Zuriel loses count of how many days he’s left in the forest, surrounded by nature, cut off from heaven's light. Avrel’s vines loop through the jagged holes in his wings left by his spear, hoisting him into the air until he’s dangling. Silvery blood stains the dirt beneath him and has left trails across his face, his arms, his wings. His side in particular throbs with the familiar feeling of infection.
It seems he's successfully convinced Avrel that he doesn't know anything. The Fallen has left him for dead.
At least he thinks so until footsteps approach from behind him.
"Leave me, Avrel," he murmurs, his voice a rasp. "I have no patience for your questions today."
A gentle hand touches his shoulder, then the vines loosen. Zuriel crumples to the ground. "My name is Abriel. Can you stand?"
Zuriel can’t even muster the energy to shake his head. An agonized cry tears itself from his throat as the vines are pulled from his wings, ripping at the sensitive skin that’s been attempting to heal around the intrusions.
A hand loops itself around his back, beneath the base of his wings, and Zuriel whimpers.
"I'm sorry. I know it hurts. I'm going to take you somewhere safe."
There's a whispered incantation, a gesture of a hand, and suddenly Zuriel is weightless, hovering a few inches off the ground. Tears spring to his eyes as the invisible force presses against his wounds, and his side throbs more and more with every movement. The hands carefully wrap around him then, and the pressure lessens. “Shh, you’re safe now.”
The walk through the trees is agony, his wings catching on thorns and branches as his rescuer makes their way through the thick trees and brush. Opening his eyes seems far more difficult than it should be, but the cool breeze seems to tell him it’s nighttime, the moon covered with clouds. The sunlight is gone. This realization brings more tears to his eyes, his shoulders shaking slightly. He’s starved for light, he needs it.
There’s a creak of a door opening, and then something impossibly soft meets the bruised flesh of his back. The hands are gone. Zuriel manages to open his eyes, blinking several times as he’s met with darkness. As several moments pass, his eyes adjust and he starts to make out outlines of furniture, the bed he’s been laid on, the man standing above him.
“I know you’re scared. I’m here to help,” that gentle voice promises. “What do you need from me?”
"Light," the angel croaks immediately, in a voice raw from screaming. “P-please.”
A pause. Then the soft voice speaks again, “I’m afraid I can’t offer that until the dawn comes.”
Zuriel lets his head fall back to the bed in despair.
“I’m sorry, angel,” Abriel says quietly, and Zuriel hears the curtain being drawn back. The tiniest sliver of moonlight slips past the clouds and lands on his wing, and he inhales sharply. Ohhhh. Light. The barest fragment of it, but it’s light. Avrel would never let him have this.
“Rest, angel. No harm shall come to you here.” The man carefully pulls a blanket over him.
Zuriel closes his eyes and finally rests.
