Tampered Memory

This is my entry for the fantasy writing competition and I am back in my element! (I hope you agree) The first chapter is a teaser for what is coming up, and any comments to improve it are welcome as it seems to stray from the point again as all my writing seems to at the beginning. Please comment and if you enjoy it, like and favourite - it would mean a lot! :-D
Sorry if new chapters don't come up often, it means I have a serious case of writer's block!

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2. The Awakening and Realisation

As soon as I breach the line between consciousness and oblivion, the first thing I am aware of is the blistering heat. Soaking up any residue left behind from the morning shower of rain on the usually grassy terrain, an inaudible groan was allowed to surpass my cracked lips. Due to the parched condition of my raspy throat, my tongue felt like sandpaper grating against my mouth. Resisting the urge to cough, my heavy eyelids fluttered open, almost pleading water.

Ignoring the negative cracking of my joints, I attempted to support my weight while I gathered the momentum to sit up. However, it failed pitifully though, as I came crashing down upon already formed bruises that were swollen no doubt and extended along the length of my body. Vaguely I recalled a familiar feeling, but shook off the confusion like a winter coat, concentrating on the challenge at hand.

 

One small step at a time

 

After many endeavours to be anything other than lying down, I soon achieved my goal, yet it resulted in heaving pants and the constant rising of my chest. While marvelling at my frail state and the cause of it, my weary eyes inspected my surroundings.

I was in a tent of some kind, with patched walls suspended by coiled ropes designed in order to keep the inhabitants inside cool from the sun, yet at the moment it obviously wasn’t functioning properly as all I could think about at the moment was my aching thirst. A musty smell hung stable in the air, indicating that an animal at one time had roamed around the tent. Without even questioning my motives, I searched for any disturbance of the dust among the many piles of belongings and gear that was stacked dexterously. Amid the frayed satchels a colourful array of bottles were aligned next to me, releasing a pleasant scent I couldn’t help but wonder at.

Curious, I had a peculiar incentive to touch the gleaming glass, yet restrained from doing so, as an instinctual voice screamed warning in the back of my head. For some reason I halted. Nothing had happened to make me trust that voice, so why did I stop? I didn’t remember a time when listening to my instincts had saved my life…had it? I couldn’t remember. Again, I ignored the feeling of unease and then finally noticed my scares.

They ran along the length of my arm; wrist to elbow before disappearing under my cloak’s ragged sleeve, but didn’t stop there. I could still make out the throbbing, bloody blemish continuing along to my shoulders through the tears in my treasured cloak. It appeared as if someone had attempted to heal my wounds, as a sickly green ointment was smeared carelessly on top, in a clumsy effort to cover them. Beneath my tawny loose trousers I saw the remains of what looked like ripped nettle leaves with thin scratches obviously belonging to rose thorns, etched on my grimy skin. You could tell that particular flower was responsible, because of the sticky sap coating my already mauled flesh. Perplexed to why I would know this seemingly pointless fragment of information, I continued the exploration of my injuries on my hands. Underneath my leather gloves, it was evident that I had been scraped here as well with the addition of a scare running across the palm of my coarse hands, noticable when I frantically rotated them in panic at the disfigurements.

What on earth happened to me?

 

Suddenly, the sound of voices entered my hearing range. But that wasn’t what scared me. It was the fact that I could tell that there were three of them, ranging in an age range of 20-28, were only recently sobering up and they were lightly armoured probably only prepared with daggers and spears, therefore no immediate threat and I could take them. It was also that I gained this beneficial knowledge in under a minute. Just as I was speculating how I instinctually knew this, the tent entrance was torn open and I found myself gazing into some red rimmed, tear streaked yet piercing green eyes.

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