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Jakob’s vision felt blurry, and his face felt like it was asleep.
He clambered out of the lake and wiped his face with his wet sleeve, which admittedly didn’t do much to dry him other than clean the blood off.
His head hurt.
Jakob brought his right hand up to his forehead, just under his hair, and winced. There was a nail lodged in his skull. There had been three, he was sure, but it seemed that the others had slipped out.
Siriol. He needed to get back to Siriol.
This was the first clear thought he managed to form in his mind.
They must be looking for him.
Jakob ignored the scrapes on his back from being dragged along the floor, and the bruises on his wrists from where they’d gripped him.
He got up.
The shore seemed familiar. This was close to the village.
Close to Siriol.
They would take care of him.
He ignored the untreated injuries he was covered in.
There was dizziness from getting up too fast, and he steadied himself in a wobbly way.
His left arm felt numb. It wasn’t responding to his attempts to move it. It would be fine. Probably.
He started walking in what he was fairly sure was the right direction. Siriol must be looking for him.
They must be worried.
He ignored the image of a nail gun in their hand.
They loved him.
Jakob ignored his memory of their look of disgust when he lost consciousness.