The impact of the bucket on his head had damaged the small grey circle on his temple. He was a flash of light which dimmed. The next minute he bolted up gasping and sputtering from the water that was thrown on his face. The girl stood there the empty bucket in her hand and a dully concerned expression on her face. Once she saw he was ok her expression changed faintly from dull and concerned to dull and irritated. Her armed hung limp with the bucket held loosely in one hand.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. Owen winced as he touched his temple.
“Ouch! I was wondering where you got your water. Why do you come to the river? We are told it is dangerous.”
“The well is contaminated” She narrowed her eyes.
Owen laughed hoarsely then winced “what makes you say that?”
“Everyone has been sick but me. everyone drinks well water, but me.” she replied.
Owen shook his head “I haven’t gotten sick.”
“Is that so?” she murmured. “You will.”
She turned and scrambled back up the steep bank. When he reached the top, she had already returned to her hut.
Owen staggered to his hut careful not to jar his aching head. His hand reached out for the door frame but missed it and fell to the ground just inside his door.
He was standing in his garden a hoe in his hand staring at the trees across the river.
Owen’s eyes flickered as he got to his knees.
They came out of the wall. The protectors dressed in gray and white.
He got to his feet and touched his searing temple. Memories, either forgotten or withheld came flooding before his eyes gaining speed. Faster and faster, they came until he saw nothing but the sensation of floating and sinking. He reached out to grasp it, but when he opened his hand, it was gone.
Owen woke to the sound of birds. He turned his head and felt a pinch at his temple. He slowly sat up finding himself on the floor. The fire he made was cold ashes and a light layer of dew clung to the grass outside. He rubbed his head as he stood outside the door trying to remember what exactly happened the night before. The chip on his temple was warm. He ignored it and watched as his world woke up. In a moment he was headed to his garden for breakfast. As the day proceeded, he thought about the girl’s certainty he would get sick. He looked thoughtfully at his canteen. Shook his head and took a swig. Near midday he felt a faintness and a throbbing in his head. His throat was parched, and he had trouble keeping his eyes open. Eventually his desire for water overcame his hesitation to go out in the broiling orb. he stood in the door clutching the frame for support. In that moment all his senses were tuned into the frame that supported him. He saw the lines and swirls of the wood’s grain; he felt the splintery roughness and the worn polish smoothness of the wood. His breathing was shallow and quick. His hearing tuned out. His hand let go…
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