Sun Mote Copse dead as dead can be

It took a lot of energy to focus on the girl—her words, even her location. He was so tired from dealing with chronic pain and so weak from the after-effects of the lightning strike and lack of food that it was hard enough just to keep his head up. But he’d made it this far and he refused to die right at the edge of possible salvation.

Salvation with a lower-case s. Not Salvation. He was far from that. Didn’t know if he’d ever reach it.

The girl’s words came to him as if from far away, muffled slightly from his hearing loss. “A witch, huh?” he asked. “Well. A month ago I would have figured you were lying, but… I was recently struck by lightning, and then fell face-first down a mountain, and somehow lived. So a witch seems… plausible.” A very small smile graced his lips, and it felt foreign to him. “Assuming you’re not… pulling my leg… do you think she could fix me?” His voice held a note of humor, yet it also trembled, as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice, looking over the edge and wondering whether to jump.

A shot of pain stabbed him between the shoulder blades. He grit his teeth and closed his eyes against the feeling.