The first sensation is the vile taste, a cloying metallic tang that clings to every surface of my mouth.
It’s as if I’ve been sucking on old pennies, the coppery bitterness seeping into my gums, coating my tongue, even tainting the ragged, shallow breaths I manage to draw.
My stomach roils, a violent, twisting knot that threatens to expel its meager contents.
The choked air around me suggests I'm not in the woods like I last remember, instead, I'm in a cabin.
By the scent of herbs, Silas's cabin, to be precise.
My eyelids feel impossibly heavy, as if weighted down by stones. I fight against the lethargy, forcing them open to the dim, flickering light of the lantern hanging precariously from a rafter.
Silas is a hunched figure across the small room, his movements slow and delibera
