Running

“Run!”

He ran, leaping over rubble – eyes closed to the blood, ears to the weeping – running. Then duck, bend, twist into the fallen door, skitter through glass and debris. He would find it; had to find it – sift through powders and pools. They had sent him, a man now; he would find it – a crumpled pouch! – grasp and run.

Shoving at bodies he gained the room: “It is Athelas, sir …” So proud, so grown! A hand clapped his shoulder – the Perian – then the tears caught up.

Bergil bowed against the littler form, aching, all at once, to be small.





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