Will scott (Part 5 AND part 6)
Eagle lifted Will’s head up and pulled him from the tide. His hands felt clammy and cold, and his face was pale, and for a second she was worried that she had lied, and that he wouldn’t be ok.
Looking up, she noticed a cave in the side of the cliffs. Perfect.
She pulled him closer, and put his head on her shoulder. Linking her hands around his back she dragged him away from the water, and towards the cave.
She wished Cutter were here. He would lift the boy over one shoulder, and walk with ease. She struggled to pull him upright, his legs dragging on the sand.
Half an hour later and after much work, she eventually got him to the cave and laid him softly on the smooth stone floor. It was shielded from the rain in here, but he was still soaked. She had to get him out of his wet clothes. He was unconscious though… She settled for taking off his sopping t-shirt, and placing it to the side. A small vial fell from her jeans, and she opened it and emptied it out on to the floor. Cutter would catch the signal. She turned back to the boy.
The hole in his chest was huge, but taking a closer look the bullet had only ricocheted off of his ribs. He was lucky, but there was still a chance that he mightn’t live. Little shards of bone poked out of the cut. Eagle placed her hand on it and focused for a few seconds. The blood flow stopped as she poured her energy into him. She just hoped it was enough, his skin was ice cold, and he hadn’t moved since she had got him inside. She lay down next to him as she felt her strength ebb; moving him and then the attempt to heal him had taken a lot of energy. She stretched her wings around him and wrapped her arms around his chest, hoping it would keep him warm enough to live through the night, and fell asleep.
6
He had been down there for about an hour now.
The tunnels were long and often wound back on themselves, but as convoluted as they were, Cutter knew them like the back of his hand. He had traversed the disgusting tunnels long before he had met Eagle, and despite his hatred of them, they were a lot safer than the surface. Cutter traced the tattoo on his arm with his finger, and a thin ripple ran across his skin as tufts of fur burst from it. A split second later he transformed fully, and dropped forwards to all fours. He allowed himself a contented growl. Shifting fully after containing it for so long was bliss, even if he was trapped six feet underground in a sewer.
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose. The scent of the sewer was even stronger now that he had shifted, but with his heightened abilities it was easy to just ignore it. The smell disappeared as he chose not to smell it, one of the advantages of being a bear.
He was looking for another smell though. In one direction the sea smelt stronger, so he focused on that, attempting to discern any differences from what it should smell like. It wasn’t long before he recognised it. A familiar smell. The bitter scent of coffee and vanilla, and some other sweet scent he could never quite place, against the cold saltiness of the sea. Strong enough to be smelt from nearly anywhere, and unique enough that he could easily identify it. The signal. It was close, perhaps only 20 kilometres. He could make that in about half an hour if he ran in bear form.
His muscles shifted and moved as he began to run, and within seconds he was sprinting, his claws making large scuff marks on the inside of the concrete tunnel. Perhaps if he was quick enough he would have time to go for a swim and wash off the smell from the sewer. He sure hoped so.
The tunnels branched again and this time he took the right one. The salt smelt stronger now and he could hear the crash of waves.
A slight movement shifted a few feet away, and he immediately shifted, pulling his knife from his belt. Flicking his hand out, it span twice and hit something with a thud and a muffled squeak. He stepped slowly over to where his knife lay, and looked at what he had hit. A now headless rat lay upside down on the ground. Grimacing he pulled his knife free of the corpse and cleaned it on his jeans. Tucking it back into his belt, he ran on, his feet thudding hard on the cracked stone.
(IMAGE SOURCE: RodrigoBrito on Deviantart)
Words from me:
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