Playing The Victims [BL]

Chapter One Hundred & Thirty-One | Fourth World

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Contradictory to what Fyre said, nothing immediately happened when Finch removed the token which sat in his ear. So the emotions he felt in that moment gradually melted away as the days past. There was no preparedness, not when Finch was dealing with a god-like individual. There was no element of familiarity, no experience he had gathered, that could prepare him for how Zephyr could react.

Finch didn't know what to expect. Perhaps he would appear whilst Finch was trying yet failing to grasp archery? If the god stood far left of the target board then Finch could probably just about hit him. Then Thorn would at least not scoff at that.

With Falcon's absence, there was only Thorn whom Finch found himself able to talk to. If light squabbling could be considered talking. With everyone else, Finch had to at least make an effort of not sounding like a spoilt brat feeling like he wasn't getting enough attention from those around him. Falcon was pretty much the apple of everybody's eye, and there was no shortage of people who wanted to speak to him at any given moment. So Finch grumbled his annoyances to himself and shook his head dismissively when someone of importance asked if it was an emergency.

In between patiently waiting for his face to mend, Finch helped out where he could. But he prioritised his time with Thorn. The man was tedious, and spent a fair amount of time howling with laughter when he saw Finch's bruised nose. Initially, he had sounded concerned when he thought someone had introduced their fist to his face, but after Finch mentioned a particularly thick tree-root, Thorn gave himself a core workout purely through hysterics.

And as if to add salt to the wound, the very next day when Fyre insisted he get his nose checked by someone considered their 'wisest healer', he came face to face with a character he wanted to choke the life out of.

Everyone Finch had met, had quickly come to realise that he wasn't a simple person. He had a tricky personality and a sharp bite when necessary. Never before had he been treated like a child. Nor were his debatably experienced skills when involving natural remedies, ever been doubted. Until he met this elderly man. Who regarded him as if Finch were dragging the man's favourite pelt through the dirt.

When he asked who had been treating his injury, Finch shrugged his shoulders and had no qualms about revealing that he had been doing so himself. Which made the old man scoff and wander off grumbling something under his breath like 'just about anyone can put mud on their faces'. So Finch sat there with a painful smile on his face, but as time wore on it soured.

The man spoke grimly, "So you're the one who apparently saved the life of the maniac who is trying to kill us all."

Followed by, "Oh. So these great skills I've heard about from Fyre... have since only been used on a horse?"

Then rounded up with, "How useful you would be if we did have to rely on you. Getting injured all of the time."

Finch had left the man's hut questioning whether the whole test had made him a better person, because he very much wanted to go back inside and demonstrate the medical skills he had picked up in the previous world. More specifically, what he could do with a knife.

His days felt taxing, both physically and mentally. There were no moments of clarity where Fahren could predict what was going to happen, or figuring out what he should be doing. Nor did he identify any of the key characteristics that came with his beloved people from previous worlds. He was no praying man, but he had to give a little one just in hopes that the horrible old man, who looked down his nose at him, had no link to them.

Finch's favourite time of the day had to be the moment his head hit the mountain of furs he piled onto the makeshift bed in the treehouse that once belonged to Falcon. As soon as the fire had been put out, it was absolute darkness. So he lay alone and in silence, give or take the odd flurry of movement that came from below as people returned to their own treehouses. But most of them were warrior-types like Falcon and Thorn. Because as Falcon said, most people felt safest when underground.