#petitespellman

After two days he’s too deprived of food and water to know his location in the woods, only vaguely aware he’s shackled with a few others at the mouth of a large cave. Outside of it is the bare bones of his captor’s campsite: an ever lit fire, bag of food roped in a tree to keep away from bears and a few wooden crates and a box of tools. Those were less of the handy fixing type and more of the torture variety. Harvey met a few devices after fists couldn’t beat out of him where Sabrina is. If these people think a broken bone or sucker punch to the jaw is foreign to him they haven’t met his father.

“ S—brina?” Harvey slurs her name in half-consciousness as her petite face swims into view. God, she’s so beautiful. Smelling of cloves and orange peels, like an autumn perfume. Blinking he finds her actually in front of him, more solid than his fever hazed dreams. 

Most of him has gone numb with his arms pinned above his head, but since the other three people trapped in the cave look dead he’s optimistically not the worst off. Covered in sweat, grime and blood, his shirt is past tatters — clinging to him as his feet barely skim the ground.

“No no no,“ he repeats the words that had woken him from collapsed sleep, “Sabrina, you can’t it’s not safe – Brina go – “ Harvey protests in a hoarse whisper while she picks the iron locks and upon release he drops the remaining height to the ground, body crumpling from exhaustion and agony.

Every part of him, from overstretched and bruises muscles to chapped lips and the shoulder he’s fairly certain is dislocated is screaming in pain. The worst source is easily identified: a shiny raw ‘Ꮤ’ branded over his heart. The iron branding rod still sits at the edge of the campfire now with its lettered end - a centuries old symbol witch hunters carry to mark those sympathetic to magical beings. Hunters will always consider him a betrayer and to witches he’ll be a mortal who knows too much, a danger. The letter the size of his palm, Harvey’s screams when they pressed it to his skin may have attracted someone to his whereabouts had it not been for the gag over his mouth. Ꮤ𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇.It ensured that if these hunters didn’t kill him someone else will.

“You have to go,” Harvey pleads after attempting to stand, reaching for her to push her away. “They —” it’s surprisingly still hard to breath despite the air he’s gasping in, “they used me; it’s a trap.” She’s too god damn sweet for her own good. The moral code passed from her parents that insists she helps others is going to get her killed. It’s already signed her soul to the Dark Lord. 

Swinging his head from right to left and over his shoulder in a quick motion that leaves him dizzy he looks for his captors. They set off into the woods every day in search of witches and warlocks to pick off. Every day he’s been terrified they’ll carry back a limp girl with snow colored hair held in place with a black headband.

“Evaporate out of here, do that thing you do.” It’s a vague description as he grips her shoulders and when she doesn’t disappear holds her face. “Please Brina,” Harvey begs, cheatingly using her nickname is hopes it will make her listen. 

“I’ll be right behind you.” It’s not entirely a lie, right? He’ll try his best. Not dying would be ideal. In a selfish impulse he kisses her. It slows time just long enough for them to be who they used to, candy apple kisses after the summer fair and her falling asleep on his chest while he read aloud. In surmounting death he doesn’t see the past, but an entire future they could have had. She saved a town, maybe he can save her.