Page 52 of Dark Witch Resurrection

A scream lodged in his parched throat, but then he saw her.

A female was slumped in a chair beside his bed, her wavy dark hair spilling over her shoulders, her face softened by the gentle embrace of sleep.

For a moment, he simply stared at her.

Who was she?

Why did she sit in this alien room with him, guarding, talking, and singing to him? Was she a medic?

Did he know her and had forgotten who she was?

Perhaps this was home, but he had forgotten that as well.

He tried to speak, to force the words past the dryness of his throat and the heaviness of his tongue, but all that emerged was a rasping, guttural sound that seemed to echo in the room's stillness like a cry of despair.

The female didn't rouse, but suddenly the door flew open with a bang, and another female rushed in, red hair the color of fire flying behind her like a torch in the wind.

The dark-haired female jerked awake, her eyes wide open as she sat up straight in her chair.

They spoke to each other in urgent tones, their words a jumble of unfamiliar, incomprehensible sounds. But then, with a movement almost too quick to follow, the dark-haired female lifted a pendant that hung around her neck and spoke a command, "Kra-on."

The redheaded female followed her example, and suddenly, miraculously, their words became clear, the meaning of their conversation snapping into focus like a puzzle piece falling into place.

With a start, he realized that the devices hanging from their necks translated their foreign language into one he could understand.

"My sister," he managed to croak, his voice a hoarse, broken whisper that seemed to scrape against the inside of his throat.

The dark-haired female rushed over to his bed and leaned over him, her smile soft and reassuring and her strange golden eyes glowing with warmth and affection as she brushed cool fingers over his forehead. "Your sister is fine," she said through the device. "She's in the next room, still unconscious like you were, but getting better with every passing day."

Tears gathered in his eyes, a wave of relief and gratitude washing over him like a cool, cleansing rain. "Thank the Mother," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

The female's smile widened, her eyes crinkling at the corners with a warmth that seemed to radiate from her every pore. "Welcome back to the world of the living, my prince."

"Prince?" Why had she called him a prince? "I'm no one's prince."

But the redheaded one stepped forward before the dark-haired female could answer him. "I need to examine the prince," she said briskly, her voice crisp and businesslike as she gestured for the other female to move aside. "Please, give me some space."

The dark-haired female nodded, stepping back from the bed with a lingering glance that seemed to promise she would never be far away.

And then the red-haired female was leaning over him, her hands moving over his body with the practiced efficiency of a medic.

A medic. That was what she was. And this was a medical facility.

Was the dark-haired female another medical provider?

"I'm senior medic Bri–" the translation device seemed to have a problem with the sounds.

The dark-haired one stepped forward and said, "Bri-jet," without the device's help.

When he repeated the sound, the senior medic nodded. "You have got it right. Good job. I am going to touch you now to do a more thorough check of how you are doing. If this is agreeable to you, say yes or nod, and if you cannot do either, blink once; if it is not agreeable and you prefer a male to check you, blink twice."

Did he prefer a male?

He was not sure, so he blinked once.

The medic pulled out a metallic device, rubbed it for some reason, and put it on his chest.

It suddenly occurred to him that he might be naked, and he did not want the female to see him, but she was a medic, and it was too late to say that he preferred a male to conduct the examination.

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