It hurt, numbly though, and paled in comparison to the other pains that filled his body. It was not supposed to be like this, he thought, looking at the scorched flesh on his right arm as he dragged a faltering leg behind him. He limped, the pain in his right thigh a searing, continuous agony as he stumbled forward, the flesh blackened down that side of his body. He had run as far as he could, keeping low across the grain field, toward the town of Peshtigo. It wasn’t logical and he knew it, but the instinct was there nonetheless, the need to run toward people when in danger. Not that any of them could save me. Not from that. Not from him. He fell, gasping, to his knees, dodging the long, dried grass that had curled up, near dead from the summer’s drought. It couldn’t hurt him, not really, but every stroke against his burnt flesh added to the pain. This will take time to heal. Time I hope I have. He had lived for thousands of years and had not done so by stupidly engaging in fights with his own kind.
What do You think about Legacy: The Girl In The Box #8?
