By the Skin of Our Teeth

[Inkfinger]

One moment, he was alone again in the dank cell, staring at the carved bowl and wondering if he would actually be able to keep anything he ate down this time. If the nausea in his stomach and the strange, painful tickle in his throat were any indication, he would guess no. The next moment, the food was all over the floor, spilled out over the packed earth by the slip of a girl that he could have sworn had not been there ten minutes ago – or even ten seconds ago, for that matter.

I must be sicker than I thought, he shifted to sit upright on his cot, chains clanking together loudly. His hip and knee creaked in protest at the simple movement. I don’t usually have fever dreams this early. They usually came after a week or more of being sick – maybe this just meant he was getting worse. There had been stretches of time where his imprisonment felt like one fever dream after another, but this… this felt different. This felt more real.

Or maybe I just want it to feel more real. I’ve never dreamed someone came from Ludvik before…

The thought stung, and he answered the girl, mostly to cut himself off from his thoughts. “That’d, ah.� He thought about lying for all of a second – but if this was another trick, really, what would that accomplish? “Yes. That’d be me, miss,� he replied softly, carding one hand through his hair. The strands literally crunched beneath his fingers, sending a shudder up his spine and his hand to the rough blanket, trying, unconsciously, to scrub them clean (or at least cleaner). Just because she was a hallucination didn’t mean that he couldn’t be polite.

“But I am…curious.� Hallucination or no, she was the first person in months who hadn’t begun a conversation with a promise of pain or a threat of torment. He blinked at her, head tilted just a bit, hand rubbing his bad ear now. She was a small girl, or woman, toeing the line between petite and mousy, but something in her eyes warned of inner strength, like the depths that lay beneath a calm sea.

“Who, exactly, would I scream to? The guards? The church who has me stuck-â€� his voice almost broke, almost sent him squawking like an adolescent boy. He coughed, hard, feeling his breath catch in his lungs before carrying on as if nothing had happened. “-in here?â€� Or ReznÃ*k? He shuddered again at that thought, reflexively, leaving it unspoken; as if ReznÃ*k was a ghoul or spirit, and speaking his name would call him back. But, with that one little thought, the almost-playful mood left him, leaving him empty. Even my own mind had to get in on the action.

He drew the scratchy blanket tighter around his shoulders, venturing another glance towards the door of his cell. The new guard, the one whose food the girl had tipped, was ignoring him, polishing the buttons on his coat with a greasy rag. They never paid much attention to him, not when the Captain wasn’t around to make things interesting. Cael reached out to nudge one of the rats with his foot. The rat tried to ignore him, steadily gnawing at the hard bread clutched between its paws. The other was licking the thin broth off the soil. He could remember them doing the same with his blood…

No. That’s not the point! The voice in his head, the little one that sounded like his familiar, was raging. The rats are there, and you’re not bleeding. What’s that mean?

Well, for one, rats didn’t generally play a part in his dreams. If these rats are different... He cast the strange girl another look before he actually kicked the rat. It dropped the bread with an affronted squeak, scurrying out of his cell and down the hall, light footsteps sending it over the guard’s feet. The guard cursed, shaking the rat off his foot and glaring into the dark cell. Cael managed a weak smile back. The return look was even less friendly than the first had been.

A real guard would not react to hallucinated rats, the voice in his head said, matter of fact and almost smug. Real rats would not react to hallucinated spilled food. And you did not dump the food. Therefore...

A long, awkward silence fell in the cell, Cael taking care to not even move, lest he make a noise and call the guard in, lest he accidentally break whatever it was that let this girl into his cell unnoticed. The guard moved to polishing the hilt of his sword before Cael found his voice again. This time it came as a strained whisper that held none of the giddiness that danced around the edges of his mind. Ludvik didn’t leave me!

“You’re…you’re not r-really a hallucination, are you?�