Author's note: Back to the present!
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Tabitha shifted silently on her branch, running her hands over the bark. The texture was almost smoothed down completely from the hundreds—if not thousands—of times she had visited and sat in that exact same spot. She watched as Dacre stared listlessly over the top of her shoulder, immersed in his own thoughts. She ached to ask him where his mind was at the moment but decided instead to leave him alone instead. They hadn't had many moments of peaceful quiet since she'd captured him weeks before—he deserved all of the fleeting moments of respite that he could get.
After a couple more minutes of mounting silence between the two, Tabitha heaved a sigh. Dacre's green eyes snapped out of whatever trance he'd been stuck in and found hers almost immediately. She watched wondrously as his pupils dilated to the point that his pine-colored irises were almost completely engulfed in blackness.
"I need to make a confession," she started. He furrowed his eyebrows at her and nodded for her to continue. "We're not just here so I can try to get some Felaria antidote from my aunt. I do need some, but there is so much more to it."
The worry that was evident in her wavering tone was foreign even to her. Dacre's concern expanded across all of his futures, his lips down turning into a frown that made her heart stammer inside of her chest for reasons that she couldn't begin to fathom. "Like what? Is something the matter?"
Tabitha chewed on the inside of her lip, contemplating whether to let him in on all that had been weighing on her. Despite their only knowing each other for a small amount of time, she knew innately that she could trust him. However, the part of her that had grown up trusting no one and asking for no help reared its ugly head at the notion. The battle inside of her mind raged on--one side begging her to give in and let him help her, the other side demanding that she handle the issues herself.
Her focus shifted back to the present when a warm, large hand reached across and captured her own as it fiddled nervously in her lap. She stilled completely, watching as his thumb twirled comforting strokes over the exposed flesh between her thumb and forefinger. Her skin was ablaze in each place that he traced, and she was sure that he could feel her skin heating up despite the fact that he was nowhere near as in-tune with his senses as she was.
Hearing an almost imperceptible crack, Tabitha realized a moment too late that it had come from the branch across from hers. Dacre's branch gave way, sending him falling quickly to the forest floor. She watched as his hand slipped out of hers completely before she shoved a wild arm down, grasping at anything that she could get ahold of.
Her fingers caught on the back of his cloak, wrapping tightly around the fabric until it was balled in her hand. His full weight yanked against her hold and she felt her arm give a sickening yank. A sharp pain laced itself around Tabitha's shoulder, but she ignored it and focused on keeping her grip on the back of Dacre's clothing. Her other arm was wrapped around the trunk of the tree nearby, keeping her from falling off of the branch with Dacre. He gave out a strangled cry when he looked down, taking in the distance from the ground to his current dangling position.
"Don't look down," Tabitha spoke in an authoritative tone. "I'll get you back up here, but you need to stay calm. If you move too much, the fabric will tear and I won't be able to save you then. So stay calm."
Dacre nodded vigorously in response, keeping his eyes closed tightly shut so he wouldn't be able to make himself panic anymore. She watched as his legs swung in the open air. She knew that she was strong—she was a witch, after all—but she wasn't entirely positive that she would be able to lift his entire body weight with just one arm. She inhaled deeply and sharply pushed out the same breath, considering all of her options. She briefly thought of the possibility of trying to swing him toward another lower hanging branch but immediately knew that that wouldn't work. The only one within reasonable distance was much thinner than the one that had originally broken off.
For one quick, real second, she considered letting him fall. If she let him fall, all of her problems would be solved. He'd die and become a warlock, making himself immortal and with powers that were inferior only to hers. He could help fight his father when the time came rather than having to stay out of harm's way as she'd insisted on him doing.
She felt the Mark on her face begin to crawl as she contemplated claiming the life of one of the only people she cared for. It was writhing in anticipation of another sacrifice to the God of Death—of her making another vessel for that same god, as his death would mean that he would become a red warlock.
She quickly shook that thought from her head. Tabitha was revolted with herself for letting her mind consider that possibility for even just one fleeting moment. Her Mark immediately began to burn in a way that she'd never felt before, but she knew inherently that it was a sign that the God of Death was not happy with her decision to keep Dacre alive. She didn't care.
She couldn't kill Dacre. She wouldn't. God of Death be damned.
Flexing her bicep, she slowly inched him higher and higher up from his position dangling below her. Her shoulder screamed in agony, but it went completely unnoticed by her as she kept all of her concentration on slowly but surely raising Dacre to her sturdy branch. When he was finally within reaching distance, his hands hungrily wrapped around the branch. She released her grip on the tree and her grip on his hoodie to wrap both hands instead under his armpits and help him pull himself up that extra bit. He struggled to get to his position beside her but was finally able to.
"Tabitha," his voice was strained and he was obviously quite out of breath as he sat beside her. Tabitha let herself breath a sigh of relief, thankful that she hadn't given over to her instinct to let him fall.
"No need to thank me," she joked half-heartedly, letting a nervous smile tug on her lips. "I'm not in the business of killing people. Just not my thing." Her sarcasm was heavy in her tone, but her smile dropped from her lips when she saw that he was not returning it. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"Tabitha," he dragged in a ragged breath. She noticed then that his face was completely drained of color and strained as if he was fighting off an unseen ailment. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead. "Please.. your shoulder..."
Tabitha glanced down, searching her own arm. She saw that the slope of her shoulder was lopsided and immediately knew that she had pulled it out of socket when she'd caught Dacre. The needles of agony came rushing back to the forefront of her mind. It wasn't a level of suffering that she couldn't handle but she knew that Dacre was feeling every second of her pain because of their link. She looked at him once more and saw that he was beginning to pant slightly. He looked as if he was ready to fall out of the tree again at any moment due to passing out because of the pain.
"Sorry," she cringed, knowing that what came next would hurt him just as much as the initial injury. "You might want to grab onto the branch to steady yourself. This will be getting worse before it gets better. Okay?"
He nodded once and swallowed hard, wrapping both hands around the branch below him.
She pushed her back up against the trunk of the tree, giving herself a firm surface to lie against. Using her other arm, she slowly moved her dislocated one to an angle away from her own body. The pain flared up intensely and Dacre groaned beside her. She gritted her teeth and stilled herself, allowing him a moment of reprieve before continuing.
She wrapped her fingers around her dislocated arm's wrist, pulling it firmly away from her body in that same angle. Nothing happened at first, forcing her to yank harder. Her shoulder finally gave way with a pop and she felt it move back into its rightful position.
Dacre sighed heavily as the extreme pain was quickly lessened into more of a dull throb. She could practically see the relief in his eyes as some color returned to his features. "Thank you for doing that. I honestly thought for a second that you'd just let me fall." Tabitha's face burned in embarrassment and shame as she thought of the one second that she had thought about it. Dacre didn't seem to notice her hesitation to deny that claim, so he continued on. "I think my time in this tree is up." He quickly scooted over to where the closest step was and began to steadily make his way down. She stared at his retreating figure and watched as the muscles of his shoulders rippled and moved under his cloak each time he moved to grip the trunk of the tree. Tabitha followed after him, keeping one hand hovering over his shoulder in case he somehow took a misstep and fell again.
When Dacre arrived at the third step from the bottom, he jumped past the remaining steps and landed at the base. When he landed, Tabitha noticed a small twang of pain in his right knee. He winced almost imperceptibly and slowly began to shake out the pain. She continued to feel the phantom pain, despite his best efforts to loosen the joint.
"You hurt your knee?" She questioned, jumping down from the steps herself and moving toward where he stood. He'd began to massage the surrounding tissue, but Tabitha knew from their link that the pain wasn't lessening. It was barely enough for her to even notice, but she knew that her perception of pain was much different from his.
"I think I may have bumped it on the trunk of the tree when I first fell," he admitted defeatedly. His voice sounded embarrassed and his cheeks were aflame with redness. Tabitha grinned at him despite her best efforts to not, much to his chagrin. His face turned a deeper shade of red.
"I may not have much when it comes to powers, but I'll remind you that we do have a bit from each god," she admitted, still flashing him her brilliant smile. "It just so happens that my second-most potent power is healing."
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Dacre was dumbfounded by this news. Healing? That made zero sense to him.
As if reading the surprise and confusion on his face, Tabitha chuckled. "Don't get your hopes too high, charmer. I can only heal small things. I won't be able to bring you back to health if you get stabbed in the chest--other than me sharing my blood with you and linking us, of course, but that only works once. However, I may be able to do something about a little bit of knee pain."
"I didn't even know that you had powers from other gods," Dacre admitted after the shock wore off. He went to sit on a fallen stump that Tabitha was motioning to with her hands. He watched amazedly as she grinned at him again, the red Mark on her face bending into the curve of her smile.
"I explained that to you in the tavern," she chuckled, bending down to sit on her knees in front of him. Something deep within him stirred at the sight, but she seemed completely unaware in his change in feelings. "All witches get a tiny amount of gifts from each god, but some of them are useless. I can call on the God of Water, for instance, for a small amount of rain but there is no guarantee that he'll answer it.
"I also have a bit of fast-healing, but not nearly as much as purple witches. I can sprout a small plant from the ground like the green witches, but mine wither away almost instantaneously. They can sprout fully-grown trees within seconds.
"it's ironic, I know," she admitted with a wry smile. "My number one power is the ability to kill and my number two is the ability to heal. The gods are nothing if not sadistic." Dacre half expected a large bolt of thunder to strike the red witch on the spot, but
"So why don't you get one of the green witches to grow the Felaria antidote?" He questioned, watching as she drew small figures in the dirt below him. He stretched out his knee before her, watching her work absentmindedly. When she pulled out a dagger from her boot, Dacre gasped when she pricked a thin point in the pad of her forefinger. She held it over the marks that she'd made in the soil, squeezing until one drop of blood hit directly in the center of the figure.
Dacre was anticipating for the mark that she made to begin glowing, but nothing happened. He slumped ever so slightly in disappointment, thinking that Tabitha was too entranced with her spell-work to notice his displeasure.
"Underwhelming, I know," she chuckled, never taking her eyes off the figure in front of her as she continued to trace lines through it with her fingers. "As for the kidnapping a green witch idea, it doesn't work unless the witch truly gives themselves over to the spell. Not an easy task whenever you're holding someone hostage. The threat I made to my aunt earlier about that was empty, and she knows it. She's going to hold the antidote over my head for as long as she can."
Dacre straightened his spine, embarrassed that she'd picked up on his dismay. It was easy for him, especially lately, to forget how perceptive she was due to her sharpened senses. He allowed himself to wonder for half of a second what it'd be like to have senses of his own like that—wondered what it'd be like to be a warlock. To his utter surprise, the idea didn't revolt him completely. He'd be faster, stronger, immortal—everything that would give him an edge against his father, he would be. But then he remembered the fact that he'd become just another servant of the god that he'd seen take over Tabitha's life since she was a child, and he quickly shut the thought out.
He watched her work mystically in the dirt. Just as the drawing would begin to take on a shape that he thought he recognized, she would draw another line that blurred the picture completely. He watched with furrowed brows. She looked at him with hooded eyelids, her breathing a bit more ragged than he'd ever seen it. "If things start to get a bit..." she paused, searching for the best word to use, "rough, just leave me alone. It takes quite a bit out of me to do a spell that has origins from another god." Before Dacre could question just what she meant by rough, she began to talk slowly in a language he recognized—it was the same one that she'd used the night that she had revived him from the brink of death and linked the two of them.