Chapter 2 Who am I?
1863 Words
Eleanor’s POV
Pain.
It’s everywhere, wrapping around me like a suffocating shroud. I feel as though my bones have been dismantled and carelessly put back together, every joint aching in protest. Cold and damp sensations cling to my back and legs, impossibly heavy, while something sticky and earthy brushes against my cheeks and neck.
My eyelids bear the weight of heavy stones, but I fight to open them, managing just a sliver of sight.
Blinding white light pierces through like countless scorching needles. I groan and clamp my eyes shut again, needing a long moment before attempting a second try. At first, the world is a muddle of blinding light and shadows that spin dizzily. Slowly, the chaos condenses into a sky—stark white and disturbingly bright. A few ragged gray clouds float by like torn cotton adrift in the vast sky.
With great effort, I manage to turn my eyes downward. Below me, a muddy river rushes by, carrying debris from upstream as it roars past. I'm lying at its edge, half of my body submerged in the knife-like cold water, each wave tugging painfully at me. Rough pebbles and sharp stones bite into my skin.
My throat feels parched and raw, each swallow is a razor-edged ache. I try to move an arm, lifting it just inches before the pain forces a gasp from me, and it splashes back into the murky water.
“Daddy! Look! She moved! The lady in the water moved!”A child's voice, clear and bell-like with awe and excitement, carries over the river's roar, reaching my numbed ears.
Then, steady, strong footsteps approach, crunching on the pebble-strewn shore.
A large shadow falls over me, shielding me from the harsh glare of the sky.
I laboriously lift my eyelids again.
A man's face emerges from the blur—a face that speaks of strength and concern with its sharp jawline and furrowed brows. His eyes are a striking gray-blue, reminiscent of a winter dawn over a still lake, brimming with calm and a penetrating depth. They hold a weighty emotion, seeing through the chaos beneath my skin. His dark brown hair, tousled by the wind, clings to his broad forehead.
He crouches beside me, his movements deliberate and strong, wrapping a large, dark coat around my shivering body. The coat is infused with warmth and a crisp scent, like a snowy pine forest. It’s a small comfort, yet like the first ember in a frozen lake, it begins to chase away the biting cold.
“It's okay now,” he assures me, his deep voice steady and soothing, cutting through my fear and pain like a lifeline. “Don’t be afraid. We’ve got you.”
His eyes linger on me a second longer, conveying a mix of emotions—concern, something indescribable, almost magnetic. He shifts his gaze, not lingering too long, and gently inspects me for injuries with a controlled, tender touch that sends warmth flooding through me. It feels like a charged yet unspoken, an inexplicable connection that consoles me amid my turmoil.
“Alex!” he calls out with authority, his voice firm, without needing to turn his head. “Bring my blanket! And the tourniquet from the medical kit, quickly!”
“Oh… okay, Father!” another voice answers, younger and slightly reluctant, from nearby. Footsteps run off.
Suddenly, something small and warm clings to my leg, numbed from the cold water. I flinch, instinctively trying to pull away, but the movement shoots pain through me, causing my vision to blur momentarily.
“Mommy!” The little girl holding my leg looks up, her face rosy and round like a ripe apple, her large, damp eyes filled with innocent trust and a natural sense of closeness. "You smell like my mom! Warm and nice!” She happily nuzzles her head against my wet pant leg, murmuring with contentment.
Mommy?
The word sears through the void in my mind like a brand. A faint, unfamiliar warmth mingles with deeper confusion and painful bewilderment. I stare at her, my lips moving to speak but finding no words, my throat engulfed in dry heat.
The boy named Alex returns, carrying a blanket and a metal box. He appears about fourteen or fifteen, growing into his frame. His hair is deep brown like his father's, but his gray-blue eyes are as icy as a frozen lake, filled with a mature detachment and wariness. His gaze is sharp, evaluating me with caution.
He glances at the girl still clinging to my leg and lets out a dismissive snort, then turns to the man. “Father,” he says in a low voice, laced with youthful skepticism, "Who is this she-wolf? Why is she here? Did she come from upstream?”
“No idea, Alex. And Stella, could you kindly let go of the lady’s leg?" the man instructs, his voice calm yet authoritative. As he gently drapes the thick woolen blanket around me, it shields me from the biting cold, offering a layer of protection.
The little girl pouts and reluctantly releases her grip, but her wide, curious eyes never leave me. “She smells like Mommy,” she insists, full of childish certainty.
“Right, she might smell similar, but she’s definitely not Mum.” Alex says, pulling Stella away with a firm grip. “Mum died years ago. This woman can't be Mum.” His eyes flicker to the rushing river and then back to me, suspicion unwavering. “In fact, I’m still wondering if she’s a spy…”he wonders aloud, his demeanor reflects the cautious vigilance typical of someone well beyond his years.
“Manners, Alex. We don’t assume guilt.” The man reprimands gently, turning to his son with a firm tone. "First, we help this lady. Then we figure out who she is and what happened. Go start a fire, make it strong. She needs warmth." His gaze returns to me, concern deepening in his eyes, “She’s badly hurt.”
Alex presses his lips together stubbornly, clearly resistant but ultimately obedient. Without protest, he lets out a sharp breath and turns to gather sticks on the dry shore, his movements quick and efficient.
“I have mind-linked our pack doctor. They’re on their way,” the man says with solemnity. “In the meantime, would you mind telling me about yourself? Who are you? What happened to you?”
I open my mouth, hoping to answer, but no words come forth.
Who am I?
The thought strikes like ice-cold lightning, splitting open the tangled confusion in my mind. It brings not clarity, but a stifling void that overwhelms me.
Panic, sharper than any physical pain, seizes my heart.
Name? Identity? Past? Home? Family?… Nothing. There's only a vast, consuming fog, blanketing all thought.
“You can't speak?” he asks with gentle curiosity.
“I can,” I manage to rasp, my voice hoarse and broken.
“Oh, you’re not ready to tell us your name?” he gently suggests, his voice soft and understanding.
“I…I,” I start, but my voice falters, breaking into sobs. “I don’t know. I can’t remember who I am.”
I gasp with anxiety, but he raises a hand in a calming gesture. “It’s okay. Don’t be afraid,” he reassures me gently. “You might just be scared or have hit your head. I’ll have the doctor take a look, and you can stay with my pack to rest for a while. Does that sound alright?”
I nod, attempting to fight back tears. “Thank you,” I whisper with deep gratitude. “Thank you so much.”
“You're welcome. I’m Charles, by the way.” the man introduces himself, offering a warm smile that seems to melt the chill holding me captive.
“I am...” I stammer, feeling the embarrassment of my forgotten identity. “Sorry, I forgot my name too.”
“That’s okay. How would you like us to refer to you?” he asks kindly.
“I’m not sure,” I mutter, feeling rather foolish.
“Well, let’s see,” Charles says thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. He turns to his daughter. “Stella, how would you suggest we address our new friend?”
A wave of relief washes over me when I hear him regard me as a friend.
“Mommy!” the little girl exclaims excitedly, reaching out to hold onto my dress hem once again.
I blink at her, and Charles laughs dryly, intercepting her little hands. “Not everyone can call her that, love. We need a name everyone can use.”
“Apple, then, that’s my favorite fruit.”
“No, no, we can’t name someone after our favorite fruit. That might seem a bit silly.”
“Daisy, then."
“Hmm, that’s better. What inspired that name?”
“My Barbie doll!”
Charles pinches the bridge of his nose and offers an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about that,” he whispers.
“It’s alright,” I reply softly, smiling at him. “Your daughter is adorable. I’m not offended at all. Actually, it’s comforting to hear your conversation.”
Stella suddenly shifts her focus to me. “I am sorry, beautiful lady. I’m too young to come up with a perfect name for you.”
“Oh, don’t be discouraged, sweetheart. You did a wonderful job with your proposals,” I reassure her with a smile. “I’m fine with Apple and Daisy.”
“Really?” Stella beams, her face lighting up.
Charles clears his throat and leans closer to whisper, “Don’t spoil her.”
“Alright,” I chuckle softly.
“What are proposals?” Stella asks, her head tilted in curiosity.
“Suggestions, but in a more formal way,” Charles explains with a smile. “I propose we let the lady choose the name she likes best.”
“But she can’t right now. That's why I wanted to help her,” Stella argues earnestly.
“She was just feeling overwhelmed. Once she feels better, she’ll be able to decide,” Charles assures her. “Let’s give the lady some time.”
“How long will that take?” Stella asks with impatience.
“You’re a persistent one, aren’t you?” Charles raises an eyebrow playfully.
“Is that a bad thing?” Stella asks nervously, her upset clear.
“No, not at all,” Charles laughs, pulling her into a warm embrace and kissing her cheeks. “You’ll be a great leader someday. I’ll be so proud of you. I already am, and no matter what you do, I’ll always love you.”
A warm feeling settles in my heart as I watch their interaction. It helps me calm down and gather my thoughts. As I look around, the nearby waterfall catches my eye, and an idea forms. “Mist Waterfall,” I suggest. “Mist because my memory is foggy, and waterfall because that’s where we met.”
“Very well, Mist,” Charles nods, his smile warm and inviting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
- Writer
