#struggling on thr next snippet

[milkyplier]

Rescue Ranch AU - Legend (Mountain)

Legend sits up, and the world swirls around him in smears of blues and greens and blacks. He doesn’t even realize he’s fallen to the side until his arm connects with the ground and send shockwaves through his body. Nausea rises in his gut, so he sits there, closing his eyes and trying to take deep breaths to try and tame it. It’s less than effective, with each inhale sending sharp stabs of pain through his chest. Eventually, it simmers back down on its own, and Legend tries again to sit up, much more carefully this time. He’s only sat fully up for a few seconds when there’s a low, familiar nicker and a velvety nose pushing against his shoulder.

“M’okay, Raven,” Legend mumbles, reaching out blindly to tangle his fingers in her mane. “S’okay, lady.”

He takes in a few more barely-steadying breaths. His head throbs badly enough that it’s messing up his vision. Raven brushes her nose against him again, evidently less than pleased with his answer. He touches the right side of his face, and his fingers come away sticky with blood. He winces at the sight, and that is when the anxiety begins to set in. He’s bleeding, probably has broken ribs and a concussion, and it occurs to him that he did not immediately remember what caused it or where he is.

He has no idea how long he’s been out; his lack of urgency was plenty of time for some infected monster to sneak up on him. With that, he gets a better grip on Raven’s mane and uses her to steady himself as he gets to his feet. She stands still, patiently supporting him and shoving her nose against his stomach when he’s fully standing. She probably just wants treats, but Legend leans some of his weight across her face and uses it to catch his breath. Again, she stands still until Legend straightens again, running a hand through her mane and murmuring praises to her.

Now standing, Legend takes a look around. He’s on a mountain, a familiar path he’s ridden a hundred times before. To his left, the path continues, clear, further into the mountains. To his right, where the path would have lead them out of the mountains and onto Legend’s own land, the path is covered in a lot of rocks.

*

A cruel cackles precedes the rumbling on the mountainside, drawing Legend’s attention up. His blood runs cold as he spots the monsters, a Moblin and a Bokoblin, at the top of the slope, pushing and hitting rocks until there’s a full-blown mini landslide rushing down the slope towards Marin and Legend. Legend redirects his gaze to Marin, who’s riding in front of him, and she makes eye contact with him. Her browns eyes are wide with terror, and that snaps Legend into action.

“Run!” He yells at her. “Go, gallop!”

He turns Raven to the left sharply, but he’s unable to bring himself to turn her away fully and start moving—that would take his eyes off Marin. He watches as Marin spurs her gelding forward, and the first rocks begin to smash against the mountain path, spooking the horse. It delays her escape and for a split second, Legend is frozen. Fear, grief, rage and sheer helplessness create a toxic mixture, running like fire through his veins and freezing his lungs. The image of Marin, fighting to guide her horse through the chaos, is the very last thing he sees before pain explodes in his right temple—and the world shatters like porcelain against a black backdrop.

*

“Marin!?” He shouts instinctively, the memory triggering his adrenaline. He forgets instantly how much his body hurts, how very little strength he has to put towards more than trying to breathe through the pain. “Marin, where are you?!”

His voice echoes through the mountains mockingly, and he turns around sharply at the sound of a responding monster’s screech. The monsters that tried to kill him, and they didn’t sound happy that it hadn’t worked. Legend sees a Moblin and a bokoblin picking their way down the steep slope they’d been camped on. The bokoblin reaches him first, its size allowing it to traverse the pathway down with less care than the Moblin.

Legend unsheathes his sword, shooing Raven out of harm’s way and bracing himself against the creature. Legend’s rage and the ‘blin’s reckless strategy of throwing itself repeatedly at him enables him to take if down with relative ease, but he knows the Moblin will be a different story. He’s buzzing with too much adrenaline to feel his injuries, but he knows he’s less than prepared to take on a creature as big as a Moblin—especially when it’s methods of attack are the same as the Bokoblin, just more effective.

That considered, he sheathes his sword and instead pulls out his short shotgun. He waits for the cursed Moblin to get closer before there’s the satisfying click of the safety turned off, and then the blast that reverberates through the valley. In the time it takes the Moblin to recover, Legend has dumped the first two shells and reloaded. Another shot, two more shells, two more bullets, one last shot, and the creature is on the ground, a sizable hole in its gut. It isn’t dead, though, bur Legend’s sword through its throat fixes that.

He sheathes his sword again and watches the monster bleed out until he’s certain it’s dead, and then he looks up and frowns. The pressure of urgency rests on his chest; he was doing something important. The monsters must have distracted him, and now he’s going to get back to what that original thing was…as soon as remembers. He looks back at the rocks in the path, and for the second time that day it hits him like a sack of bricks: Marin.

“Marin?!” He calls again, hurrying towards the rocks. He hears no reply, he searches the pile of rocks and he sees nothing. He looks down into the valley, where the landslide fell, and his stomach twists unpleasantly. He was knocked out fairly early in the rockslide, but if he remembers, Marin was in position to be caught right in the middle of it…he banishes that thought and begins to pick his way down the mountain. He has to find her, he will find her.

And he tries. He really does. The night drags on, further and further, and Legend searches and searches and searches, up and down the mountainside, over rocks and calling out her name, over and over and over again. She never answers, and he never finds anything. Not a lock of hair, not a scrap of her shirt. Nothing.

He climbs back up onto the path for the last time, and he doesn’t realize he’s falling until he’s hit the ground and shockwaves are running through his body. He feels shaky and lightheaded, nausea returning full force. It hurts to breathe, the urge to pant stopped by how painful it is. He groans softly as the full effect of worn-off adrenaline, and the consequences of pushing himself when he should not have, hits him. He lays there for a long and unmeasured amount of time before a hitched breath triggers a coughing fit, and when it ends, the coppery taste of blood brushes the back of Legend’s tongue and he knows he can’t neglect himself any longer.

He sits up, slow and sore, and calls Raven over. He once again uses her to get himself standing, and then he is faced with the near impossible task of mounting her. His body is heavy and protests the movements, and when he swings himself up and settles into the saddle there are a few long sections in which Legend has to just grit his teeth and put all his effort into remembering how to breathe. And with that, begins the trek home, up the slope and around the rocks, and then onwards up the path closer to the mountain’s exit. His chest feels hollow as he leaves, his instincts screaming at him to stop and go back and keep looking until he finds something. But, if Legend were to be totally honest, even through the haze of pain and exhaustion and grief…he can’t quite remember what he’s supposed to be searching for.