Hushed Willows The voices in my head keep telling me I'm cursed.

It had taken him longer than he'd wanted to get this far, and there was still a ways to go. Glaukos had been downed among the mountains he thought he'd known so well, left to ache and bleed, and managed to patch himself up enough to find shelter but little else. He hadn't eaten in at least a fortnight; his trail had become less obvious as he'd taken the tactical advantage of nightfall to keep watch and to travel, in case his assailant returned.

The beast had been larger than he'd ever seen! It hadn't been a wolf, or a bear, but had an ursine quality that had shocked him. The tusks had gored him badly across one hip, and that was the good news. Any closer to his chest and the boar's aim would have certainly speared Glaukos through the lungs or heart! He was alive now by chance alone, and struggling. Soon he would be home — he thought of the medicine cache, and in a delirious way he thought of Aquene, and then of Tamar.

The squeal of the boar ricochet through his memory and kept him from proper sleep. It served to rouse him each time he thought he was drifting off his path, and sometimes Glaukos could identify that for what it was: fever, and infection from his poorly treated wounds. He had gotten this far through sheer spite and soon, without aid, he would certainly die.