Chapter 6 - The Weight of the Wound
By the sixth day, the infection in Thomas's leg had turned severe. Every step felt like walking on hot coals, and a fever had begun to cloud his mind, making his vision blur.
They were still three miles from the extraction ridge.
"Thomas?" Liam asked, looking up at him with a worried face. "Your hand is very hot."
"I'm just... a little tired, buddy," Thomas gasped, leaning against a birch tree to keep from collapsing. "The mountain air... it’s heavy today."
"You can sit down," Liam said, his voice filled with a sweet, maternal care. "I can watch the forest for you. I have my horse."
Thomas looked at the boy. Over the last week, the terrified, silent orphan had transformed into a brave, resilient little companion. He had learned to read the map, he gathered dry wood, and he never complained, even when his feet were blistered and cold.
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"No, we have to keep moving, Liam," Thomas whispered, forcing his legs to straighten. "If we stop, the winter will catch us."
He let Liam lead the way, the small boy holding his hand, guiding him over the exposed tree roots and muddy patches. Thomas realized that he was no longer just saving Liam. Liam was the only thing keeping him alive, the anchor that kept his mind from slipping into the dark haze of the fever.
