Chapter 3: Healing Wounds
The cool, damp air of the cave enveloped Maya as she sat vigil beside Arrax's still form. Soft moss cushioned his battered body, while the gentle sound of a nearby stream echoed off the stone walls. This hidden cavern, concealed behind a curtain of vines, had become their sanctuary over the past two days.
Maya's gaze drifted to the makeshift stretcher propped against the cave wall - a patchwork of sturdy branches and vines she had woven together in desperate haste. The memory of their journey here was etched into her muscles, still aching from the ordeal.
In the chaotic aftermath of their escape from Bitterroot Orphanage, Maya had known they couldn't stay close. With Arrax unconscious and gravely injured, she had to think quickly. Dragging him would only worsen his wounds, so she'd scavenged materials from the forest floor, recalling the simple lashing techniques Arrax had once shown her.
Her paws had worked feverishly, binding branches together to create a frame, then weaving flexible vines across it to form a sturdy surface. It wasn't pretty, but it held when she gently rolled Arrax onto it. Using more vines as a harness around her chest, Maya had pulled the stretcher through the underbrush, away from the direction of their former prison.
The journey had been grueling. Maya stopped frequently to check Arrax's condition, tend to his wounds, and listen for pursuers. It had taken nearly a full day of exhausting effort before she discovered this cave, hidden and defensible.
Now, on this third morning of their freedom, Maya carefully changed Arrax's bandages. She noted with relief that the herbs she had gathered seemed to be helping. The angry red of his wounds had faded to a less alarming pink, and the fever that had raged through him on that first terrible night had finally broken. But still, Arrax wouldn't wake.
Caring for Arrax in his unconscious state had forced Maya to grow up quickly. She had to deal with all aspects of his bodily needs, including the uncomfortable but necessary task of cleaning him when he soiled himself. At first, it had embarrassed her to remove his simple loincloth, but necessity quickly overcame any shyness. She used soft leaves to clean him as best she could, and moss to absorb fluids. Her own minimal garments - a crude breast band and loincloth - often got soaked in the process, but she paid it no mind. All that mattered was keeping Arrax comfortable and preventing any additional infections.
Maya's voice, hoarse from worry and neglect, pleaded, "Please come back to me, Arrax."
As she worked, his mind wandered to happier times, particularly the day that had transformed everything. Arrax had evolved from being just another orphan to becoming her family on that fateful day.
Arrax floated in a sea of memories, lost in the depths of unconsciousness. The pain that had drowned him remained, a dull roar in the background, but it sounded distant now. Instead, he found himself reliving the pivotal moment in the attic, where the surge of protectiveness he felt upon first seeing Maya washed over him once again.
I remember that night clearly. I was eight, and the attic had been my refuge for years. It was the one place in this miserable orphanage where I could escape, if only for a little while.
That evening, as I climbed the creaky stairs, I heard something unusual – soft sobbing. I froze, my heart racing. Had one of the guards found my hiding spot?
"Hello?" I called out softly, squinting into the shadows. "Is someone there?"
No answer, but I caught a glimpse of movement in the corner. Approaching slowly, I saw her – a tiny wolf pup with pale fur, curled up and trembling.
"It's okay," I said, trying to sound gentle. It had been so long since I'd spoken kindly to anyone. "I won't hurt you. I'm Arrax."
She looked up at me, her eyes wide with fear and brimming with tears. "I'm Maya," she whispered.
Something about her – her fragility, her fear – stirred something in me I thought I'd lost long ago. Compassion. A need to protect. Without thinking, I sat down next to her and hesitantly opened my arms. To my surprise, she didn't hesitate. She crawled into my lap, her tiny form shaking with sobs.
"You're new here, aren't you?" I asked softly, awkwardly patting her back. "I haven't seen you before."
She nodded against my chest, her tears dampening my fur. "I don't like it here. I want to go home."
Her words hit me hard. How many times had I thought the same thing when I first arrived? But I had no home to go back to. Did she? I found myself tightening my arms around her, offering what little comfort I could.
"I know it's scary," I found myself saying. "But you're not alone anymore. I'll look out for you."
The moment those words left my mouth, I knew I meant them. This little pup needed me, and strangely, I realized I needed her too. For the first time in years, I had a reason to be more than just a survivor.
From that night on, Maya became my purpose. I snuck her extra food, taught her how to avoid the worst of the guards' cruelty, and comforted her when the nightmares came. Her trust in me, her unwavering belief that I could protect her, gave me strength I didn't know I had.
As the years passed, I watched Maya grow. Her kindness, her ability to find joy in the smallest things, amazed me. She softened the hard edges of my heart, reminded me that there was still good in this world. Surprisingly, I found myself becoming more comfortable with physical affection - something I'd shunned before meeting Maya.
When nightmares plagued her sleep, I'd curl my larger body around her smaller one, creating a protective circle. The way she'd snuggle into my fur, her breathing eventually steadying, filled me with a warmth I couldn't explain. One particularly cold night, I found Maya shivering in our attic hideaway. Without a word, I lay down beside her and gently pulled her close, wrapping my tail around us both. She nestled into me, her small form fitting perfectly against mine. As her shivers subsided, I realized that this - this simple act of providing comfort and warmth - felt more like home than anything I'd ever known.
When I overheard the Warden's plans to separate us, fear gripped me like never before. The thought of losing Maya, of her facing this place alone, was unbearable. That night, watching her sleep peacefully in my embrace, I made a vow: I would get us out of here, no matter what it took.
Now, seeing the fresh bruise on her cheek, my resolve hardens. I open my arms without hesitation, and Maya doesn't hesitate to burrow into my embrace. As I hold her close, her tears dampening my fur, I gently nuzzle the top of her head. Maya is more than just my friend; she's my family, my reason for hoping, for fighting. As I comfort her after another of the Warden's cruelties, I know with certainty – our story won't end in this orphanage. Somehow, someway, I'll make sure we both find freedom.
As the memory faded, Arrax became aware of new sensations. The pain was still there, sharp and insistent, but there was something else too. A gentle pressure on his paw, a familiar scent in the air. With monumental effort, he forced his eyes open.
The world swam into focus slowly, blurry shapes solidifying into recognizable forms. Stone walls. Dim light. And there, right above him, a face he would know anywhere.
"Maya," he tried to say, but no sound came out. His throat was parched, his body too weak to respond to his commands. But his eyes locked onto hers, and he saw them widen in recognition and relief.
"Arrax?" Maya's voice was barely a whisper, filled with disbelief and hope. "Can you hear me?"
He couldn't nod, couldn't squeeze her paw, couldn't do anything but look at her. But it was enough. Maya's face crumpled, tears spilling down her cheeks as she leaned closer.
"You're awake," she sobbed, her paw gently stroking his forehead. "You came back to me."
Arrax wanted to comfort her, to tell her that of course he came back – he had promised to always be there for her, hadn't he? But his body refused to cooperate. He could only lie there, drinking in the sight of her, feeling the warmth of her paw against his fur.
As he lay there, a memory stirred. With monumental effort, Arrax managed to move his paw to his chest, feeling for something that wasn't there. Panic flashed in his eyes.
Maya noticed his distress. "What is it, Arrax? Are you in pain?"
He tried to speak, but only a faint whimper escaped. Maya's brow furrowed in concern, then sudden understanding dawned on her face. She reached into a small pouch made from leaves and pulled out a crude wooden carving of a wolf.
"Is this what you're looking for?" she asked softly, placing it in his paw.
Relief flooded Arrax's features as his paw closed around the familiar object. Tears welled up in his eyes, a mix of gratitude and old grief.
"It fell out of your shirt when I was tending your wounds," Maya explained. "I kept it safe for you. I... I thought it must be important."
Arrax's lips moved, forming a name: "Finn."
Maya's eyes widened in recognition. She'd heard that name before, in Arrax's feverish mumbles. "Your friend?" she asked gently. "From the orphanage?"
A tear slipped down Arrax's cheek as he gave a barely perceptible nod. Maya's paw found his, their digits intertwining in a gentle squeeze.
"I'm here, Arrax," she whispered. "You're not alone. We're in this together, remember?"
Arrax's eyes locked with hers, filled with a depth of emotion he couldn't express. He wanted to tell her about Finn, about the promise he'd made, about how she had given him a second chance to keep that promise. But his body was too weak, the words refusing to come.
As if sensing his struggle, Maya leaned closer, her forehead gently touching his. "Rest now," she murmured. "You can tell me everything when you're stronger. I'll be right here, I promise."
As his eyelids grew heavy again, fighting against the exhaustion that threatened to pull him back under, Arrax made a new vow to himself. He would recover. He would regain his strength. And then, together, he and Maya would find the freedom and happiness they both deserved – for themselves, and for Finn's memory.
The wooden wolf figurine clutched tightly in his paw, Arrax's eyes fluttered shut once more, his breathing deepening into the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. Maya let out a shaky breath, her paw still resting on his forehead. He was alive, he was awake, and for now, that was enough. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.
