There was something about mornings that Matt loved. They felt like a rebirth - a chance to do things right. A fresh start, even if he wasnât one of those people that rose early and in a good mood.Â
However, since moving north and finding himself a house outside of the city limits of Baltimore, he was working on it. It was much easier when all he had to contend with was the chirping of birds flittering through the sky as the sun stretched its fingers through the trees that lined his back yard. He would sit with his coffee, reflecting on the fact that he hadnât felt this serene since the accident, and sometimes he would walk.
This such morning, he decided to walk. He left his coffee behind, pulled on a long-sleeve shirt to ward off the morning chill, and set off along the path that led into the small timber surrounding his property, breathing in the fresh air and the smell of dew clinging to the leaves of the trees. Matt walked, urging himself to wake up, and enjoying the process. Years of work in the ICU had left his nerves almost permanently fried, but when he got a chance, feeling himself loosen up was like heaven.
He didnât get a chance to enjoy it for long, his ears picking up on a sound that really shouldnât have been there. Something he knew unmistakably.
A low moaning signaling someone was in pain came from his right.
He veered from the path, creeping along carefully until he came upon a figure huddled in the underbrush, curled up on its side. A closer look told Matt two things: that it was a man, and that he was covered in blood. Whether or not it was his own was the real question, and if it was, indeed, his own, Matt was going to have to act fast.
âHey,â he called out gently, drawing closer with a light step. âAre you all right?â
