'Comfy?' the unicorn asked sardonically, shifting his weight to settle Kellen more securely on his back. And somehow, that single word—or perhaps the tone, laden with heavy irony—brought a little more life back into Kellen, though he could not have said why. Maybe because, if Shalkan was feeling strong enough to be sarcastic, there was still hope.
Kellen laughed raggedly, feeling blood from his thigh starting to trickle down his leg and into what remained of his boot. 'Oh, yeah.' His voice was hoarse and cracked, and his throat hurt.
'Don't fall off,' Shalkan advised.
'Right.'
Shalkan picked his way carefully down the slope, avoiding the still-moving bodies of the crippled Hounds, and continued along the trail, still at a slow walk. All the grace and vitality of the unicorn's gait was gone now. Forget bounding across the forest, Shalkan moved as ploddingly as if each step was an effort. Kellen empathized with his friend—for at some point during the fight, Shalkan had become just that—but at the same time a small selfish part of himself was grateful, because he could not possibly have managed to stay on Shalkan's back if the unicorn had set any faster pace. As it was, each footfall jarred him all the way through, making everything hurt afresh with each step Shalkan took, and Kellen bit his lip to keep from crying out as they moved slowly down the trail. He realized as he did so that he'd bitten it before—or something had. His face was a mask of blood. His nose felt swollen and hot; he started to touch it, and thought better of doing so. Maybe it was broken. It was a lot easier to breathe through his mouth.
As the combination of adrenaline and stupor wore off, Kellen gradually became aware of just how extensively he'd been hurt. The bite on his thigh was only the bloodiest of his injuries; Kellen had been bitten in half a dozen places during the battle; crushing or tearing wounds that burned and throbbed, the bruising almost more agonizing than the pain. The hand with the broken finger was swelling and starting to turn dark, making his right hand stiff and almost impossible to use. His muscles ached with strain; his head hurt as if it had been hit—hard—several times… in fact, he didn't think there was any part of him that didn't hurt just now.
'Do you suppose they're poisoned?' Kellen asked, to distract himself. 'The Hound's teeth, I mean?' Talking still hurt, but he found he really wanted to know.
'The strangest things entertain you,' Shalkan said, but Kellen could hear a note of relief in the unicorn's voice that he was asking the question—or any question at all. 'No, I don't think so. But cheer up—there's always the chance of infection. Or gangrene. Or maggots. Now why don't you see if your water-bottle survived intact and have a nice drink?'
Kellen had forgotten about his backpack—though he'd fallen on it a couple of times during the fight—and completely forgotten about the water-bottle he'd filled at the stream at dawn today. Balancing himself carefully on Shalkan's back, he managed to get the backpack off and open it with his good hand.
The water in the small waterskin was warm and tasted of leather, but Kellen had never in his life tasted anything so delicious. He drained it in a few thirsty swallows before replacing the bottle and shrugging the backpack carefully into position once more. It hurt, but it was worth it.
It was the last halfway pleasant experience of the afternoon.
Kellen's sense of victory at having defeated and escaped the Outlaw Hunt swiftly disappeared in the presence of the grinding pain of his injuries. His entire body slowly became one throbbing, feverish ache, interrupted by unexpected lances of fiery agony. As the pain increased, the afternoon sun seemed fiendishly bright, the cool air of the high hills alternately freezing in the shade, or a choking furnace heat in the sun.
'I have to get down and walk,' Kellen said at one point, barely aware of what he was saying. He knew that Shalkan was as exhausted as he was, though he didn't think the unicorn had actually been injured in the fight. He had a vague notion that it would hurt both of them less if he walked; he'd managed to forget that he was too badly hurt to take even a few steps.
'No you don't. Just hold on,' Shalkan said soothingly.
Kellen leaned forward, resting his whole weight against the unicorn's neck and awkwardly embracing it. It was easy enough to do; the unicorn's head hung low now, his neck parallel to the ground. Shalkan's bristly mane dug into Kellen's neck and chest, pressing now against bare skin, because his undertunic had been reduced to rags by the Hounds' attacks, but Kellen barely noticed that small discomfort. Dimly, he remembered that there were things he ought to be doing, things he should be worrying about, but the pain was like a vast thick liquid that was slowly submerging him, taking away his ability to reason, to think.
They crossed the ridge and went down into forest again. Kellen's head ached fiercely, the pounding pain throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He groaned aloud, unable to understand why they were back among the trees—were they going back to the City? Why?—but glad to be away from the bright sunlight. Sometimes he heard Shalkan speaking to him, repeating the same words over and over with weary patience, but he was unable to rouse himself enough to make sense of what the unicorn was saying. Sometimes he tried to answer, not sure if his answers made any sense, but finally he was unable to make even that much effort, and sometime after that, Shalkan stopped talking to him.
An eternity seemed to pass as they walked—slowly—toward the setting sun. Kellen never lost consciousness, not completely. A tiny part of his mind was always aware that he had to hold on, though at times he wasn't sure where he was or even, near the end, what he was holding on to. When he felt himself drifting too far into unconsciousness he fought to bring himself back by forcing his broken hand into a fist, or slapping it against Shalkan's shoulder—making the unicorn stagger—and that worked for a while.
