Chapter 8
Silas apologized softly. His voice was laced with deep pity. He stood up and left the hut, unable to do anything more for the dying female.
Harlan refused to accept the Shaman's defeat. He fetched a stone bowl of cool water from the stream. He desperately bathed her flushed face with a damp piece of hide.
He spent the entire night awake. He wiped her brow continuously. His own eyes grew bloodshot, ringed with dark, heavy shadows of exhaustion.
Morning light finally filtered through the doorway. The brightness pierced Cadence's chaotic fever dreams, pulling her back to reality.
She opened her eyes slowly. Her vision swam for a moment. She felt incredibly weak, her limbs heavy as lead, but her mind was finally lucid.
She turned her head. She saw Harlan slumped against the cold stone wall. He looked utterly devastated and exhausted, his broad shoulders caved inward.
Cadence rasps his name. Her throat felt like it was lined with dry sandpaper. "Harlan."
Harlan jolted violently awake. He scrambled to her side on his knees. He gently touched her burning cheek, his breath catching in his throat.
Cadence forced herself to sit up slightly. Her modern botanical knowledge, the very same survival lessons from her grandfather that she had relied on to analyze the alien flora upon her arrival, kicked into high gear. She had to save herself.
She told Harlan, panting slightly with the effort to speak. "I need specific plants to live. I need white willow bark. And a spicy, ginger-like root."
Harlan looked confused by the strange names. But he was so desperate to help her, he agreed without a single question.
He quickly fashioned a thick fur carrier. He bundled her up securely and strapped her tightly to his broad chest, ensuring she wouldn't fall.
They left the waking tribe. They headed toward the dense Light Forest where diverse plant life was abundant.
Harlan walked with extreme care. His powerful legs absorbed every shock of the uneven ground to avoid jostling her aching body.
As they navigated a rocky path, Harlan spotted a patch of vibrant purple flowers. He visibly flinched. His breathing hitched, and his steps faltered. His typically warm, golden complexion drained of color, leaving him looking sickly pale. A heavy, suffocating silence descended over him as he stared at the blooms, his eyes darkening with an unspoken agony.
Cadence noticed his sudden, intense physical reaction. She rested her chin on his chest and softly asked what was wrong.
Harlan hesitated. His jaw tightened tight. He swallowed hard, clearly fighting to keep a massive wave of dark emotions locked away. "Those flowers..." he finally rasped, his voice rough and evasive. "They remind me of a very dark time. A memory I am not ready to revisit."
He did not confess the details of his mother's murder, nor did he reveal his paralyzing fear of loss. The wound was too deep, too raw to expose so soon. But the profound grief radiating from his tense muscles spoke volumes of his hidden pain.
Cadence reached a weak hand up from the fur carrier. She stroked his rough jawline tenderly, feeling the stubble under her thumb.
She comforted him. She looked deeply into his pained eyes. "You are the strongest person I know. I am not giving up. We will fix this."
Harlan leaned heavily into her touch. He drew immense emotional strength and resolve from her quiet, fierce confidence.
They pressed on. They reached a damp, shaded section of the forest near a bubbling natural spring.
Cadence scanned the underbrush. She spotted the familiar serrated leaves of a primal equivalent to the white willow tree.
She pointed it out eagerly. She instructed Harlan to strip the bark carefully with his claws, warning him not to kill the tree.
Harlan used his razor-sharp claws to harvest the bark exactly as she directed. He peeled it away in neat, precise strips.
A few yards away, Cadence identified the distinct, spicy-smelling leaves of a wild ginger root protruding from the dark mud.
Harlan dug his hands into the soil. He pulled up the thick root and brushed off the excess dirt.
Cadence inspected the harvested plants in his hands. A small, genuine smile of relief broke through her exhaustion.
She told him confidently, "We finally have exactly what we need to cure the fever."
Harlan turned back toward the tribe. A renewed, fierce sense of hope put a spring back in his long stride.
You may also like
