Every twitch gave an unsightly click—as if his bones would snap every movement he tried to make.
He didn't feel it much in the moment, adrenaline numbing him to the pain in his foot. Now, however, after a long walk and eventual rest to calm himself down, the pain was seething. It was limp, it was frail. He was unsure if it could even function properly for the rest of his journey.
It'd been around thirty minutes, upwards of an hour, since the confrontation. Heath hadn't quite made it to the mountain, but he was close. The terrain had started to slope, and the forest began to rise. Fortunately, just as unrelenting rain started to fall from the sky, a small inlet appeared from within an exposed clifface.
A hollow bit of rock, one he constantly questioned the stability of as groans and an almost churning sound would constantly fill his ears. It wasn't quite a cave, but it wasn't quite a burrow. An odd middle-ground, if you will.
He sat near its back, upon a rather smooth yet hard boulder as he examined his own foot. He could tell just from a passing glance that it was slightly out of place, permanently paired with a subtly off rotation or pivot.
Fortunately, he had studied this—apart of the hundreds of books Eofa provided him, several of which were relating to various injuries that were common amongst explorers, one of which being the dislocation of a body part, particularly digits or in this case, his foot.
"I can fix this,' He thought to himself, 'I hope.'
With nameless tears assailing the exterior, haunting winds whirling and echoing throughout the inlet, Heath carefully lodged the leather grip of his sword within his mouth, stains of blood still haunting its presence.
He bit down hard; a firm clench of his eyes before he'd do the inevitable.
Grabbing sternly with both of his hands, he carefully wriggled it around is if to feel out the bones within, all in an attempt to prevent further injury. Then, he snapped it.
A satisfying creak and crunch resonated from his ankle, seething pain being sent up and into his skull. He winced, but he still held strong, a deep exhale of air billowing from his mouth.
Once most of its force came to pass, he opened his eyes, giving a brief examination of his work before considering it done. He felt around, attempted to put pressure, and even allocated a part of his weight onto it, all of which resulted in a deep and unsatiating residual pain.
Still, it was better than the fate he suffered from before. He returned his blade to his side, and still with his leg fully exposed, he hopped out the mouth of the inlet, grabbing whatever resources he could use.
The rain fell hard. By the time he was done, his entire body was soaked in its fall, returning with a few sticks and long yet rubberous leaves he ripped from a nearby yucca.
Carefully, he placed the sticks by his ankle, steadily wrapping the leaves and tying the two together. A well-made knot at his front, and the two halves were firmly combined. He felt a hint of relief, glad that his hours studying had managed to pay off, but also that he could manage the injury on his own.
It was crude and lackluster, yes, but it was better than nothing. Heath was no fool—if he didn't get it treated by a professional as soon as possible, it'd only do more harm than good. He knew that.
Suddenly, the journey for the town was more than just an order... his foot's wellbeing was possibly on the line as well.
Suddenly, he started to not like his odds.
The night was still young, and the rain was far from stopping any time soon. The inlet was dark, only light coming from the moon's glow at its mouth. He was injured and alone in the wilds, technically lost aside from the single direction he'd been given: South-east.
In complete silence, he pondered at the journey so far. Eofa leaving, having to set off from the cabin, and of course, the fight against an eldritch.
He wondered if he could've done anything differently. If the fight could've been avoided, or even just managing to prevent harm from coming to him. Most painful of all was the scrutiny of his cowardice. He knew it, and he wanted to rip apart his own heart in response. He was a coward. He was a fake.
If he didn't get injured, he wouldn't of ran. He could've killed it... but that was a prospect now long gone.
His decisions caused him to miss his opportunity.
"Maybe I'm unable to...." He whimpered to himself, sure to keep his voice low and prevent an echo. "You were wrong about me, Eofa. I can't repay your kindness. I'm-"
He choked up on his own words, fighting to prevent a tear from streaming down his face. He tried to fight it—if he learned anything, it's that showing weakness means death. Painfully, he knew he had to finish his response, a slight quiver in his voice as he spoke... "I'm sorry."
That was the end, however. He didn't linger on feeling sorry for himself. He didn't worry about the past any longer than he already did. If there was anything he could do, anything to 'repay' Eofa for all he did... Heath wouldn't give up his life for nothing. That's right... all he could do at that moment.... was not die. To survive.
He laid on his side, the rock cold and uneven, hardly comfortable, yet he didn't have much of a better option. After a final deep sigh, he succumbed to the desire to sleep, so tired his body didn't care much for the lack of comfort.
He had made an oath to himself that for Eofa and for himself... he'd survive. No matter the cost.
He'd make it to the town and live... he wouldn't care for fighting.
He just wanted to live.