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Disorientation |  |
Where in the name of the Prophet's left testicle am I? I'm on the ground, fully clothed, and I'm definitely not in my bed at Widow Jolien's house. I'm not even in Barnard's Lot anymore. There's a river not too far off; I can hear it flowing out there in the night. I push myself up to my knees and rub my face with my hands, but I stop when I feel something warm and sticky against my cheeks. I look down at my hands, confused. There's something all over them, all over me, but my mind can't process what it is. It's dark, and all I can see is the dark wetness against my skin and clothes. I bring my hand up to my nose and smell the metallic acridity of blood. Oh, fuck me.
I'll have to assume that it's my blood, and that I'm injured. I don't feel injured. Nothing hurts, and I'm able to stand just fine. I'll have to assume that it's my blood, that the locals decided they didn't want me around for some reason, and that my newfound gift for healing at a ridiculous rate saved me. It's either that, or I'm killing people in my sleep now. Like I need that.
