Burns Too Bright, Lives Too Fast

It took Arthur a few tries to open his eyes. He was feeling distinctly... ... muddy. Muddy was the word. Very muddy. His mouth tasted like mud. His mouth tasted like mud because--

He scrambled up, spitting the mud out at the ground. Horrid-tasting stuff. Had the beast knocked them out in the forest--?

No.

Arthur wasn't a witch-queen like Karla was; he had no mythical powers that tied him to any land anywhere, but somehow he knew. As the foul taste of the mud faded to the background of his consciousness, he tilted his head up. There was some sunlight coming through the leaves: very hesitantly, like they were barely scratching the onset of spring. The leaves themselves weren't plentiful, either.

It smelled musky in a different way than the preserve did. It felt... different than the preserve did. Like everything was coloured in the right shades, and--

It knocked into Arthur like a punch to the gut, and he sank to his knees. "We're home," he whispered. Home. Home. He could bloody well feel it, and he didn't-- this kind of relief. It was the strangest rush he'd ever had.

He couldn't even fully grasp it.

Home.

[[ for those who be there with him ]]