The king’s voice was so loud, Cy expected the walls to crumble around them. He must have lost enough blood to be delirious, because now wasn’t the time to laugh. But as his headlamp lit his father’s face, the hard muscular tick in his jaws reminded him of someone trying to chew through nails. He picked Cy up and transported them back to camp. Once they materialized, his Father laid him on a cot before removing his shirt to inspect the wound. “Turn on your side, son.” Cy did as he was asked. “It went all the way through. I heard the horn scrape against the rock wall behind me.” Father wiped the blood away and applied some anti-coagulant powder to both sides of his shoulder. Then he cleaned the gashes on his arm and did the same. “It’s time to go home. You need to rest and replenish your fluids. We have enough nourishment to last the rest of the week, but you’ll need extra blood to replace what you’ve lost.” Oz’s telecom sounded and he stepped away to answer. Cy swallowed hard as anger flashed in his father’s deep-set, blue eyes.
