Awakening

AWAKENING

I

In a moment of blurred consciousness, Ruben seized the pain and discomfort, awful as it was, and pushed against the beckoning sleep.

He raised his head from the snow and saw his own blood. He pressed a cold, shaking hand to his head, and felt wetness. He trembled when his fingers met the wound, rough and tender, and pain coursed through his senses.

He was lucky, in a manner. Although the injury was bloody, the shot had shaved away skin and nothing else.

He probed the site with his fingers. It made him gasp, but he had to verify his assessment of the injury.

It ran from the top of his cheek to his temple. It still bled. He pressed his hand against the open flesh to seal the wound. It burned with the pressure of skin against raw exposed meat. He winced. It hurt—a lot. He did his best to shake away his daze and tried to pull himself up.

He slid and struggled for traction. After almost a minute, he managed to climb to his feet. He backed away from the sharp slant th