The Piece of Eden was ripped from his grasp. A hand slapped at his cheek. But the skin continued to slide over his elbow and the pain was making him sick to his stomach. Couldn't they see it!? Couldn't they see the half-formed limb growing where there once was a gasping space!?
A slap of cold rushed over his face. He fell to his side as icy water seeped into the collar of his robes and dribble down his neck. The pain was gone, ghosted only by his memory of nails jutting from sensitive skin on his fingers. He gasped and rolled over, supporting himself on his right hand as he vomited onto the flagstone floor. A hand soothingly rubbed his back until he stopped retching and knelt there gasping for breath. Then it slid into his soaked hair and pulled him upright. He hissed in pain and flailed his arms.
“What did you do!? What did it show you!?”
Altaïr.
“Nothing!” He shouted back, hand hitting against the thick plated leather of Altaïr's belt and throat hoarse from screaming and crying and vomiting.
“What did it show you!?”
“My arm, my arm!”
The hand let go of his hair and he fell just shy of his sick, looking blearily up at Altaïr through teary eyes. He was shaking his head slowly, hood pulled down around his neck.
Malik looked at his left side.
All remained as it had before he had touched the apple. His shoulder curved into the beginnings of an arm and then left his robe sleeve hauntingly empty, the hem pinned up. His only hand flew to grope the nub disbelievingly. It had been there; he had felt it grow back!
“It was here! It was right here!”
“Malik...”
Malik tore off his robe and hauled himself to sit upright, staring at the lump of scarred tissue where his arm should have been and feeling himself begin to shake all over. He had lost it again. It had been rightthere!
“The piece of Eden – it plays tricks.” He could distantly hear Altaïr say as he ran his fingers over the thick and abnormal skin. He shook his head, muttering a mantra of 'no's. Altaïr's hand landed on his right shoulder, the touch attempting to calm him. “Please, Malik.”
But wait!
Malik ran his fingers over it again.
That bump. It was new.
He brought the stub up as if extending his arm, trying his best to catch sight of the growth. He ran his index finger over it again. It was white. Smooth. He tapped it with his fingernail to try and feel the bite but none came. He pressed and tugged at it eagerly. The joint of his shoulder to arm felt the movement.
FILL [1.b/?]
A slap of cold rushed over his face. He fell to his side as icy water seeped into the collar of his robes and dribble down his neck. The pain was gone, ghosted only by his memory of nails jutting from sensitive skin on his fingers. He gasped and rolled over, supporting himself on his right hand as he vomited onto the flagstone floor. A hand soothingly rubbed his back until he stopped retching and knelt there gasping for breath. Then it slid into his soaked hair and pulled him upright. He hissed in pain and flailed his arms.
“What did you do!? What did it show you!?”
Altaïr.
“Nothing!” He shouted back, hand hitting against the thick plated leather of Altaïr's belt and throat hoarse from screaming and crying and vomiting.
“What did it show you!?”
“My arm, my arm!”
The hand let go of his hair and he fell just shy of his sick, looking blearily up at Altaïr through teary eyes. He was shaking his head slowly, hood pulled down around his neck.
Malik looked at his left side.
All remained as it had before he had touched the apple. His shoulder curved into the beginnings of an arm and then left his robe sleeve hauntingly empty, the hem pinned up. His only hand flew to grope the nub disbelievingly. It had been there; he had felt it grow back!
“It was here! It was right here!”
“Malik...”
Malik tore off his robe and hauled himself to sit upright, staring at the lump of scarred tissue where his arm should have been and feeling himself begin to shake all over. He had lost it again. It had been right there!
“The piece of Eden – it plays tricks.” He could distantly hear Altaïr say as he ran his fingers over the thick and abnormal skin. He shook his head, muttering a mantra of 'no's. Altaïr's hand landed on his right shoulder, the touch attempting to calm him. “Please, Malik.”
But wait!
Malik ran his fingers over it again.
That bump. It was new.
He brought the stub up as if extending his arm, trying his best to catch sight of the growth. He ran his index finger over it again. It was white. Smooth. He tapped it with his fingernail to try and feel the bite but none came. He pressed and tugged at it eagerly. The joint of his shoulder to arm felt the movement.
It was bone.
Malik fainted.