Cursed 2

THREE

The morning sun was beginning to peek through the openings in the treetops and bathed in its rays the dirt road that Squirrel and the Weeping Monk followed after narrowly leaving the Red Paladins' camp. The cool air enveloped them on a rough horseback ride.

“Hey, weights! Don't lean on me!” Squirrel complained in a tone of annoyance, “we've been riding all night and I'm hungry. Let's stop!” said the boy without getting an answer.

The long silence made the boy turn uneasily toward the man who was still leaning on his shoulder.

“Hey! You're good? Wake up!” he added nervously waiting for an answer that didn't come.

Squirrel dry brake and carefully lower the monk from the horse leaving him in the sand.
He was pale and the splattered blood partially covered his tear marks in his eyes. A large wound on the side stained the dark clothing red and the boy did not know how long he had been unconscious.
By not waking up, Squirrel went to the saddlebags hanging from the horse looking for a canteen of water, but instead found a small vial of what appeared to be holy water. His trembling hand poured the transparent liquid over the Weeping Monk's wounds to clean and clumsily bandage them with the torn cloth from his sleeve.

Minutes later the monk's eyes fell on the restless and thoughtful boy who was walking from one side to the other a few meters away.

“What do you do?” the Weeping Monk whispered.

“Lancelot! Are you alive!” he ran toward him with such vigor that he was about to run over him.

“What happened?” he asked still on the ground in a husky voice.

“I was talking to you but you weren't answering! You threw yourself on me and weighed!” he reproached him with gasping breaths, “how you stay unconscious on horseback ?! I thought you were dead...”

Words kept coming out of the boy's mouth with great agitation and in the middle of them Squirrel for a second thought he had seen a slight smile on the monk.

“You got scared?” the monk asked in a mocking tone.

“Of course not, who do you take me for!” he answered sharply with nervousness, “but I don't want anyone else to die...” his gaze darkened at the thought of his father and the Weeping Monk took notice.

“Percival, I could have bled me out, but you stopped the bleeding. Thank you.”

“We are at peace now” Squirrel replied, “and don't call me that!”

“Why? You called me by my name.”

“I already told you I don't like it” he protested, frowning.

“To me I do like.”

Surprised at those words, a smile spread across Squirrel's face.

“Well, you're hurt... so this time I'll let you call me that” he turned embarrassed and hungry at a brisk pace toward some blackberry bushes.