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It was lodged deeper than he had initially suspected. Removing the arrow would require a more subtle approach than merely yanking it free. Lying alone on the windy grassland, his situation had been confirmed by a flash of devouring pain that had surged up his leg with a riveting explosion, Thesius would need more than brawn to tackle his current dilemma. He began to consider whether or not the arrow had been laced with poison, as the northern tribes were known for this superfluous trait; which seemed wholly unnecessary and certainly unwelcomed. After a brief reflection on the subject, the answer would be discovered soon enough. Right now, removing the metal broad head from his lower left thigh bone was more than sufficient to toil over. A part of him wished the arrow was poisoned. At least then the war would be over once and for all if only for him, but for the moment, he resolved to cling to the torn existence he knew. Thesius began to remember the stone in his satchel, the one his father had left him. He hadn’t placed much faith in his father’s words when he had bestowed it to him all those years ago. “Hold this close to your heart and it will grant you your desire,” his father had said. Not one for fairy tales, Thesius, now reconsidering, was prepared to amend his judgment. Loosening the strap, he quickly found the cool, smooth stone where he had stored it. Raising it carefully to his tired chest, Thesius did as his father had instructed. Clutching the stone tightly, he closed his eyes. “Son, you could have wished yourself healed?” The words were distant, yet he clearly recognized the sound of his father’s voice. Thesius then remembered the poison. His wish was granted. WORD COUNT : 299 |