Ballad Of The Forgotten: Chapter 2: Part 2:

As he reclined back, she left him again on another errand. Not particularly engaged, he looked up, studying the ceiling of the barn. Cobwebs lined the corners, and a skylight was built in the dusty ragged construct, which was left slightly open, letting the sunlight in through a crack. He watched the dust swirling in that narrow line of yellow light, slightly hypnotized.

There was a strange comfort in the slight warmth of the barn. It had no other opening other than a door, and the ventilation was a little poor. Sweat crept up on his skin, but he was alright with that. He could feel his wounds throbbing now and then.

He was glad when he could hear her footsteps coming back. There was a continuous clang-clink-clang-clink with every step she took. Sure enough, there was a basket in her hands, and as she opened its lid, the soft smell of soup and bread pierced through his senses.

She set down the basket on a stool he had not seen before. Squatting down before his bed, she pulled out a little table. She motioned for him to put his hands around her, and he complied, feeling the hunger suddenly kick in. It wasn’t merely the absence of food that tormented him, it was also the need for touch and a need to simply lay down in someone’s arms. He was in pain. As she helped him up, he tried to shrink away, but inevitably end up clinging to her.

The bed was a little narrow, but she managed to fit the little table in there. Wiping the top, she placed a bowl and a dish, along with rough wooden cutlery. Then she poured hot soup and a loaf of bread for him. He ignored the cutlery, shakily biting off chunks of bread, and impatiently drank the soup, burning his mouth in the process. He started coughing and she began to thump his back lightly. She handed him a jar of water and made him drink.

After he was done, she placed more food, took the bowl from him, and wiped at his chin and throat. Pouring more soup into it, she stirred it for a while. After that, she tore the bread into small chunks and dunked them into the soup. She picked up the spoon and scooped up one half-soaked chunk and turned to him.

At first, he was embarrassed. He tried to take the bowl from her, but she simply withdrew and pointed at his hands. He turned out and he saw that they were trembling violently. He was mystified by the revelation as he was feeling alright. Shrugging, he allowed her to feed him.

Her hands had scars. They were tanned deeply from working in the sun. The fingers were small and had calluses. He noticed the little marks on the bowl, and the threaded brown of the spoon she was feeding him with. He kept an eye on his hands, which seemed to gradually stabilize with every mouthful he took. After a while, he held up his hands, and she took a good look at them before handing him the bowl. He couldn’t help noticing how his hands almost eclipsed hers.

Sleep came almost immediately after. She helped him rinse his mouth and after that, she combed through his hair, making him close his eyes. He felt the pillow of drowsiness overwhelm his senses as he felt her gently detangle the knots in his hair, the teeth of the comb touching his scalp every now and then and sending shivers down his spine.

When he woke up, it was night. It was a deep blackness and for a moment he was petrified. But the blackness subsided to a wan grey. He could make out the shapes around him. The door must have been closed.

As his vision improved, he realized that the skylight was open. He strained to turn in its direction and was met by a distant half-moon. He stared at it for a long time, thinking about nothing in particular.

When his neck began to hurt, he relaxed back. He began to hear a soft sound beside him and turned fearfully to his side. But he was met with her back.

She was sleeping beside him. As he stared, he could make out that her shoulders were slouched, the hands threw carelessly over her head. Her body was cast in shadows from her waist.

She looked soft. Almost weak. Not someone who had just pulled a person from the brink of death. He was sure that she must have woken every day and night, tending to him. This could have been the first night she could finally sleep for real.

He felt a warmth spread across him as he saw her back. Her hair looked like wool, strewn all around her head. For a brief moment, he imagined himself on his side beside her, cradling that sleeping form into himself, counting the ribs, running his hands over that rough skin. He had never been this drawn to a human being. He had always scoffed at the mere mention of love at first sight. But here he was, drawn to a woman he had never known. He wanted to put his arm around her.

Almost as if by instinct, his body moved to lie on its side. He felt his muscles whip with pain and barely muffled his groan. 

The pain abated. He lay on his back, eyes closed. The simple movement had simply drained him of any energy and he felt his eyes close again. Sleep swept him under with the force of a tidal wave, drowning him in its depths. The night which was alive a few moments ago, suddenly went out like a candle to the sounds of her soft breathing.