Lost Sheep

I was horribly alone, without a friend in the world – literally – and I apparently had done something incredibly stupid by chasing a marsh spirit. I glanced at the handkerchief wrapped around my hand and swallowed my pride. The man may be arrogant and rude, but he was the only person I had met in this wacky place, and he had revealed a moment of kindness by bandaging my injury. True, he was the one who caused the injury, but I was willing to overlook that. Besides, he was awfully handsome.

“Wait!” I called, stumbling in the direction the man had gone.

I ran, leaping over rocks and branches as best I could, my heart hammering in my chest. I was terrified, and the terror moved me forward, deeper into the forest. Several minutes later, I paused, gasping for breath and holding my bag tightly with my good hand. I tried to listen for him, but my pulse was racing and I could hear nothing else over its noise. Exhaling sharply and taking another deep breath, I sat down at the base of a tree to calm myself. The bowman was gone, I was certain of that. He had moved like a cat before, and seemed like the type who could vanish into thin air if he wanted to. I could hardly believe he would abandon me in the middle of the forest! When there was a battle nearby!

“Good riddance, I guess,” I muttered to myself. “He seemed like more trouble than he was worth.”

I reached into my bag and pulled out a water bottle, drinking deeply. It seemed almost strange to have something so familiar in my hand when I was lost in a fantasy forest. I thought about what I should do next. The bowman would be no help, and I could hardly go wandering around a battlefield. My chest hurt from running and my hand ached, and the most comforting thing I could think of doing was to stay curled up under the tree and wait for this nightmare to end. Feeling tears welling up in my eyes, I brushed them impatiently aside and mentally scolded myself for being such a coward. Just as I had made up my mind to find one of the villages the man had spoken of, I felt something heavy on my shoulder.

“A lost sheep,” a deep voice said behind me.

My eyes widened and I felt my body freeze with fear. I dropped the water bottle and turned my head slowly to stare at my shoulder. A large hand encased in metal rested on it. My eyes followed the metal arm upwards to a meaty looking face with a horned helmet on its head. My heart stopped as I recognized one of the axe-men.

“Where’s your flock, little sheep?” the man asked, lifting me into the air by my injured arm.

I gasped in pain as I found myself dangling a foot off the ground. I spun slightly and noticed three more axe-men standing around, smiles on all their faces. They were all wearing armor, their faces dirty and stained with blood. They all smelled foul, and I wrinkled my nose at their stench. I felt as if my arm were going to come free of its socket, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.

“That hurts,” I said, stating the obvious.

The man who held me dropped me roughly to the ground. I snatched my bag and glared at him, knowing better than to try to run. The one who had grabbed me, I assumed he was the leader, crouched down so we were eye to eye and stared at me. The smell was no more pleasant at this range than it had been before, and I recoiled. The man smiled, revealing rotting teeth and worse breath, thinking I had slunk back out of fear. Well, I admitted to myself, it was partially out of fear, but mostly to escape the odor.

“We won’t hurt you,” the man said in a kindly tone. “Are you lost?”

I nodded mutely, wondering if the bowman would spring to my rescue like the heroes in the movies. Somehow, I doubted it. The axe-man sat back a bit and motioned to one of his companions. The other man rummaged through his pack and pulled out a bundle wrapped in cloth and tossed it to the leader. He held it out to me, and I took it gingerly. It was a small loaf of coarse brown bread.

“You look half starved,” the man said, eyeing me, “and half dressed. Were you accosted in the woods?”

I bit into the bread and thought about the bowman. “I suppose so.”

The man rose to his feet. “Well, little sheep, you’d better come with us. The commander will want to talk to you, unless your village is nearby?”

I swallowed the tough bread, feeling it stick in my throat. I had no reason to trust these men, anymore than I had to trust the bowman. They were obvious enemies, but would the commander be able to help me home? Or would I be better off searching for the marsh creature on my own? If I could find it again, I could chase it and maybe end up safely at home by dinner. The handsome face of the bowman appeared in my minds eye. If only I had gotten his name!