The sound of footsteps immediately erased all that from his mind and ZaiWin turned towards the sound ready to kill whoever might be coming his way. A sigh of relief escaped his dried lips when he saw that it was something small and surprisingly fast.

Without uttering a single word, the child dropped the backpack right beside him, and ZaiWin quickly took out the blanket, grabbed his knife and started cutting it in long strips.

Focus. He had to focus on what he could do. He had to focus on the present moment. Not despair about a future that might never come. Not dwell in a past that would never return.

“See those tall, white trees?” he asked the child, pointing what he meant with a shaking hand, and the child nodded, his black eyes also serious and attentive. “Beneath them, on the ground … there are these big branches. I need you to go … and get me some. They have to be at least … this high,” he said, placing his trembling hand next to the child’s small elbow. “Think you can do that … ?” Another nod and then the little one was running towards the forest again.

ZaiWin kept cutting the blanket until there was nothing left. Then he took out his map and his orienting flask. His best chance to avoid the Calzai’s men was to get out of the area where the Gathering was taking place. Thankfully he wasn’t that far from one of the borders marked on his map. He wondered if the Calzai would leave men behind just to look for him. He was confident that he could evade them for the next few hours, until they left for the next challenge, the following day. But he had serious doubts that he’d be able to keep that up for four, entire days.

This time, when the child came back, he had no difficulty recognizing his small figure, since the little one was doing his best to drag half-a-dozen branches almost as tall as him.

“I need a few more. Just like these,” he instructed the moment the child dropped them at his side, and there he went again, running towards the trees.

ZaiWin carefully studied what he had been brought, testing the branches strength. He’d been lucky. The kid had actually managed to bring him some sturdy branches. He’d chosen that type of tree because he knew that the branches were thin and light enough for the the child to carry, and because, even though they were thin, they could still be considerably resistant when placed under pressure.

Taking a deep breath for courage and slapping his own cheeks to make sure he remained wide awake, he reached out for his shredded leg with shaky hands.

His tunic was soaked in blood, completely useless in its task to stop the bleeding. And so he carefully unwrapped it from around his leg, the pain making him want to scream.

Discarding it to one side, he took some time to catch his breath. His pants were completely ruined and all he could see were pieces of bright-red, bloody meat, cut by the hair-raising sight of protruding, white broken bone.

Keeping his breathing under control, he did his best to pass a few strips cut from the blanket beneath his leg, groaning in pain every time his own gestures forced him to move even just a bit. By the time the child returned, dragging another half-dozen branches, he was completely drenched in sweat, his black hair glued to his neck and back.

Opening his flask of water, he poured it over his head and face, trying his best to remain awake.

His hands were shaking violently when he chose the two straighter branches and placed one to each side of his leg. He could barely lift them anymore but, when he realized, the small child was holding the other end, his dark eyes serious and concentrated, as he did his best to help him.

Taking a few deep breaths to ready himself for the next torture, he grabbed another branch and placed it directly over his leg. The pain made him groan in his chest and he punched the dirt beside him to keep it under control, more tears sliding down his face.

He had to hurry up, he told himself, grabbing another branch that shook in his hands. It wouldn’t be long before FeiWan reached the others. If not for the fact that he’d been carrying the other boy, he was certain that he would have made all the way back by now.

After he’d managed to place another two branches over his shattered leg, he started tying the fabric strips around them, but his hands were just too shaky, his sight blurry, making it hard to see what he was doing.

Two, much smaller and colder hands covered his, forcing him to stop trying, and took the pieces of blanket away from his weak grasp.

ZaiWin sighed and allowed the child to take over the task.

“Do it as tightly as you can …” he breathed and almost fainted when the child dutifully obeyed.

The torture repeated itself another five times, until the last strip was tightly secured. But by then he was so out of it that all he could see was complete darkness.

Something wet and cold touched his forehead, startling him, jumping him awake, and for a moment he was ready to fight back again. Until he saw those black eyes staring at him, a worried expression on that small, dirty face. Taking a deep breath he mentally thanked the child for waking him up and proceeded to his next task.

Gathering the remaining branches he tied them all together, so that they’d be strong enough to withstand his weight, and then took another small moment to simply breathe.

“Can you help me get up …?” he asked the little one who kept observing him in silence, and received an immediate nod that left a weak smile on his lips. “Come here …”

The child looked suspicious at his request, but ended up carefully approaching him. ZaiWin placed a weak and trembling arm around his small shoulders and felt the little one cringe, clearly frightened.

“I won’t hurt you …” he whispered between forced breaths, reading himself for what would follow. “I know I am very heavy … but I really need your help …”

The child nodded, the short, dirty hair covering his head brushing against his cheek, and small cold hands resolutely held his arm in place.

Grabbing his improvised crutch with his free hand, he bent his good leg and filled his lungs with air. He only had one chance, he knew. He had to get up! Or the pain and effort spent in that first attempt wouldn’t allow him to try again.

Squeezing the little one’s tunic and piercing the ground with his crutch made of white branches, ZaiWin forced his good leg to support his weight and pulled himself up, leaning heavily on the poor child. He heard the kid groan from the effort, the small hands clutching his arm, his small legs trembling under the weight he was putting on those small shoulders, and he prayed the child could somehow withstand it. If the child fell he’d inevitably fall as well, and then there would be no hope of ever getting up again.

His good leg shook when he commanded it to stretch, the pain making him dizzy, drumming against his chest, but then he was finally up. Or so he thought, just moments before he felt himself fall forward.

The small arms that surrounded his waist and the head that pressed against his belly miraculously steadied him again, granting him the time he needed to move his crutch in order to regain his balance. And for a moment all he could do was stand there and breathe.

He was up, he forced himself to focus his mind. He was in an excruciating pain, but he was up. And then he felt the cold hands plastered against his sweaty, bare back, and his heart jumped at the mere thought of that.