The Weight of Friendship

Lifelong friends find the true struggle of those you choose as family

Night falls on the open plain Field rapidly, shadows rising from the horizon, across grass from distant mountains and Trees, like high tide from the ocean, swelling in.

They focus on the shadows rushing to greet them with intensity, only to have something to give their attention to, instead of attempting to address the issue before either one of them is ready. They stare off at the sky, slowly seeing the countless number of stars appear out from behind the curtain of day, contemplating for (minutes, hours?). They concentrate on anything but the one that sits beside them.

It seems, before either of them feels ready to confront one another, the full, not so dark of night, was upon them. The thoughts of anger and reconciliation give way to thought of warmth and food that give way to a campfire and a meal. The immensely thick, palpable, tension that had filled the air earlier has subsided into quietness and contemplation.

The Plateau they found themselves on, 7 or 8 stories up from the meadow below, hangs from the side of the geometric stone making up the mountains side. This is where they will unwillingly call home for the night. A small overhang where the fire now crackles the wet grass surrounding it, is almost completely hidden from the wind. Safe enough, considering they have no idea what, if anything, dangerous lives on this side of the island.

No Words have been exchanged in quite some time, the fire begins to dwindle down, the sky now full with the night's beauty. They lie there, staring at the stars, almost entirely disconnected from the troubles of today.

-

Creaking, snapping, popping, as the larger of the two sits up and stretches toward the sky with a large, guttural, groan. Broad shoulders, barrel chest, muscular arms, all on top of a short squat lower body, He turns towards his childhood best friend, looking at the bloody bandage on his hand . Deep slitted green eyes, behind his wide angular face, assess the wound from the other side of the fire.

Still bleeding.
Can they smell that far?
Doubt it, I have not seen any sign of warkens for days now, and even if they are here, they won't leave the cover of the forest.

Reassured, he croaks, “How’s the hand?” dry and raspy.

As if snapped out of a dream, whipping his head up from behind his larger arm he manages to squeak out, “bad...”

Lifting up his hand to rest on his lap, the old shirt was entirely red with blood and dripping.

The green eyed figure takes off his shirt, crouches next to the large armed figure, and begins taking off his bloody wrap. Once removed, the 4 fingers and thumb that had been there this morning were now reduced to 1 pinky and thumb, the middle 3 fingers now gone, up to the first knuckle. A clean bite, and still bleeding. He grabs a clump of grass from the ground and rubs the dirt from the bottom side on his wound before wrapping it up again. The smaller figure, skinny legs and left arm, but a right arm that more than makes up for the lack of muscle everywhere else, did not seem to notice the pain, or even glance at his hand while his counterpart dressed it.

His large arm is fine, it's his other arm that had been mangled earlier that day. He is now short 3 fingers and way too much blood to keep going on like we have been.

“We Will Head back to the others in the morning.. I’m sure she is worried sick...” the green eyed man grumbled, distantly.

After too many moments of silence, he replies, “ Yes, but the bleeding… it won’t stop, i think we know what we need to do…” staring begrudgingly into the fire.

The Green eyes nod, reach in towards the fire, and pull out a branch with a blunt, embered, tip.

His large arm pushes himself up, tearing off his new bandage with his teeth, extending his arm and bracing he says, “okay, do it”

Teeth Clenching, every Muscle in his body (most of them in his right arm) flexing, and tight, ready for the anticipated pain.

In the distance, blood soaked and ravenous, unaware of anything else, a Warken feasts on one of its own. Pain filled screams Sweep across the meadow, crashing into the treeline, snapping the warken out of its thirsty rage. Rearing on its hind legs, front claws and neck outstretched towards the sky, Gold rimmed eyes fixated upon the moons, the Warken releases an unheard sound.

-

Author's Note

I challenged myself, never formally attempting to write before this, to adapt a graphic novel I am currently designing, into a written story. This scene takes place near the end of the story, starting the rise of the stories climax.