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May. 6th, 2017 11:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
intheruinsIt all happens so fast.
Even as the sound of the axe against skin turns Serena’s stomach in the same way the smell smoke had come to after the fire, from somewhere within her instincts kick in and she’s quick to move, quicker than she should be in her state, down the hill and toward Galloway.
The other men run over but it’s her voice that calls for a belt, the leather wrapped tight around Galloway’s severed arm as he gasps from the pressure and the pain. Serena’s done this enough times that she knows the belt won’t be enough, taking her own scarf – a gift from Pemberton – and securing it around the wound. It will be covered in blood in mere moments but that doesn’t cross Serena’s mind as she pulls him to his feet and yells for Campbell and Cheney to get him on the cart.
The pulling sends a shooting pain to her abdomen but Serena disobeys her gut, climbing on the nearest horse and galloping back to camp. If she gets there before the cart, maybe they’ll start up the truck and get him to town with enough time to save his life.
Nothing feels right and Serena yelps with pain as she dismounts, watching as the chaos of men carry Galloway’s squirming figure into the car. He captures her gaze for a moment, so intense she thinks he might be possessed. “I’ll live! It’s done been prophesized!”
The truck roars to life and disappears with a cloud of dust.
“Damn fine job whoever tied that tourniquet, he’d have bled out otherwise.” With that quick compliment, the doctor moves on and then Pemberton’s at Serena’s shaky side, looking her over with a mixture of disapproval and worry. The first isn’t one she’s used to from him and she might start to object if he wasn’t the one to speak first.
“Did you do that?”
“Yes.”
He takes her hand. “Were you riding a horse?”
Serena doesn’t answer but she doesn’t need to, leaning into Pemberton as they start the short walk back to the cabin. Galloway’s last words stay with her each step. It’s done been prophesized.
She doesn’t even know him all that well but finds herself hoping he’s right. From day one, she’d known he wasn’t like the other workers. That he didn’t disregard her opinion simply because she was a woman. Maybe it’s because of his own mother and the powers they claim she holds. Maybe it’s affection or maybe it’s respect.
She just hopes she gets a chance to see him again. To know that he’s all right.
Right now, though, it’s her own pain that takes over all of her thinking as Pemberton helps her onto the bed, bringing her water and brushing back her hair. Soon the doctor is called back and he listens to her belly, promising everything will be fine. That there’s no labor, that it’s just a stomachache. Somehow, Serena just knows otherwise, but if it’s not enough to keep her agreeing to the trip to Asheville. Not yet. She’s too stubborn to give in yet.
It’s done been prophesized.
A few peppermints and prayers later, she eventually manages to succumb to exhaustion, Pemberton stroking the soft curve of her abdomen.
It could be minutes or hours later when she’s awoken by an excruciating pain like nothing she’s ever felt before – in a place she’s never been before. She’s in no bed, be it at home or hospital, and with nothing but the only gown that’s fit her for a month for modesty.
Serena wonders for a moment if this is some kind of witchcraft – it’s done been prophesized – but then she’s struggling to her feet, starting towards the first noise she hears and yelling weakly for somebody. Anybody.
As she stumbles she can’t help but be brought back to a lifetime ago when the fire had been extinguished, all of her family’s memories reduced to ash. She’d wandered through the ruins, calling their names to no avail. She hadn’t expected to be heard. She’d known they were long dead.
But she’d been alive then and she’s alive now, hands grabbing at the bump of her belly as if will alone might convince her son to stay.
Even as the sound of the axe against skin turns Serena’s stomach in the same way the smell smoke had come to after the fire, from somewhere within her instincts kick in and she’s quick to move, quicker than she should be in her state, down the hill and toward Galloway.
The other men run over but it’s her voice that calls for a belt, the leather wrapped tight around Galloway’s severed arm as he gasps from the pressure and the pain. Serena’s done this enough times that she knows the belt won’t be enough, taking her own scarf – a gift from Pemberton – and securing it around the wound. It will be covered in blood in mere moments but that doesn’t cross Serena’s mind as she pulls him to his feet and yells for Campbell and Cheney to get him on the cart.
The pulling sends a shooting pain to her abdomen but Serena disobeys her gut, climbing on the nearest horse and galloping back to camp. If she gets there before the cart, maybe they’ll start up the truck and get him to town with enough time to save his life.
Nothing feels right and Serena yelps with pain as she dismounts, watching as the chaos of men carry Galloway’s squirming figure into the car. He captures her gaze for a moment, so intense she thinks he might be possessed. “I’ll live! It’s done been prophesized!”
The truck roars to life and disappears with a cloud of dust.
“Damn fine job whoever tied that tourniquet, he’d have bled out otherwise.” With that quick compliment, the doctor moves on and then Pemberton’s at Serena’s shaky side, looking her over with a mixture of disapproval and worry. The first isn’t one she’s used to from him and she might start to object if he wasn’t the one to speak first.
“Did you do that?”
“Yes.”
He takes her hand. “Were you riding a horse?”
Serena doesn’t answer but she doesn’t need to, leaning into Pemberton as they start the short walk back to the cabin. Galloway’s last words stay with her each step. It’s done been prophesized.
She doesn’t even know him all that well but finds herself hoping he’s right. From day one, she’d known he wasn’t like the other workers. That he didn’t disregard her opinion simply because she was a woman. Maybe it’s because of his own mother and the powers they claim she holds. Maybe it’s affection or maybe it’s respect.
She just hopes she gets a chance to see him again. To know that he’s all right.
Right now, though, it’s her own pain that takes over all of her thinking as Pemberton helps her onto the bed, bringing her water and brushing back her hair. Soon the doctor is called back and he listens to her belly, promising everything will be fine. That there’s no labor, that it’s just a stomachache. Somehow, Serena just knows otherwise, but if it’s not enough to keep her agreeing to the trip to Asheville. Not yet. She’s too stubborn to give in yet.
It’s done been prophesized.
A few peppermints and prayers later, she eventually manages to succumb to exhaustion, Pemberton stroking the soft curve of her abdomen.
It could be minutes or hours later when she’s awoken by an excruciating pain like nothing she’s ever felt before – in a place she’s never been before. She’s in no bed, be it at home or hospital, and with nothing but the only gown that’s fit her for a month for modesty.
Serena wonders for a moment if this is some kind of witchcraft – it’s done been prophesized – but then she’s struggling to her feet, starting towards the first noise she hears and yelling weakly for somebody. Anybody.
As she stumbles she can’t help but be brought back to a lifetime ago when the fire had been extinguished, all of her family’s memories reduced to ash. She’d wandered through the ruins, calling their names to no avail. She hadn’t expected to be heard. She’d known they were long dead.
But she’d been alive then and she’s alive now, hands grabbing at the bump of her belly as if will alone might convince her son to stay.
