Undying a Paranormal Romance

“It's even longer coming down,” he laughed but stopped when the pain seized him.

She removed the wineskin slung over her shoulder. “I brought you something. It’s just what you asked for.” She set the wineskin down in front of him. “It’s filled with the waters you requested.”

His eyes lit up. “Help me turn over.”

She obliged him, then did her best to put his separated arm back into the hole just under his shoulder blade. She opened the spout of the wineskin and handed it to him.

He took it with his good hand, raised it, and drank a swig of the water.

The ghouls stood a few yards away, observing. He heard Guts whisper, “What’s she doing?”

“She’s putting him back together, she is.”

“How can we eat him, if she does that?”

“Don’t worry. She won’t be able to do it. He’s hopeless.”

Witcher tried to push his legs outward, but they wouldn’t go. After attempting to move his legs from side to side, he took another gulp of the water to give him strength, but his legs still wouldn’t budge.

This was the brute fact that had kept him pinned in one place for so many nights.

Since his collision with Hades, his body didn’t respond as it should. The supernatural energy, the raw electricity, the somatic juices that enervate the body and enliven it, had been squeezed from him by the cruel press of gravity's merciless embrace.

Witcher hoped that with the help of the restorative waters those juices might re-enter his body and resume their normal operation. He tried to extend his legs again. To his surprise, they stirred. The movement was slight but undeniable.

“Hey!” he cried.

Vena cheered. The ghouls moaned.

He took another gulp of the water, then reached over with his good arm and adjusted the bad one. “It’s becoming attached again,” he said, “thanks, no doubt, to the restorative waters.”

Vena smiled.

“You did good.” He smiled back at her.

He tried to move his legs again, and they responded once more. With each attempt, the movement was more pronounced, until he could slide his feet forward and backward and outward. He even managed to pull himself up on his knees for a long moment and half-stood, half-thinking he might succeed. With each attempt, he dragged himself forward, first an inch, then several, then a foot. Eventually, movement extended throughout his length, until both legs would move, and he could stand on them, however wobbly, if only for a moment. Over the next hour, with many gulps from the wineskin, he progressed from standing to hobbling to walking.

By the time the first moon stood high in the sky and delivered its evening exhortation, Witcher was making wide circles near the foot of the cliff and had quickened his pace to a normal gait.

Vena shouted, “Maybe we should call you Lord Walker!”

An hour later, Viscera and Guts stood by as an enthusiastic Witcher ran along the cliff, curved outward, and swerved back around.

“I don't understand how you recovered, Master Witcher.”

“Time.”