“I’m here.”
I didn’t speak. I just stared at him, my teeth chattering loudly as the adrenaline would not let up. He immediately gathered me in his arms, hugging me to him tightly.
“I found you,” he repeated over and over again. “I found you…I found you.”
I couldn’t respond. I had detached, was floating somewhere outside myself—
“Come back to me,” he whispered raggedly. “Come back to me, Skye…”
But I didn’t—couldn’t—wasn’t able to.
He picked me up off the ground, holding me in his arms as he trudged through the forest. I felt so sick, he had to stop several times and let me dry heave. I could smell the copper scent of blood on his skin, the forest on his bare chest, could feel his muscles tensing as he continued to carry me.
“Come back to me, flower,” he would say. “My sweet dandelion, come back…”
By reflex, I patted my pocket—though there was no pocket at all. Just my scarred, bare thigh beneath a giant shirt.
I didn’t have my good luck, and my vision burned.
Finally—finally, in the safety of Hunter’s arms—I felt the tears fall.