Oskar awoke coughing. He found himself unable to draw a deep breath, so he kept involuntarily jerking in short bursts of air as his body tried to clear the dust from his airways. It hurt.

Actually, everything hurt, and the coughing was making most of it worse. His throat was dry as a bone, his eyes watering fiercely from the dust and grit, his head was pounding, and his back was jammed against a protrusion from the rock wall behind him. Worst of all, he couldn’t feel his right leg.

This last realization hit Oskar in the midst of his coughing fit, and he felt frantically around in the darkness. He had ended up in a sitting position, back against the wall. There was a large, irregularly shaped rock across his lap, pressing on his torso. His left arm was laying across it, while his right arm was beneath the thing, though not restrained. He could feel jagged edges from where it had presumably broken free from the ceiling. His left leg was trapped against a stalagmite with barely a centimeter of room to shift around in. The right was being pinned down by the boulder. Oskar could barely get his hand in position to feel that the leg was, indeed, still attached, though suspiciously sticky.

The rock, and Oskar, were covered in dirt and dust that had presumably settled after the ceiling came down. His coughing fit had eased, so he wormed his hand free, bringing it up to his face and sniffing. Blood. He wondered if the leg was broken.

Oskar leaned back against the wall, trying to take in deep breaths and failing. There were spots in his vision, the pitch darkness of the cave notwithstanding. This wouldn’t do – he needed air. His coughing fit and struggles to feel for his legs had left him with heart pounding, gasping for breath.

Oskar felt around his body, trying to reach a wand, a sunstick, his dagger, anything at all. His coat had twisted around his body at some point, probably when he dove and rolled for the wall as the ceiling came down. His wand and dagger were in the side of the coat that had twisted behind his body, and were thus completely out of reach. His spellcasting implements, though…

He dug his left hand down beside the boulder, feeling around. He found the pocket where he kept potions, and knew that he had a single weak healing potion inside. He tried to reach further, to where he kept his light sources, but the way the boulder was pinning him down kept his arm from getting where it needed to be. He struggled for a moment, the pain in his head spiking alarmingly, before desisting. He rested for a bit, taking slow, shallow breaths.

Oskar ran his hands over the boulder pinning him down again, feeling for the edges, sweeping piles of dirt and dust away. The edges extended past his reach, but he could get his arms over the top of it, and also down into his lap with only a bit of struggle. He snaked his hands around the bottom edges of the thing, and heaved.

The rock barely moved, only rocking slightly. Pain lanced through Oskar’s head, a bright flash of white almost overbearing in it’s intensity. That has to be a concussion. Wonderful.

There was a sudden warmth from the area the rock had been resting on. Blood, gushing forth as he tilted the rock off of himself, the flow ceasing as his strength gave out and the rock painfully settled back down where it had been resting prior to Oskar’s interference.

Great. The boulder’s the only thing keepin’ me from bleedin’ out.

He knew he needed to get that thing off of him. He had no idea how long he’d been in here, unconscious in the dark. If Amnestria and Marent took too long to get in to him, he’d end up losing that leg. Once he moved the boulder, he’d be able to staunch the bleeding, and pull the edges of the wound together. The potion should close the wound and keep him alive. With luck, it would clear the concussion enough to allow him to cast a spell. He remembered a conversation he’d had with his teacher, almost ten years ago.

“Listen to me now, Oskar.” Master Moonwhisper lifted a bale of hay from the cart, carrying it towards the barn. Oskar quickly grabbed a second bale and followed. “Your magic can grow into a powerful tool, or weapon, with time. However, as with any tool or weapon, you must remain cautious and respectful of the power you wield. You’ll recall the reason you must train extensively with every spell you learn?”

“’Every spell requires the utmost of concentration, to guard yer will as well as to be sure yer doin’ it right,’” Oskar had recited dutifully. “’Casting a spell wi’out proper concentration can have disastrous consequences.’”

“Exactly. Can you give me an example of a time when you should not attempt to cast a spell, regardless of how many times you’ve cast it before?”

Oskar tilted his head to the side, confused. He couldn’t think of a good reason, and wondered if this was a trick question. He set the bale down, stalling for time as he broke the twine and scattered the hay for the sheep. He glanced up eventually, to find his Master staring at him, eyebrow raised. Oskar shook his head, looking down.

“You’ve been daydreaming again,” Master Moonwhisper sighed. “There are many instances that can be dangerous for a caster to use his magic. The intense concentration required can be impossible to summon when one is suffering from a serious head wound, for example...”

Oskar only had a few spells left at this point, all of them requiring components kept in his unreachable pocket, save for one. The Sparking Flame spell could be used twice a day, no components required, and he had only used it once. It would only give him a few seconds of light, but he’d be able to see around himself, get his bearings. They wouldn’t be any help to him until he could move the rock and take that potion. Get the rock off his leg, take the potion, and then if it helped his head, he would try to reach the components.

Oskar ran his hands over the rock again, stretching to his limits to try to feel how far the thing went. He tried shoving it away from himself, as opposed to lifting it.

The rock didn’t move, and the agony spiking from his leg as well as his head caused him to abandon that idea promptly. He rested for a minute, breathing, allowing his heart rate to slow until he felt up to the challenge of trying again.

The thing had shifted a bit, the first time. Maybe an inch off of his leg. He wormed his hands back down, stretching and positioning his fingers where he thought they might do the most good.

You can do this. Think of all the time you’ve spent drilling with Marent, swinging that staff around and blocking his blows. You’ve got muscles under there somewhere, use them!

Oskar took a deep breath, and then another. On the third breath, he heaved again, pushing with everything he had in him. His vision went white again, and he could hear himself yelling with the effort and the pain. Warmth flooded across his lap as the edge of the rock came away from the wound in his leg.

It worked. The rock shifted and slid slightly forward, the weight of it taken off of his leg. It clunked to a stop, an edge of it settling solidly between his lower legs, though the bulk of the rock still extended over his lap. Oskar wasted no time; even as his head swam and he began another coughing fit, he was shoving his hand down, fingers scrabbling for the edges of the wound. He felt the skin coming off of his knuckles as he reached, and stretched.

He managed to hook his fingers, digging them painfully into the flesh on the far side of the gash. He dragged backwards, pulling the wound closed and clamping down with his palm as hard as he could. The flesh was slick with blood, and he struggled to get a good grip. He could feel the warmth rushing out in pulses that reminded Oskar of the fact that every heartbeat sent another gush of his life out and onto the cold rock of this desolate cave.

He managed, somehow. The boulder itself actually helped – the claw he’d formed his hand into as he clamped down was being compressed by the boulder, providing support to the position his fingers were being forced into. Without that, he didn’t know how long he’d have been able to maintain the pressure.

He could feel the flow of blood slowing to barely a trickle, and leaned his head back, sighing in relief. He had been so focused on stopping the bleeding that he hadn’t really paid much attention to the fact that the rock had shifted away from his torso, freeing his chest to take deeper breaths. He began to feel the prickling as the blood began to circulate through his leg, and gritted his teeth. He endured the near-painful sensation, waiting until it eased.

It was easier now for his left hand to snake along the side of the boulder, down to his pocket. It was a tight fit, with the cave wall a bare inch from his side. He tried to shift his body in the other direction to give himself more room, but his right side was pressed against a wall or a rock, with no room to spare. He worked his fingers around, digging inside for the tiny potion.

Oskar couldn’t find the vial at first, enduring a small moment of panic before suddenly feeling the slick glass against his fingers. He pulled it out, carefully drawing the potion up above the boulder. A faint blue glow emanated from the crystal vial, though it wasn’t enough to illuminate anything further than Oskar’s knuckles. Flipping the cap off with his thumb, he downed the swallow of tasteless potion before tossing the vial to the side. The pure magic contained within the vial didn’t wet his mouth and throat, sadly, only drifting out of the bottle like heavy vapor. The act of ‘drinking’ a potion was the key to activating it. As long as the entire potion passed into a person’s body, it would work.

The magic coursed over him, a faint rush of energy that he could feel spiral down his body. Various cuts, abrasions, and injuries tightened as the flesh knit itself back together, the wound in his leg included.

Oskar drew his hand back cautiously. He knew that the potion wouldn’t be able to heal such a massive wound completely. It would be as if he’d rested for several days, the wound closing and scabbing over in the interim. He tore his just-healed knuckles open again on the underside of the boulder, and he rolled his eyes at the irony. Overall, though, the healing potion had reduced his pain slightly, but it couldn’t do anything about the blood loss.

The magic of the potion had apparently expended itself on his leg wound, doing nothing for his concussion. He tried for the components anyway, hoping that if he rested a bit, he’d be able to bring his concentration under control regardless of the head wound. It was no use though, the rock hadn’t shifted enough to free the coat from it’s pinioned position.

“Dammit,” he growled, spurring another coughing fit. He swallowed against the dry dust in his throat, and hoped that Marent had made it out. He had seemed to be moving quickly to the exit when the ceiling began to come down, but he might have stopped or turned at the last moment, waiting for Oskar. The man was nothing if not honorable and self-sacrificing.

“Marent!” Oskar yelled, spurring another coughing fit. “Marent! Are – you here?”

Oskar’s call echoed around the cave, and he heard pebbles and loose dirt shifting somewhere. No reply. Marent had made it out.

Unless he’s unconscious or dead, or trapped somehow so that he can’t call out.

Oskar sighed, leaning back. There was no point in worrying, but he couldn’t keep his thoughts entirely off of the dwarf. They had just barely admitted their feelings to each other, and now this.

“I would take it as a great personal favor if you promise to be careful.”

Oskar sighed, and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

~~

Oskar jerked, his entire body spasming in pain as he moved. He gritted his teeth. He must have been unconscious again, or sleeping.

He felt around. The rock was still stretched across his lap, not that he’d expected it to go anywhere. The wall was still jutting painfully into his back. His right leg still hurt. His head was still swimming. His left leg was still trapped. His eyes felt dry and sticky, and though he blinked several times, they didn’t clear. He left them closed. He realized suddenly that he hadn’t really thought about the minotaur since he’d awoken the first time. He held still, listening carefully for a long while. The cave was so still and silent that Oskar imagined he could hear the blood rushing through his veins. Something about that bothered Oskar, he supposed the lack of auditory stimuli was subtly affecting his state of mind.

He could smell burned hair and blood, and the musky smell of animal. The blood smell was obvious, given the state of Oskar’s leg, but the other smells indicated to him that the minotaur probably hadn’t made it out of the cave. They’d killed it, apparently. Oskar felt no satisfaction at this realization. He only felt tired.

He tried to swallow, though his mouth and throat were so dry it was painful. He’d left his pack outside the cave, and could clearly picture the water skins he had just filled that afternoon. He indulged in fantasy for a moment: imagining himself tilting a water skin above his head, the cool, clear water rushing down his throat and trickling through his short beard.

The fantasy didn’t distract him as much as he’d hoped it would, only seeming to make everything that much worse. He shifted around, feeling the edges of the boulder again, and checking the state of his leg.

The blood had dried completely, leaving his hide pants stiff; he must have been out for hours this time. The rock was still pressed across his lap, though upon further inspection and guesswork, Oskar determined that it must be slanted, leaning against the stalagmite to his left, making contact with the floor in front of him, and solidly pressed against the wall on his right. If he was only a bit stronger, perhaps he’d be able to lift it off of himself, or even push it away.

Oskar tilted his head, considering. He’d tried to push the rock before, but it had still been on his leg at that point, and the pain had made it impossible. Now that it wasn’t actually on his leg any more…

Oskar re-positioned his arms, bracing his hands against the rock, elbows against the wall behind him. He leaned his head back, breathing deeply, and then began to push.

The rock moved slightly, and Oskar heaved harder. He was gritting his teeth, and groaning through the pain and effort. He tried several times, and though the rock shifted slightly, it rocked back to it’s original position every time without fail. There had to be something in front of him that was blocking it.

He considered, but decided that he had nothing to lose. After allowing himself some time to rest, he concentrated, focusing his will.

It was incredibly hard. It seemed that his Master had been right about trying to concentrate on magic when you had a head wound. The effort required left Oskar dizzy and nauseated, and he needed to rest several times before he succeeded.

In the end, however, he managed to send a bright gout of flame straight up at the ceiling, concentrating on maintaining it at a low heat, for longer than he usually did. The flame lasted almost ten seconds, long enough for Oskar to see the cave he was trapped in.

The minotaur lay dead to his left, the huge hammer fallen in front of it. The fire hadn’t burned it too badly, it seemed that a falling rock had brained it, leaving the thing lying in a pool of blood centered on it’s head. The cave-in had collapsed the rock ceiling in mostly large, flat breakdown blocks. One slab had fallen at the end of the wide tunnel that led to the narrow passage, to the exit, effectively creating a wall that sealed shut the tunnel that led out. Smaller breakdown blocks, dirt, and pebbles mounded up around the base of the slab, sealing around the edges.

The rock in Oskar’s lap was indeed wedged against a crack in the floor. He would have to lift it at least six inches to get the edge over the top, to get it where he could push it away from himself.

The flame died, and Oskar was left in darkness.

Oskar tried again to move the rock. He pushed, and heaved, and yelled, screaming his frustration until his voice broke and he was left coughing and weak. He rested briefly, and then tried again.

~~

Oskar woke again. He hadn’t remembered falling unconscious. He supposed the effort of trying to shift the rock, combined with his probable concussion, had knocked him out. Maybe his body had done it on purpose, to keep his stupidity from injuring it any further. He knew that it was ill advised, to say the least, to exert yourself when you have a concussion. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice.

Oskar was terribly thirsty. He wondered how long he’d been in here. Six hours, at the very least. Probably more like twelve. Where the hell were Ness and Marent? They should have made some progress getting him out by now. He should be able to hear them digging through the rockfall. There was no chance that either Marent or Amnestria had abandoned him – he’d known Ness since he was a child, and she considered him one of her closest friends. As for Marent…

Oskar rubbed his hands roughly over his face in irritation. The blood from his head wound had coated half of his face, soaking into his beard as well. As he’d lain unconscious, the dust from the cave-in had settled over him, sticking to his skin as the blood dried. He’d ignored it before now, but at the moment, the itching was driving him crazy.

He sat in silence, waiting. His uninjured leg began to cramp, and he gritted his teeth. He could do nothing other than flex the muscles repeatedly trying to ease it, and he resorted to trying to rock the boulder again, in the hopes that he could move the leg enough to ease the pain.

The pain once again lanced through his head, and he was unable to shift the rock enough to help.

“Fuck! Fucking – gods dammit all – FUCK!” He pounded his fists on the top of the rock in a fury as he yelled, voice cracking as it echoed around the cave. His eyes burned, and he felt like he should be crying in frustration at this point.

“Too dehydrated,” Oskar told himself as he calmed. His voice was barely audible to his ears, cracked and hoarse. The cramp had begun to ease slightly, though the muscle was still painful. “Canna waste the water on somethin’ so trivial.”

His thoughts drifted as he waited. He had no way to judge the passage of time. Nothing ever changed, only his thirst and pain grew. He felt like he needed to piss, though he felt minimal pressure from his bladder. It was an odd sensation, of needing to, yet not needing to.

“Dehydration,” he told himself, barely a whisper. He cleared his throat again, though it didn’t help. He was miserable enough to not want to add even the slight discomfort of sitting in a puddle, so he managed to hold it in with little difficulty. “Dehydration’ll do that t’ a body. What else, though? Muscle cramps, aye. Lightheadedness. Dry mouth.”

Oskar sighed. He tried to distract himself with thoughts of the book he’d been reading, but had trouble recollecting where he’d left off. The air seemed thicker somehow.

“Confusion. Cognitive impairment.” His voice was nearly gone, the words coming out in broken bits. He took a deep breath, feeling again that odd sensation that the air was more dense. He shook his head, stray locks of hair falling across his temple. He suddenly remembered earlier, as he’d been crouched beside Marent in the cave.

He could feel air moving past his face – the cave seemed to have a constant slight breeze of fresh air rushing through it, as if it was breathing. A lock of hair had escaped his braid and fallen across his temple, the wind was causing it to flutter slightly.

The air had continued to move the entire time, now that Oskar thought about it. No longer, now the air was still. It wasn’t his imagination, or some side-effect of the dehydration. The cave-in had sealed Oskar in completely, cutting off the breeze.

Oskar’s air was running out.