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He doesn’t know how long he’s been out here alone; wading through the frost covered underbrush, huddling unsuccessfully against the chill in the air.
His slight fever from the beginning of this trek has gotten much worse, so surely it’s been days.
Breathing on his cold hands to warm them up, the ever-constant breeze decides warmth should be only a memory in his mind, the trees around him offering no buffer against the frigid whispers assaulting him.
Or the actual whispers.
“You’re not looking so good there Merlin.” A voice says, somewhere over his shoulder. But he keeps walking.
“Where are you trying to go Merlin?” A different voice this time; closer. He doesn’t know anymore, but he has to keep walking.
“Merlin, stop for a moment.” That one is more familiar, more commanding, and if stopping wouldn’t be certain death he would. He’d turn to see who it was if he weren’t so stiff.
“Merlin, you should rest for a while.” Fingers ghost over his shoulder causing him to look up from where he’s kneeling when did that happen? to look at Freya.
No. That’s not right. It can’t be her.
“She’s right Merlin,” that one is Lancelot he’s dead how is he here? “you can’t go on like this.”
Chuckling mournfully to himself, he drags himself up off the wet ground, the water having soaked through his trousers.
Pushing past his friends what would they know, they’re dead he tried to continue on, only to stumble and fall back on the ground.
“You can sleep now,” his mum says, hands moving through his hair. “It’s ok sweetie, you can sleep now.”
That doesn’t sound right. But his eyes are dragging, and he can’t lift himself again. His friends and mum told him to rest, surely they wouldn’t lie to him.
They’re so warm.
Laughter echoed around him.
He hears slow footsteps approaching from behind him, but by that point he was too far gone, falling into the warmth of the abyss.