I woke up a day later at camp.

My mouth was dry.  It felt like a goose-feather pillow had been stuffed down my throat when I wasn't looking.  My limbs were sore, achy, but relatively intact.  And I wasn't bleeding out inside a rocky tomb, so all in all, I felt pretty fantastic.

As I slowly came to, the number of familiar faces at my bedside multiplied.   By the time I was fully awake, Fudge, Mason, Rover, and Tom surrounded my cot.  Will stood in the corner of the tent, characteristically out of place.

There were other men in the cots around me, but their wounds weren't fresh.  These were the men sent away from the Rim with injuries that required long-term care—amputations, neurological damage, and for some, wounds invisible to the naked eye.  I was fortunate not to belong here.

"You should sleep more often.  Your face doesn't look so screwed up that way," Mason observed.  Tactful, as always.

"It's nice to see you too." 

Fudge smiled at me with wet eyes. He had a nasty gash on his cheek, and I felt a flash of unbridled fury.  Who'd dared lay a hand on Fudge? 

"We're glad you're okay," he said, his voice delicate, like it might break at any moment. "We thought you were a goner.  When the mine came down, and you were still inside..."

"What exactly happened?" I asked. "The sequence of things is all a bit blurry."

Rover crossed his arms over his chest.  "Well.  You ran into the mine.  Like a lunatic.  The Pans fell from the trees.  Broke through our defenses.  The Bear came running out without you.  And I handed Freckles the detonator and told him to wait for my command."

Gritz, poor Fudge. I could still see the remnants of distress on his face at the prospect of having to push that button.

"And then?"                     

Rover grinned. "And then we made history."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Don't make it out to be so dramatic, Rove."

"We brought down a mountain.  How is that not dramatic?"

My brother caught me side-eyeing the glass of water on the bedside table, and he winked at me. He brought the glass over, but as I reached for it, I stilled.

My glove was gone, replaced with medical gauze. I brought my other hand around and yelped at its nakedness, jumping back to the corner of the bed.  The glass shattered on the ground.

"Where—where are—?"         

"Whoa! Hey, easy." Tom moved to console me, but I backed away, shaking my head vehemently.  "Al!  It's okay.  Your gloves were in bloody shreds."

"Who—"      

"I did. I wrapped your hands," he said. "We'll get you some new gloves when we go to Holly, okay?" His brown eyes burrowed into mine, and I was struck by the nostalgia of it all. 

Back when I'd have an episode as a child, he would sit me down and tell me it was all going to be okay, that I just needed to focus on something else to help the panic evaporate.

Look around you, he'd say. Name something you can touch.  Name something you can hear. 

Hands clutched to my chest, I could touch the fabric of my grimy shirt.   I could feel my own sporadic heartbeat. I could hear the buzz of movement outside the medical ward.  Horses.  Men swearing.  The tent flapping in the wind.

Tom's eyes softened, as if he could read my mind, and the others looked alarmed and troubled by my outburst. I scolded myself for overreacting. 

Name something you can smell...

I could smell the antiseptic.  I could smell my own dried blood. The blood and ash of my enemies.

"We were successful," Tom continued, trying to spare me from the questioning and startled looks of my company. "We lost five men, but we trapped at least a hundred Pans inside that mine and killed another thirty on the perimeter.  Sterling dug you out after the collapse, and we fixed you up here at camp." His eyes shone with pride, and a warmth blossomed in my chest.  For the first time since we'd been reunited, he looked exactly like the Thomas I remembered—young and overconfident, boyish and sweet.  "What I want to know is how you blew up your tunnel.  Rover never gave the command, and Fudge never pushed that button."

The anxiety finally disintegrated into unrecognizable fragments. I exhaled through my nose and pieced my thoughts together. "Actually, I didn't do anything.  A spirit sacrificed herself for me.  She brought down the rest of the mountain."

The boys exchanged glances.  Drinking it in.  Processing. 

Fudge's brow creased in sadness, and I wished I could take away his pain. He'd grown fond of Styx. We all had.

I didn't mention that the spirit had actually been my mother.  It was too fresh in my heart to share right now. Too personal.

Tom narrowed his eyes at the vagueness of my response, but I gave him a look that said, I'll tell you later.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay," he said, his voice a bit strained, as if he were repressing the magnitude of his relief. I knew how horrified he must have been when he'd discovered my absence, when he'd learned I'd gone running into a war zone. Even if he didn't show it now, I knew he was still working through that panic and fear, attempting to dilute those emotions. I certainly was. "Honestly, it's a miracle you made it out with barely a scratch."

My brow sailed skyward at that.

A scratch?  Ha!

But Tom wasn't kidding.         

My gaze shifted to Will's, and he lifted a shoulder to mirror my bewilderment. I mean, I guess getting speared wasn't the worst of injuries, but still.  I'd definitely thought I was going to die.

I lifted my blood-stained shirt and a small square bandage and gazed upon a large, unfamiliar scar, dark red against the tan of my skin.

"Yeah," I muttered, blinking at the wound.  "Stretch got his revenge alright."

Fudge tilted his head, bemused. "Stretch?"

"One of the demons Will and I captured when you were kidnapped.  He had a personal vendetta after we tied him to a tree and left him for dead."

"Classic," Rover chuckled.

I placed the bandage back over my scar, fighting a frown. Had I hallucinated all the damage? Or was I just...overdramatic? I had some serious questions for my medic. And Will.

Tom sighed deeply, the kind of sigh my father heaved on a daily basis, and I glanced up at him, wary. "Despite my being so relieved at your recovery, you defied my orders, Al.  I told you not to disobey me, and you did.  Blatantly. You ran straight into the tunnel without permission.  You risked your life and the entire operation.  Do you know what that means?"

I held my breath, meeting stern brown eyes.  Our mother's eyes.

"It means you'd make one lousy Spec."