She felt the blade in her hand, running her thumb over the smooth wooden hilt. The metal shined, coated in a thin layer of her scarlet blood. Mira's side throbbed, and each movement that stretched her abdomen in the slightest sent a wave of pain radiating around the wound. Gulping back a wad of sticky bile that had been steadily rising in her throat, she turned to the tree that she had used so rudely as a leaning post just minutes earlier. Oddly, there was something that she had not noticed before, a burlap bag tucked between the roots. Half-leaning sideways as to not completely tear her wound farther (though not without her fair share of grimacing and arm stretching to reach) Mira collected the strange knives that had been left scattered around her... Body.
Had they really intended to leave her for dead? If anything, who
were they? This was far too cold to be Georgia- in fact, it felt more like England. Oddly enough, the thought was not very comforting. There was very little humidity in the air, and she could see that a thin fog had settled over the canopy of trees, which did very little for trapping heat to the ground. Her fingertips fumbled, near numb with cold. The fact that she was likely bleeding out didn't help much.
She slumped, albeit carefully, against the curling roots of the large oak, just beside the rucksack. Resting the- six? Yes, that was right. Six knives, all small and of the same variety. Strange. Mirabelle rested them on the root beside herself, pulling the small sack into her lap. Had her captors left their things here? Perhaps they had been interrupted during their attack and did not have time to clean up- or finish the job.
The thought made Mira shiver. She quickly tugged on the drawstrings and reached into the sack, pulling out the first item that she felt. A pack of crackers. Only now seeming to note her stomach grumbling in protest to its emptiness, she tore the packet open- pulling out a thin slice of cracker and resting her tongue against it. Salty. How tempting it was to devour the entire pack, but she had no idea if she had water. And she knew well that salt without water was a death sentence, especially in her condition. She was, of course, a culinary chef in training.
Setting the torn open pack aside, she reached into the rucksack again in search of water or medical supplies. Rope. A jacket. Useful, she supposed, pulling the light windbreaker on. It provided very little insulation against the cold- but at least it kept the wind from nipping at her bare arms. Aha. A water skin. She uncorked the top and tilted it towards her dry, cracked lips- waiting for the feeling of cool, fresh water to nourish her mouth. But none came. Giving the thing a small shake, she finally lowered it. Really? Her captors thought to leave her a water canteen, but no water?
Setting it aside, Mira continued to dig. Her fingertips found a cold, round thing rolling around in the bottom of the pack. Slowly, she pulled it out- blinking at the strange round stone. She had never known stones to glow in the dark, though she was no geologist. It clearly had no use to her, and Mirabelle set it aside- letting it roll between a crack of two roots with little care for what would come of it.
There was nothing to help with her wound. She could tear apart her jacket and use it as bandages, but then she may as well die of exposure. She unbuckled the small front pouch that had since remained closed, peering inside.
Mirabelle blinked. Her wishbone. How in the world had that ended up there? She had not seen it since- well- Since she was eight. She had battled with her father on Thanksgiving day about who would get to split the bone in her own little ritual. Whoever got the larger half would have good luck- and she had gotten it. A wave of confusion crashed over her. How did this end up here? How had
she ended up here? It made very little sense, and yet...
She paused, lifting her head a bit. In the distance, albeit faint- there was the sound of rushing water. In every survival show with Bear Grylls she had watched as a child, water meant civilization. More specifically- following the water downstream. Surely she would find someone that could help her... Right?
Mirabelle collected her things in somewhat of a rush, stuffing them back into the rucksack- she was careful with the small bone, however, tucking it back into the pouch that she had found it in. Completely forgetting about the stone in its safe crevice of roots, she slung the pack over her shoulder and began to walk. It was a slow process, as she had to stop every few feet to rest against a tree and wait for the pain in her side to subside. But she would make it- she knew she would. She had to. After all, wasn't this all about survival?
{Tagging
@TheGreenerGrey because our characters are just on opposite sides of the stream. From there Alistair and Felicia are on opposite sides of the lake and Issac and Anjali are fairly isolated as of yet!}