Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave blinked open his eyes. As he stared at the bloodstained purple blanket before him, mind blank, it took a few seconds to realize he’d just woken up. And not in pain, too—the aching was there, still, but hollower. He was used to being woken up by spikes of pain, so it was a welcome feeling.

He took the rare moment of respite to look around. After Galamon had arrived, the place had become much cleaner—the vampire was absent, now, probably getting food. Anneliese slept peacefully on the couch. Argrave stared off into space for a few seconds, then was reminded that he had no time to rest.

Argrave sat up, retrieving the book he’d been writing his reports on. Some blood had gotten on some pages, but such was life—if the Alchemist gave him flak, he wasn’t sure he’d care anymore. He wrote, passing the time, observing his own body.

It wasn’t his imagination. Though the dull aching was still present like boiling water beneath his skin, the spikes of pain were far less frequent, and infinitely less acute. Enough to sleep through, evidently. He was able to focus on the writing better than he ever had, he found.

After a time, he judged there was nothing more to write. He tapped the writing instrument against his cheek, thinking, then set both the book and the tool down, satisfied with himself. The hunger still gnawed at his stomach, and he looked around.

There was a platter of fruits—they looked like dragon fruits. They were too far to reach. He looked to Anneliese, then opened his mouth. He stopped, furrowing his brows. After a long while of indecision, he scooted quietly over to the bedside.

He wreathed himself in the blanket to cover himself, then slowly rose to his feet. He supported himself cautiously at first, almost afraid to leave the bed, but then rose up, back rigid. He shuffled over, then retrieved one of the fruits. It had been peeled already, and as he ate it, he found it tasted all the sweeter than the day before.

Feeling some joy for the first time in a long while, Argrave walked about the room, careful not to wake Anneliese. Walking brought him immeasurable joy. After a time, he spotted a pile of clothes. They’d been cleaned, he realized. He bent down and retrieved the simple underclothes he wore beneath his enchanted leather gear.

Argrave watched Anneliese to be sure she was asleep, then quietly clothed himself once again. It made him want to cry, strangely—he felt human again. Much of the deformities marring his skin had mostly faded, but he still felt the soreness as the clothes brushed against his skin. He tossed the blanket back on the bed, then let out a long, self-satisfied sigh.

Anneliese stirred at the noise, and Argrave froze. When she lifted her head, locking eyes with him, he relaxed—no point in staying tense if he’d been caught.

“Argrave,” she called out with a slight early-morning slur, quickly moving to stand. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Preparing for an admonishment,” he shrugged.

“Well...” she stood up, laughing slightly. “Then you know as well as I do that you should be back in bed.”

“I’ve got bed sores from laying there for so long. I need to move about, for my mental health if anything. Standing with my back straight on hard rock has never felt so satisfying before,” Argrave looked down.

“You have no bed sores,” Anneliese disagreed, striding up to him. She grabbed him by the shoulders. “Come on.”

“Please, I need to walk about. Gonna go mental,” Argrave pleaded.

She stared at him for a bit, surveying him for damages. Her gaze finished wandering at his eyes, and she let out a long sigh. “Alright. I will come along. Hesitate none in asking for help if things get worse.”

Argrave beamed. “I understand how a dog feels, now, feeling this excited for a simple walk.” Argrave took steady steps towards the threshold.

“Take it slow,” Anneliese called out exasperatedly, then quickly caught up to him.

Argrave felt considerable trepidation, but he pressed onwards as though he didn’t. It felt immeasurably satisfying seeing different sights once again, even if they were the same bleak obsidian walls all around.

within, Argrave felt full of vitality. His steps were easy and quick, and he almost felt the urge to run. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this

spoke to Anneliese. “Never thought I’d say this,

notice Anneliese had stopped. He paused, looking back. He said nothing, examining her. Her arms were crossed, and she

still she said nothing. “Come

“Argrave…”

“Did Garm provoke the Alchemist more? Is he that stupid? I have a hard time believing that,”

trouble, mulling over phrasing in her mind. Argrave tried to be patient, but soon

questioned. “Come

he’s… he’s here,” she

when Anneliese nodded,

what might’ve happened. Then, as if in epiphany, he lifted his head up. In another

out,

and ignoring many rooms. Whether by pure dumb luck or

jogged towards him and grabbed his wrist, firstly—he felt heat, assuaging some of his concerns. He looked around the room

face, lightly, hoping to rouse him—no response.

and said heavily, “Durran will be asleep for

nap. Why?” he demanded, trying to

the side. “Garm decided to merge his soul with

stepped away from Durran, his mouth agape. He didn’t know how to respond to that. His mind ran through old lore that he knew, conjuring things he knew of the

they’re… Durran and Garm are…” Argrave looked back at

then picked up a book. Beneath it was a letter. She handed it to Argrave. “Garm wrote this for you,”

hands, staring at it. His face stayed still for a long while, staring down at that letter without action. His breathing started to get a

#####

his eyes, seeing the blue sky above. He wiped at his face, trying to wake himself up. He felt the all-too-familiar feel of hot sand beneath him. Sometimes, heat could persist in the black sand of the Burnt Desert all through

and he quickly sat up, realizing the disconnect. He had expected to see endless sand dunes, but instead, he saw an endless field of black roses. His head darted around, taking in his surroundings in a half-panic. The terrain was split in half—on one side, a field of black roses. On the other, dunes of black sand, with wyverns flying

which way. Then, he spotted a figure wearing red robes. This man sat on a

isn’t it?”

strange sewn pattern on them—they looked like a rose’s thorns, and his shoulder pads were a rose’s petals. The man’s hair was brown, slightly wavy. He had a casual

place… a little mediocre, honestly. I can’t say I feel all

closer. He was starting to

“Garm?”

I see,” the

used to look like,” Durran realized. “Before your run

his arms out. “I was always all there… inside, at least. Feast your eyes on a

his tongue as he watched. “Your other look was eye-catching. Now… you’re just a

despite what happened,” Garm

the place. Slowly, he shifted on his

said that our souls would fight for dominance,” he said carefully.