Chapter Text
Spring mornings are the best time for fishing, in Phainon's honest opinion. It's not late enough in the year for the heat to start burning up your back, and the early mornings means that there's no noise to scare the fish off. The wind is pleasantly cool against Phainon's skin, and Phainon can just barely make out the sound of the chirping morning crickets. Mornings are fantastic, Phainon thinks as he hikes his fishing rod further up his shoulder. His other hand is wrapped around Cyrene's wrist, dragging her down towards the muddy riverbank.
"Phainon," Cyrene says through a massive yawn. She stumbles over the muddy banks, bumping into Phainon's back. "It's still dark out- I can barely even see you. Can we go back to bed?" Phainon can hear the grogginess in her voice. Cyrene reaches up with her free hand to swipe the sleep out of her eyes.
"The fish always bite in the mornings." Phainon says with full conviction, despite having never caught anything bigger than a guppy in his life.
"But I'm sleepy," Cyrene whines.
"You shouldn't have stayed up writing those stories of yours then." Phainon responds easily. They've finally reached the bend of the river closest to the village. He drops his bucket by his feet. It hits the muddy shore with a splat. Cyrene lets out another massive yawn and Phainon reaches down to start setting up his tackle. She isn't tired enough to take a seat in the mud yet, but the pink-haired girl is visibly swaying on her feet, half-asleep.
Cyrene mumbles something, her eyes slipping shut again, but Phainon isn't listening. He's kneeled down in the mud to wrangle out his mess of a fishing line, and throw some bait on the end of the tackle. Cyrene lets out another massive yawn as Phainon cheerily casts out the first line.
By the time the sun is just about to rise, Phainon has a bucket full of water, a few perch, and some sea grass. It's not exactly am impressive catch, but its certainly enough he and Cyrene want to have a brunch time snack.
He's used up the last of his bait for the morning, but this last catch seems like a good one. His line had caught, and the force of it and nearly pulled Phainon off his feet in his inattention. He hums happily to himself as he strains with the fishing rod. It's certainly got to be a good fish this time; maybe it'll be big enough that they could eat it for dinner.
The line snags again, and Phainon finally looks down into the river. He squints at his catch. It's hard to make out from this distance, especially in the dark, even with his eyes adjusted to the dime morning light, but Phainon is fairly certain that the lump lying at the end of his fishing line is very much not a fish.
"Uh." Phainon blinks. The lump doesn't move at all. "Cyrene?"
Cyrene mumbles halfheartedly; she might've actually fallen asleep standing up.
"Cyrene." Phainon repeats, louder. He reaches over with a hand and shakes Cyrene roughly by the shoulder.
"Mrgh?" Cyrene finally peels an eye open. She squints at Phainon. Phainon motions frantically at the figure lying in the shallow water a short distance away.
"Help?" Phainon tries.
Cyrene blinks. She stares at the person laying in the shallow river. She blinks again. A strangled noise climbs up her throat and the young girl reaches over to clasp both hands against Phainon's arm. Her nails dig into his skin as she tightens her grip.
"Oronyx's tits." Cyrene curses- and wow she must really be surprised then- "Phainon did you just fish up a dead body?"
"Um." Phainon blinks. He leans forward and pokes the person with the end of his fishing rod. The person groans. "No?"
Cyrene makes another whining noise. Phainon, always the braver of the two, takes careful steps towards the figure laying on the riverbank. The morning sunlight lends just enough brightness for Phainon to make out the figure's features. It's a young boy- perhaps around Phainon's age. He's covered in mud and sludge, but Phainon can catch a few glimpses of blonde hair beneath the dirt. The boy's got red markings running all along his shoulders and arms, and he's dressed in rough rags.
Most notably- he's bleeding gold.
Phainon fishing line had cut thin lines into the boys skin. Droplets of golden blood seep out of the wounds. Phainon lets out a low whine at the sight.
"Hello?" Phainon asks. He crouches by the boy's side. "Are you okay? I'm sorry for fishing you up like this." He reaches over and gently taps the boy, careful not to jostle him too much . The boy doesn't respond. Phainon flips the boy over onto his back, just so that he isn't laying face down in the mud anymore. He freezes as soon as he sees the boy's front.
There's a massive gouge running from the boy's chest to abdomen. Phainon isn't all that squeamish- he's a tried and true farm boy, and the butchering process is just a part of life out here. But seeing such gore on a human body- nevermind a human who bleeds gold like he does-
"Back off for a sec."
Phainon snaps his head back to look up at Cyrene.
Cyrene's gone stark pale. She has her eyes squeezed shut, but she rolls up her sleeves and moves to kick her shoes and socks off into the dry grass. "Grab his arms. Let's get him out of the river first. Dump out your fish bucket and grab some clean water from the spring upstream."
"I can-"
"You're faster than me." Cyrene wanders over to Phainon's tacklebox and pulls out a pair of scissors. "We've got to get the mud out of his wounds first. Then you can carry him back to the village. I'll cut the fishing line off of him so go and grab that water."
Phainon lets out a whine, but he picks up the bucket and breaks into a sprint further up river, towards the hills where the water runs clearer.
By the time Phainon speeds back towards the riverbank, filled bucket now in hand, Cyrene has managed to cut the fishing line off of the boy's body. She's managed to push the boy so that he's laying on his side.
She wordlessly takes the water bucket from Phainon's hands. "He's got some sort of fancy healing thing." Cyrene says absentmindedly. She tips the bucket over, pouring the water down the boys front in one go. Golden blood and muddied brown mix into a sludge and flow down the riverbank back towards the stream. Phainon's eyes widen as he watches the wound on the boy's front slowly knit itself back together in front of his eyes.
"He'll probably be fine then, right?" Phainon reaches forward, making an aborted movement to rest his hands on the boy's shoulders.
Cyrene shrugs. "Probably. I'm not a healer." She tucks her hands beneath the boy's side and tries to push him upright. Phainon kneels down and tucks his hands under the boy's body. It's honestly quite an ungraceful position; the boy is around the same size as Phainon; although his weight isn't a problem, his limbs are gangly, and Phainon has to awkwardly shift around so not as to strain the boy's chest, or accidentally prod himself with the boy's bony limbs.
Cyrene snorts at Phainon's awkward dance, and Phainon eventually settles into carrying the boy in something like a princess carry.
Cyrene swipes up Phainon's forgotten fishing gear in a single movement. "I'll run back first. Wake up the doctor probably. Have you got him?"
Phainon hums in affirmation, nodding his head up and down.
Cyrene lugs the fishing rod over her shoulder, the empty bucket dangling at the end of the rod.
Neither of them talk about how Cyrene's hands are still stained gold with the boy's blood.