𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 - 𝘕𝘦𝘸𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘴

Aftercare

Newt had promptly finished doing the task Thomas was theorized to complete, with the patience that the other evidently did not have. He'd had sent the brunet to fetch fertilizer, — for what reason? Because it was simply and gratifyingly amusing. Thomas had not been suitable for any sort of responsibility since he'd been yanked up the box, and he had to be punished in some way, — no, seizing animal shit wasn't gonna teach him a lesson, but, at least it would humiliate him enough to slim his mouth for a while and work decently.

Of course, Newt knew Thomas' only ambition was to be a Runner, somehow, even after facing the Griever through the tiny window, the concept of venturing inside the maze still seemed attractive to the boy. The only alluring aspect of the walls for Newt was the faint idea of a way out; the possibility of a hidden trapdoor concealed under the ivies.

Alby was somewhat reluctant, given Thomas' ambitious personality, — even smug to a certain extent — so forcing him to work as an equal was a way of testing his compliance. Making him fetch crap wasn't precisely a direct order, but proved Newt's point just right: Thomas wasn't destined to fulfill mundane tasks, — but to get them out of there. He was a smart boy, he was curious; he was unlike anything Newt had ever seen before, — and that was exactly the reason he was most qualified to be their new Runner, once the time was right.

All the same, something mildly concerned Newt: after some good laughs watching Thomas stomp away mumbling to himself, the Gladers had resumed their designated tasks, not giving the whereabouts of the brunet much thought, — but nearly fifteen minutes had gone through, and he still hadn't returned.

A significant portion of Newt yearned to venture into the forest to look for him, nonetheless, the alleged favoritism the Gladers accused him of holding towards Thomas only served to compound the situation. So he stayed in his place, and listened.

Maybe he hadn't found the fertilizer, he thought. Maybe he was just doing his thing, exploring everything like he'd find a hidden door in a tree trunk.

But his persistent self-comfort soon turned into utter confusion when he caught the sound of a jarred plead for help from within the trees, — it seemed like the time had ceased for some blurred seconds, the silence denser than ever. He incorporated towards the origin of the voice, squinting to the woods, as did many other gladers beside him.

A few heavy steps over the humid grass betrayed Alby a few meters away from him, slowly but decidedly approaching the garden area. They crossed stares, blinking at each other in mutual discernment, — Newt began walking at the same pace, his eyes flickering between the dark spots between the trees. Another scream, now clear and unmistakable, echoed through the entire glade, freezing Newt's guts.

"Help!" Thomas' desperate voice pleaded, he sounded out of breath, deeply frightened.

Newt was the first one to react: with a quick and determined motion, he yanked the stick he had been using to soften the soil and took off running, his injured limb protesting with every step. Ignoring the searing ache, he pushed himself further, driven by instinct. It was only a matter of seconds before Thomas emerged from the dense woods, his face contorted in fear as he was immediately tackled to the ground by a much larger boy.

The blond's confusion was fleeting as the hostile boy unleashed a menacing shout for all to hear, staining Thomas' face with his saliva; "I'll kill you!"

In that instant, Newt's stupefaction transformed into an overwhelming sense of duty, fueling a primal rage that emanated from the depths of his being, — the protective instinct, fierce and raw, engulfed him completely. The sight of Thomas being attacked ignited an unyielding determination within Newt, propelling him forward with a single-minded purpose — to shield him from harm.