INFERNO { Book First of the Divine Tragedy Trilogy }

IV

"Are you all right?" 

He's alive. 

This day has been filled with inconceivable impossibilities, but for some reason, I am sure that everything about this particular moment is undoubtedly real. 

I try to tell him that I'm still a little shaky and my stomach is twisting itself into knots, but my words only come out as light babbling. Worried and confused by my lack of coherent speech, his thick brows furrow. My breath starting to regain a normal pace, I look over his features for a second time. His nose is like a rabbit's: fat, wide, and pink. Hidden behind his long black locks are two pointed ears, and his jaw, although defined, is rather round. My eyes dart back to his lips again, which are now trembling in fear. He's breathing faster than I am. He still thinks I'm dying. 

Though the throbbing pain in my head and stomach is insufferable, I make an effort to sit myself up. Letting me move on my own, the man backs away from my body and sets himself in a crouched position beside me. He still has a hand on my backside, but his visage grows softer now that I'm showing signs of improvement. 

"Are you all right?" he asks a second time. 

My lips give the slightest curl of a smile. My fingers, not bony but stubby and soft, bury themselves into the cold snow. It's real. It's real and it's amazing and it's not trying to kill me anymore. 

"Yes," I finally speak, taking another stiff breath of air. "Yes, I'm all-"

Suddenly, another warm sensation fills up in my throat. But this time it's not blood.

It's vomit. 

My eyes bulging out of their sockets again, I practically trample over the poor man as I quickly run to the cover of a nearby tree. Doubling over, I retch, violently throwing up the small portion of peanut butter and oats I inhaled for breakfast. My throat burns like it was just before I passed out, and I know that once this fit is over, there will be nothing left in my stomach. After all, I haven't eaten since Alf and I left the trailer, which was many hours ago. 

I throw up some more, the burning sensation traveling down to my chest. "Oh dear," I hear the man exclaim, and he runs to me, holding my shoulder-length hair back for me before it reaches my face. I feel the heat of his warm hands on my bare neck, and for a third time, I retch. 

"Just let it all out," I hear him say as I draw closer to the ground, coughing the last of it up. Vomit turns to frothy spit, and finally, it's all gone. I close my eyes, groaning in pain and exhaustion. The man pats my back, and although his intention is reputable, his actions don't help much.

 I was wrong before. I'd much rather have the taste of rotten, dead fingers inside my mouth than vomit. 

I pant heavily again, and instead of my arm around his shoulders like before, he puts his arm around mine. Keeping me from collapsing, the black-haired stranger walks me across the snow, sits me down, and  props me up against the sturdiness of another tree. The sky is flakeless now. The snow won't be rising any higher while I sit. 

He gives me a smile full of pity as I continue to pant. The cold air helps to relieve my stomach a bit. "Rest," he tells me, and it's then that I recognize his voice. It's the same one that helped me escape the dark prison. The place where I fought for my life, against that creature. Did he know I was trapped in there? Were his hands the ones that pulled me into the light, back to reality?

No, it can't be possible. It was all just some hysterical nightmare while I was in a torturous state of limbo...

"Take a deep breath in," he mutters. Now I notice that his wispy voice is laced with some sort of elegant, flowy accent. I've heard many rough kinds in town before, but never his. His is soft. Natural. Engaging.