Luckily the water only goes up to my neck, but this kid is half my size, so it's not good news for him. I grab him by the waist and throw him over my shoulder. He's passed out, and I'm soaking wet. I gesture to the kids on land. "Get over here!" I haven't spoken in a while, so my voice is hoarse, but it matches my mood so I'm going with it.
The kids look at each other and back to me, but don't move. It might be because of my sickly appearance, or because they don't know me, or whatever, but frankly I don't give a fuck. "Did you not hear me?!" I scream with rage. "Get. Your. ASSES. Over here. RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"
They comply, most likely out of fear, and reach for my hands. They manage to hoist us both over and onto land, and immediately I lay the child down and begin to press down on his chest repeatedly--it's a technique I read about in a book once. To be honest, I don't remember it too well, and I've never done it on a real person who needed it before, but there's no other option right now.
It doesn't seem to be doing much, so I pinch his nose and blow air into his mouth. I switch between doing these motions a couple times until I see his chest project into the air, and hear a big gasp come out of his mouth as his eyes shoot open and he starts coughing up water.
I nearly collapse from relief. He tries to sit, and I rush to his side to help him up. Between his heavy breathing I observe him. His entire body was wet, but he was wearing a light green durumagi and wooden sandals. He looked about seven or eight. His nose was flat, his cheeks full, his hair was thick, a light brown color, his skin was porcelain white. His eyelashes were long and his eyes (currently bloodshot) were a soft green. Being entirely objective, he was beautiful. He was the pinnacle of upper class Valonian beauty. The fabric of his durumagi wasn't cheap, either--what was he doing in a place like this?
"Are you okay?" I ask him gently. He's looking around frantically, shooting a questioning look at the boys behind him. I turn around and snap at them, "What the hell is the matter with you three? How could you make him go out there?" They take a few steps back, fumbling with their hands, unable to say anything.
I growl. "Well, if you've got nothing to say, go back where you came from and get someone that can help and make sure he's alright. It's the least you losers can do." They hesitate. "Go," I say.
They run off into the woods. There's a chance they won't come back, but my gut feeling tells me they will. Those kids were old enough to know the potential severity of what may have happened, but they're not old enough to be malicious and completely leave us behind. And in the small chance they won't return, I have a couple options: the young child in front of me can make his way back home; if I can somehow influence him into taking me with him so I have a means of escape, that's the best case scenario. If I can't do that, I'll just have to go back to that room and wait for another chance to get out.
I'm sure the kid will be fine either way. I smile and reach out to touch him, but he swats my hand away. His eyes looks me up and down; he horrified. I don't blame him--I still look a bit like I walked out of hell. I almost laugh at the thought of him seeing me a a week ago--compared to that, this is nothing.
He tries to get up, but I grab him by the shoulders. "No--no, calm down, I'm not going to hurt you," I say in the sweetest voice possible. "Something very dangerous just happened to you, and you shouldn't stand so suddenly. Now, I'm going to ask you a few questions to make sure you're okay." I show him a calculated grin. "Don't worry, you can trust me. I promise I won't hurt you."
He doesn't look convinced, but he slowly sits back down.
I hold up two fingers and ask him to count them; I take my pointer finger and ask him to follow it with his eyes without moving his head; I check his breathing by pressing down on his chest. Everything seems fine, and he's clear with his answers. The entire time he's just studying me, watching me intently.
Now to check for any memory problems. "What day is it?" He tells me. Then I realize that was a bad question, since I don't even know what day it is.
"What's your name?"
He doesn't say anything.
I clear my throat. "What's your name?"
"You talk funny."
...What.
I frown. "Excuse me?"
His voice isn't squeaky and young like I expected, and his statement is strong and sure. "You talk funny. You're not from here."
Ah. To him, I have an accent. Compared to Valonians, people in Eseq tend to roll their Rs and Ls, and the k-sound comes out as a g. At first I consider changing the way I talk, but then I trash that idea; I look too foreign, and that can't really be fixed.
I decide to brush it off. "Yes, I'm not from here. What's your name?"
"What's yours?" He crosses his arms.
I cross mine. "So you don't know your own name?"
"No, I'm asking for yours."
He's getting on my nerves. "Listen, kid. I'm trying to check if you have any memory loss. Do you remember your name or not?"
"Yeah, I remember it. What's your name?"
"How do you know I'm going to give you my real name?"
A pause. "I don't." He sticks out a hand. "You can call me Theo."
And there's no way that's his name. "You can call me Rose," I lie in return.
We shake hands. Admittedly it throws me off; I'm not very good with kids so I tend to avoid them, unless I need to, you know, save their lives or something. In my experience, kids are either absolute assholes or too scared to interact with me.
"How old are you?" I ask, remembering that a a few minutes ago he was unconscious and nearly dead and I need to make sure he's okay.
"Nine."
Well. He's older than I thought.
"I'm nineteen," I say, which is the truth. Giving away my age won't do anything. Plus, if I tell him stuff about myself (without giving too much away) then he'll probably trust me more. And then I can get what I want.
I ask him some more questions, like if he felt any pain in his head or chest, or if he still felt dizzy, but for the most part he seems to be alright.
"What brings you so deep into woods, Theo?"
Every time I ask him a question, his answers come out gradually, as if he's thinking about every word that comes out of his mouth.
"I was playing around with my friends, and they wanted to cross the creek."
I tilt my head. "Were those really your friends?"
"Yes."
"Are they older than you?"
"...They're not that old."
"But they're all bigger than you."
"In size, yes."
"And you're the youngest and the smallest?"
"Yes."
"Was it your idea to walk across that log onto the other side of the creek?"
He pauses. "It was everyone's idea."
"So you all thought that not only was it a good idea to pass over a high-current creek by tip-toeing on an unstable log, you also thought it was a good idea to let the smallest and youngest of the bunch go first?"
Quiet. "I wanted to show them I could."
Huh. My first instinct was that he was being bullied, but the more I think about it, the more plausible this is.
I sigh. "Do you understand how dangerous that was? Do you understand that you literally came face to face with death less than twenty minutes ago? Do you understand how absolutely stupid and reckless and ridiculous that was?"
I'm scolding him now. "I don't care about you trying to prove yourself to those little punks, but never, and I mean never ever, risk your life for something like that. It's not worth it. It's never worth it. You lucked the hell out today, kid." My hands fly up. "I saw those kids watch you fall. They weren't going in after you. Imagine if I wasn't there. You could have died! And as far as I'm concerned, whoever those kids are, they're assholes, and you need to stay far, far away from them."
Silence.
Then, "Thank you for saving my life, lady."
I'm a little taken aback. My heart warms a little. He's a cute kid. "I told you, call me Rose."
"Yeah, but that's not your name, so I won't use it."
"And I take it Theo's not your name, either?"
"No one said that." His face is completely devoid of emotion when he says this, and I hold back a smile.
We sit in silence for a bit. I don't know what my next move is.
"What were you doing here?"
I blink. "What?"
"I mean, you're obviously not from here. Your skin and hair is too dark. You look really sick, too. How did you even get here?"
This brat is sharp. Or he just has common sense.
Weakly, I decide to flip the question. "And...and what about you? That durumagi isn't cheap, I can tell just by the texture of it. Your family's got money, and you seem a bit too educated for a regular nine year old. What's a rich boy like you doing trying to impress older kids in the middle of a forest?"
He stares at me. "Do you want to get out of here?"
For a second, I'm frozen. Did he figure something out?
I swallow, and nod.
Shakily, he stands up, and lets out a hand. "Okay. A life for a life."
His eyes are sincere, and there's a trace of a smile on his face.
After everything that's happened, I never thought my saving grace was going to be a soaking wet nine-year-old boy like the one standing before me.
I take his hand. I almost cry.