part two of three.
When he awoke, it was dark.
That was all Jon's senses could process at first; his eyes were open, and all he could see were the dim outlines of trees overhead, their edges etched by the moon. His chest was tight; he drew a slow breath that turned into a shuddering gasp, a yell of pain he did not have enough breath to voice.
Everything hurt-- that was no exaggeration. At first the wave of pain was so great, Jon was fighting to stay conscious. Both arms felt shaken out of their sockets, his head was throbbing fit to burst, and all over his chest and back he could feel sharp stings where rocks and branches had cut him, and the revolting clammy stickiness of blood drenched his clothes.
When he tried to move his legs, he regretted it instantly. Agony flooded his left side from ankle to hip, a deep hot spear that tore a scream from his throat and made him collapse back against the rocks, his breath practically a sob in his chest.
A springy tree branch had fallen across him and he forced his aching arms to work, pushing the branch away so he could look at his leg. He soon regretted that as well; the leg of his trousers was torn almost to shreds, and beneath it he could see his skin was purple and green and covered in blood. He fought to control his breathing, to get himself calm before taking stock of his injuries. He lay still until his heart rate slowed, then pulled himself to a sitting position.
It was then he saw Ghost not five feet from him, lying limp on one side, one back leg twisted at an odd angle. In the dim light Jon couldn't tell if he was breathing or not. Fear and dread twisted his already churning stomach, and for the first time since he'd woken Jon was in danger of throwing up, or crying, or perhaps both. It took him the span of three deep breaths before he could find voice enough to call out, "Ghost, to me."
For a heartbeat the fear gripped him again, and then the huge white head moved. Ghost rolled onto his stomach, crawling forward inch by inch til his head was within reach of Jon's hand. "Thank the gods," Jon murmured, closing his eyes in relief. "Can you stand?" he asked softly, reaching as far as he could til his fingers brushed the twisted back leg. Ghost bared his teeth, turning his head away; had he a voice, Jon was sure he'd have yelped in pain.
"Alright," he murmured, bringing his hand back to the white wolf's ruff. "Alright. I'm going to see if I have any better luck trying that on myself now... and if I yelp, you won't tell anyone, right?" Ghost looked at him, solid and comforting, and Jon nodded. "Right." Starting at his hip, he let his fingers creep down his leg, barely touching yet still close enough to feel the heat radiating off the skin. He felt the bumps, the places where the bone had broken; and yes, there was more than one. Two at least in his thigh; when he got to the lower leg he half expected to feel bone protruding, and could have wept in relief when he didn't. There was definitely something wrong there, though, a few places so hot and painful to the touch he could scarcely skim his fingers over them.
After ten minutes' inspection he lay back, his eyes searching the sky as if an answer might be found there, but his mind was blank. He tried to make himself think, tried to process what had happened and think of a way out, but he couldn't. His mind was working against him; the fact that he was not even expected back at Snow House until the next day had not yet occurred to him. "I'm in trouble," he whispered softly, when the silence seemed interminable. Ghost picked his head up and looked back at Jon, who shook his head and gave his shoulder a weak pat.
At some point he drifted into unconsciousness. When he woke again, it was raining.
That was all Jon's senses could process at first; his eyes were open, and all he could see were the dim outlines of trees overhead, their edges etched by the moon. His chest was tight; he drew a slow breath that turned into a shuddering gasp, a yell of pain he did not have enough breath to voice.
Everything hurt-- that was no exaggeration. At first the wave of pain was so great, Jon was fighting to stay conscious. Both arms felt shaken out of their sockets, his head was throbbing fit to burst, and all over his chest and back he could feel sharp stings where rocks and branches had cut him, and the revolting clammy stickiness of blood drenched his clothes.
When he tried to move his legs, he regretted it instantly. Agony flooded his left side from ankle to hip, a deep hot spear that tore a scream from his throat and made him collapse back against the rocks, his breath practically a sob in his chest.
A springy tree branch had fallen across him and he forced his aching arms to work, pushing the branch away so he could look at his leg. He soon regretted that as well; the leg of his trousers was torn almost to shreds, and beneath it he could see his skin was purple and green and covered in blood. He fought to control his breathing, to get himself calm before taking stock of his injuries. He lay still until his heart rate slowed, then pulled himself to a sitting position.
It was then he saw Ghost not five feet from him, lying limp on one side, one back leg twisted at an odd angle. In the dim light Jon couldn't tell if he was breathing or not. Fear and dread twisted his already churning stomach, and for the first time since he'd woken Jon was in danger of throwing up, or crying, or perhaps both. It took him the span of three deep breaths before he could find voice enough to call out, "Ghost, to me."
For a heartbeat the fear gripped him again, and then the huge white head moved. Ghost rolled onto his stomach, crawling forward inch by inch til his head was within reach of Jon's hand. "Thank the gods," Jon murmured, closing his eyes in relief. "Can you stand?" he asked softly, reaching as far as he could til his fingers brushed the twisted back leg. Ghost bared his teeth, turning his head away; had he a voice, Jon was sure he'd have yelped in pain.
"Alright," he murmured, bringing his hand back to the white wolf's ruff. "Alright. I'm going to see if I have any better luck trying that on myself now... and if I yelp, you won't tell anyone, right?" Ghost looked at him, solid and comforting, and Jon nodded. "Right." Starting at his hip, he let his fingers creep down his leg, barely touching yet still close enough to feel the heat radiating off the skin. He felt the bumps, the places where the bone had broken; and yes, there was more than one. Two at least in his thigh; when he got to the lower leg he half expected to feel bone protruding, and could have wept in relief when he didn't. There was definitely something wrong there, though, a few places so hot and painful to the touch he could scarcely skim his fingers over them.
After ten minutes' inspection he lay back, his eyes searching the sky as if an answer might be found there, but his mind was blank. He tried to make himself think, tried to process what had happened and think of a way out, but he couldn't. His mind was working against him; the fact that he was not even expected back at Snow House until the next day had not yet occurred to him. "I'm in trouble," he whispered softly, when the silence seemed interminable. Ghost picked his head up and looked back at Jon, who shook his head and gave his shoulder a weak pat.
At some point he drifted into unconsciousness. When he woke again, it was raining.