I'm not a kitten... Okay, I'm Kitten

Chapter 10

An hour or two later, Boy couldn't tell, Sir finally left. Boy held up his hand and mustered up as much energy as he could, then sent it toward the chains that still bound Bear.

The instant his bonds broke, Bear was at Boy's side.

"'S okay, Cuddles," he said wearily, his focus shifting in and out. "Jus'... jus' stay wi' me."

Head hung, the Wyhound inched closer, as if afraid of hurting him. Moving slowly, he curled around Boy like when they were in school. He whimpered and sniffled, but Boy had already fallen asleep.

Boy's breath caught in his throat as he woke, his leg feeling like it was on fire. There were other injuries, but that was the worst. As the sun began to rise, Boy lay still and started to put all of his healing knowledge to use. He started with the worst injuries, aside from his knee. Muttering in Latin, he closed his eyes and focussed on his ribs, gently putting his left hand over the most painful spots. From there, he moved on to the back of his head, then his right wrist. He ignored the cuts, bruises and welts, of which there were plenty.

Willing away the urge to use the loo, he waited to regain some strength before starting in on his knee. Propping himself up on his elbows, he winced slightly at the stab of pain that ran along his left shoulder. He took a few seconds to get over it and continued the painfully slow journey of sitting upright.

Bear was right there, using his head to make sure that Boy didn't tip back, which he had done twice.

By the time he was fully upright, Boy was panting and sweaty from exertion. Again, he stopped for a few minutes. When he felt steadier and his breathing was back to normal, he cupped his hands on either side of his knee. He squeezed his eyes shut and poured as much magic into the horribly swollen joint as possible.

This went on for over an hour and his bladder was making itself very well known. Knowing full well that he wouldn't be able to make it down to the third floor, he let Bear help him up and wee'd out the hole in the wall. That act disgusted him, but needs must. As he held onto the wall, a thought occurred to him.

"Bear?" He asked, looking at his doggy. "Do you need out? You know, to wee?"

Bear bobbed his head, clearly taking Boy's quiet as a queue.

Palms flat against the bare planks, he envisioned a hinge at floor level and a piece of the wall lowering like a drawbridge. It was only as high as his shoulders, but he was too exhausted to fix it at the moment. "You'll need to fly down," he said sadly. "And if you can hunt, I think you should. Sir won't be feeding you-" us "-any time soon. Just remember, do not let them see you, okay? If they find out that I can let you out, we'll both be in deep trouble."

Bear squeezed through the short opening. When he was on the ledge, he shook out his wings and took off into the early morning light.

Shivering at the vicious wind that blasted through the drawbridge, Boy tugged it almost closed. He didn't want to close it completely so that Bear could let himself in. It was too hard to stay awake and wait.

Leaning heavily on his walking stick, Boy made his way over to the elf-sized mattress and sank into it gratefully. He might be hurting, but it was marginally better than sleeping on the flagstone floors of his broom cupboard. To his astonishment, his feet actually went just past the end. Not far, but still. He really was growing. With that thought in mind, Boy slipped back into the arms of Morpheus.

It wasn't until Monday, the twenty-third, that Boy's first meal popped into the attic. He didn't care that he was back to bread and bland broth with potatoes. It was wholly unappealing, but he was so hungry!

Five minutes later, he regretted eating it. His stomach was in knots and gnawing at itself at the same time. It was a horrible feeling. He barely had time to push the drawbridge open before sicking it right back up.