By the time Cyrus returned to his senses, the sun had fallen beyond the horizon, and twilight ran along the cusp of the land. Nearby, Sylven stoked a budding fire, sending a spiral of sparks into the air. The gaping hole laid a safe several meters behind him, clods of dirt and grass hanging from its edges.
A jolt of pain shot through Cyrus's arm as he pushed himself up, causing him to grimace. He peeled back his tattered shirt, cracking the dried blood, and peeked at his shoulder. Purple veins spread out from the swollen skin, and black blood seeped from the puncture wound. A small grey patch surrounded the area, and his arm felt stiff as he rolled his shoulder.
"I wanted to wrap it before you became infected, but you were moving too much for me to be able to do anything," Sylven said. He tossed another branch into the fire, before making his way over. As he glanced at the wound, he swore beneath his breath.
"What do you think? Will it heal on its own?" Cyrus asked. He gave a sheepish smile.
"Not with magic involved," Sylven said. He grabbed the gauze from his pack. "I'll do what I can to keep it from getting infected, but I'm afraid we'll have to wait until we arrive in Phisloke before we can do anything more. Hopefully, Lewn will have a potion or two that'll help."
"Does that mean you know where we are?" Cyrus asked. He winced as Sylven tightly bound his arm.
"I have a decent idea, but we'll have to wait until morning before I'm certain," Sylven said. He cut the gauze with his dagger, and slipped the end into the wrap. "There. That should hold for now. Just don't move too much."
As Sylven returned to the fire, Cyrus slipped his shirt back on, and slumped back against a mossy boulder. "I can't believe we made it out of that alive. Gods above, I hope we don't have to go through something like that again."
"You and I both," Sylven said. He grabbed two sticks, and began to strip off the bark. "I'll need to let Master Myrel know about this once we reach the city. Magic like the one that man used should not exist. Especially not in the hands of the followers of Dilthane."
Cyrus massaged his arm. "Yes, there was something… off about it. But it felt familiar at the same time. I- I don't know how to explain it."
"Perhaps you're regaining some of your memories," Sylven said. As he finished cleaning the stick, he moved onto sharpening their ends.
"What are you doing with those?" Cyrus asked.
Sylven gestured over his shoulder. "I caught dinner, so now I'm getting ready to prepare it."
Two large rabbits laid behind him, unbound, and without any visible wounds.
"How did you manage that?" Cyrus asked, his mouth watering.
"A bit of magic," Sylven said. "I don't know how long it's going to take us to reach Phisloke, and I'd rather not waste the food we have now. It'll be bad if we end up starving in the wilderness."
Cyrus shuddered. "I'd rather not do that again."
After Sylven finished sharpening the sticks, he moved onto stripping the pelts off the rabbits, then gutting them. From there, he added a bit of seasoning, before skewering them, and setting them over the open flames.
As the meat roasted over the fire, a salty scent filled the air, tinged with garlic. The delicious smell drew Cyrus in, and the moment they came away from the flames, he dug in, ignoring his burning tongue.
It didn't take long for the soft meat, dripping with juices to disappear, leaving the two in a state of drowsiness. Afterwards, they laid out their mats, and Sylven agreed to take first watch, allowing Cyrus to catch up on his rest.
…
When Cyrus finally awoke, the sun had already risen, and the camp was cleaned. Sylven sat against the willow tree, cleaning the dirt from beneath his nails. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes, and he yawned as Cyrus rose.
"Why didn't you wake me?" Cyrus asked. "You look exhausted."
Sylven chuckled. "Do I? Hmm. I'll be fine after we start walking. It's not my first time going sleepless for a night, and you needed the rest. It won't do us any good in the long run if you pass out from overworking your body."
"I could say the same thing about you," Cyrus said. He rolled his mat, and stuck it into his pack. "You're the only one who knows how to get to Phisloke."
"I suppose you have a point. Thoughts for next time, then," Sylven said. He climbed to his feet, and tossed Cyrus a parcel of jerky. "Here. That's breakfast for the day. Since you're up, shall we get going?"
"An early start. Are you hoping to make up for lost time?" Cyrus asked.
"As much as we can. Our food won't last us forever, and we won't be able to hunt every day. Not to mention we're entering the rainy season. We'll be lucky if we don't end up in a storm before we reach the city."
"You don't need to tell me twice," Cyrus said. He gingerly pulled on his pack. "Where do we start?"
Sylven nodded towards the north west, down the mountain. "I stumbled across an old deer trail while hunting for the rabbits. We can follow that for a bit, and see where it leads us."
As the two made their way down the mountain, Cyrus glanced back towards the hole leading into the caverns. Through the darkness, he thought he could just barely make out the forest of mushrooms, glowing in the distance.
As he turned away, he thought he saw a shadow, lurking amidst the stalks, but it vanished just as quickly as it appeared. A shiver ran down his spine, and he shook his head, recalling the drop into the abyss.
'Nothing could have survived that… Right?'
…
Half the day passed before the two finally broke free of the underbrush, and stepped foot into a golden field of wheat. The long stalks rustled in the wind, while the buzz of locust filled the air. Nearby, a stream trickled through the plants, the clear water running from the mountain caps.
"Looks like we'll make it after all," Sylven said, kneeling beside the water. He filled up his waterskin, took a swig, then filled it up again. Wiping the water from his lips, he stood up, and scanned the vast plains, which seemed to run on forever. "As long as we follow the stream, it should eventually lead us to the ocean. From there, it won't be hard to find our way to Phisloke."