me stay in pain. That makes him good.
No, he's not good. My forehead hurts. The sun is making it hurt. I close my eyes again. The darkness makes some pain recede.
Darkness is good. The mouse is in the light. The mouse is bad. Aren't I in the light too? All right, I'm bad. Then I should be with other bad creatures.
I open my eyes again. The mouse is still watching me. Another one touches my face. Where did he come from? I need to keep my eyes open. When my eyes are open, I can see the light, and all the bad things are in the light.
Something cool touches my lips. Cool seems like an idea I just thought about. What is this? I ask, but this mouse doesn't answer me either. I decide just to accept whatever he is giving me. Something cool and calming runs down my throat. My eyes close and remain that way.
The dark makes some of the pain go away.
I scrub my sword off on my tunic. I feel like I'm being stabbed in the heart as I do so. It's the same tunic I wore when Rose and I went to the celebration at Noonvale together. That event is still fresh in my mind, but its slowly fading. Funny, isn't it, the harder you think about one thing, and all its details, the more hazy and foggy they become.
All I remember for certain now is us holding paws. And that feeling. That warm, burning sensation at the back of my neck and head. Not just that, but somehow knowing Rose felt that same way too. It was the most beautiful thing ever.
Well – not quite. Rose herself was still more beautiful.
But the, there's no better word for it, thrill of touching her and her touching me and knowing we both felt the same way, without either one of us saying a word...
That could all go away! I jam my sword into the sand. Hate wells up inside me. Not just against Badrang. He is dead, gone, meaningless. I hate my father. I wish he had not given me his stupid sword. Not made me promise to keep it safe forever. Not made me attack Badrang for it and put Rose in danger. I hate him, for all those things. But most of all –
I hate myself. For putting an object, of all things, before the safety of Rose. We could have stayed in Noonvale, gone somewhere else safe. Wherever she wanted, wherever we wanted. I now I might loose all that.
We might loose all that. And it's all my fault. Her blood will stain my paws forever.
"Martin." A brown paw rests on my shoulder. I look down at the ground. I do not want to talk to anybeast right now, except Rose. "Martin," Barkjon says again. He's not going to leave unless I speak with him.
I sigh. "Yes?" What is the emotion I can sense coming from him? Sadness, regret?
"Martin, Brome sent me to tell you Rose is awake." I whirl instantly at this.
"That's wonderful! How is she? She's going to live, isn't she?" Normally I would race off to Rose's side, but Barkjon stays me with a paw.
Barkjon bowed his head momentarily, before looking me in the eye. "There's something you need to know."
"What? What is it?" I can hear the fear in my voice. Fear isn't an admirable quality. I can't remember showing my fear before. I can't remember being in love before.
"Rose...she...Rose is not herself. She suffered trauma to the head when she hit the wall." Badrang is dead, I cannot get revenge on him twice. "Brome doesn't know when she'll recover. Or if," Barkjon added quietly.
"She's not herself? Why, what's wrong?" I can't remember being this terrified before. I can't remember ever being in love before.
"The trauma caused amnesia. Severe amnesia. She also has no focus, Brome's already tried talking to her. One moment she thought he was going to help her, the next she forgot he even existed, the next she was sure he was going to kill her." The tight feeling in my stomach and the burning in my chest is fear. I've never felt it this way before. "Brome also thinks it's most likely she's suffering from post-traumatic stress. Martin, she's different. She's not the Rose from before." Barkjon's eyes bore into mine. I've never been in love before.
You can only love once.
Rose. I touch her face with a paw.
My sister. I slide my paw down to her neck.
My rescuer. I feel her soft, beautiful fur.
I am her betrayer. Suddenly, I feel the light pulse under my paw. No, this cannot be real. The blow should have killed her. I rip at her tunic, frantically placing my paw over her heart. I shut my eyes, but open them in amazement as I feel the faint beating beneath it.
Adrenaline hits my body like icewater. Barkjon is a few yards away, searching among the bodies for any more wounded woodlanders or former slaves. I hear myself call his name hoarsely. He looks to me, flinching slightly at the sudden noise.
His eyes meet mine, before traveling to where my paw is still resting on Rose's chest. He understands instantly. He looks around, but nobeast is nearby. The squirrel bounds over and picks Rose up with as much tenderness as he can manage. I try to help me, but Barkjon shakes his head.
"Go prepare a spot on the beach for her. Get your supplies. I can carry her," Barkjon orders me quietly. I run ahead, briefly looking back when I reach the front gates of Marshank. Barkjon is picking his way slowly and carefully through the carnage. The sight of all that blood turns my stomach again, but I have no time to vomit, and I doubt I have anything left to vomit.
I run ahead, but it's like a bad dream where you can't go fast enough. I force myself to slow down, thinking of what I need. Yarrow appears at my side when he notices me clearing off a spot in the sand. He looks up to where Barkjon is. "I will get what is needed to set her leg."
I nod, not even processing the information until after Yarrow has left, searching for splinting materials, and hopefully something to kill the pain with. I rummage in my own healer's bag. I don't know what I can do for head trauma, I will have to let nature run its course.
Barkjon lays Rose softly on the patch of prepared sand, just as Yarrow returns as well. He goes to attend to Rose's leg, but I stop him. "I'll do it," I murmur quietly.
My rescuer...I would be dead without her.
My sister...she is my own flesh and blood.
Rose...I cannot lose her.
Barkjon pulls me away from her after her leg is properly set and splinted. "Brome, I understand how you're feeling." Does he? He lost Felldoh, but he always knew he would lose Felldoh like that. There's still hope for Rose.
I watch my sister, her slow breathing. "No, you don't. No one does."
"Martin does." Barkjon puts a comforting arm around my shoulder. I want him to be the father I wish I'd had. I want to be the son he no longer has.
"How can he?" I want Martin to, I want to feel like someone understands me.
"Well, for one, he also blames himself." Barkjon looks down at me, squeezing my shoulder. "He also feels helpless, thinking it was his fault, but not knowing how to fix it. Now, that is a feeling I understand." Barkjon lets go of me and walks away.
I do feel helpless, as I walk over to Rose. My heart pounds as I notice her stir. She looks up at me with unfocused eyes. Suddenly, she lunges her paw into mine. I hang on to it, and squeeze, trying to pour my love for her into her. Just as quickly as her paw was there, it was gone. She was looking around, without moving her head, taking everything in.
Her gaze met mine, and – it was the last thing I expected – she tried to run. By run, I mean basically trying to crawl on her back. As I touch her face in what I hope is a comforting manner, she passes out again.
I find Barkjon, and explain to him what happened. He just nods sadly. "Do you think Martin could help her?" I want to help Rose, but other than treating her medically, I seem to have failed.
Barkjon shrugs. "We don't have many choices." His words are morbid. I close my eyes, willing them away. "I'll go talk to him." The squirrel walks away down the beach, where I can vaguely see a mouse sitting and staring out to sea.
I hear moans coming from farther down the line of injured creatures, and with one final glance at Rose, dart away to go help other patients.
The sight of blood sickens me on an old mousewife who had fought. She has awakened briefly from her unconsciousness, and is moaning. I don't want to know what kind of pain she's in. She has lost too much blood through a long gash on her thigh. It was obvious a main artery had been hit, but I put a tourniquet on and hoped. I always knew it would never be enough.
She looks at me faintly, her eyes glazed. She does not have much longer. I sit down next to her, propping her up against me, with her facing the sea, and her head on my shoulder. Something the mouse sees makes her smile contentedly and she passes on to the Dark Forest. I double-check, feeling several times and in several places for her pulse or breathing, but she is dead.
I think about how I hate that word – dead – as I carry her corpse – yet another hated word – towards where moles and others who want to help are digging graves and making markers. Dead seems so final, makes the creature seem so...gone. Like the creature is lost and everyone's given up searching. Corpse is the same thing. What was once a living, breathing, thinking, feeling he or she, has been reduced to a pile of flesh, fur, and bones, but more importantly, an it. Their identity is gone.
I walk back from the bodies of creatures who have passed on.
I spot Rose thrashing around again this time, as Martin watches, a look of pain on his face. It's an expression I'd not seen him use before. By the time I get there, Rose is just watching Martin like prey watches a predator.
I gently touch her face with my paw, using the other to open a canteen of water at my waist. I push it to her lips, and after a moment of hesitation, she drinks and drifts off.