Are you from another planet?

There's a reason movies and dramas employ the artifice of slow motion for certain pivotal moments—to stretch out the suspense!

But real life doesn’t operate on such convenient delays. It's supposed to happen in a flash!

"Careful!"

Just as her camera hit the ground, a strong hand grasped her waist, hauling her back from the edge of disaster.

Elena looked up. Mere inches separated her face from his. A man, a stranger, stood before her, his form etched against the blurring backdrop.

"Are you alright?" he asked with concern.

Now that he spoke, Elena could see him clearly. His lips were a soft red, and she noticed a subtle quirk at the corner of his mouth added to his captivating features. His eyebrows, dark and perfectly arched, drew together in a furrow of concern, a stark contrast to the sun-kissed perfection of his skin. And then there were his eyes— dazzling pairs of iris casts off rare amber shades, shimmering with an otherworldly depth that seemed to pull her in.

For a fleeting moment, as their gazes locked, Elena found herself suspended in a realm beyond reality, questioning if this man was a deity in disguise.

Finally, her voice, a mere whisper, trembled as she extended a quivering finger towards the spot where she had last glimpsed him. "But... you... weren’t you just over there?" The question hung in the air, unfinished and fraught with disbelief.

Before she could gather her thoughts to complete the sentence, searing pain shot up her leg.

Wooden spears, crudely fashioned yet deadly, had impaled her trousers, their tips biting into the soft flesh of her ankle. A searing pain shot up her leg, and Elena cried out. She tried to pull her foot free, but it was firmly lodged in the treacherous depths of the shallow pit, typically used by hunters to trap pheasants.

Gritting her teeth against the onslaught of agony, she managed to force out a strained, "My ankle! It's caught!" she gasped.

"Let me see," he offered, his tone gentle and reassuring.

As he carefully lowered her to the ground, Elena's gaze fell upon the wound. The horror was magnified tenfold.

The wooden spear pierced Elena's leg, the tip burrowing into her flesh, thick, viscous blood pulsed in steady rhythm. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she fought to suppress the urge to scream.

With practised efficiency, the man takes off the fine leather bag over his shoulder, placing it on the ground. His fingers danced across the worn leather, extracting a metal box. He opened it with a deft movement, revealing a collection of glass vials and cloth. An amber glass bottle, filled with a mysterious liquid, caught her eye.

"I have to halt the bleeding and clean the wound," he explained, his voice calm in the face of the chaos. His words, though simple, carried an authority that belied his appearance.

A flicker of doubt ignited within her. His composure was unsettling. How could someone be so calm in the face of such a gruesome injury? And where had he acquired medical expertise? Panic surged through her veins, transforming the man into a potential threat.

"Wait!" she cried, her voice trembling with fear. She scooted backward, her body language screaming for distance. Her wound suddenly seemed less important than her safety.

Her lungs burned as she inhaled sharply, a stark contrast to the usual rhythm of her controlled breathing. A wave of doubt crashed over her. Somehow, in the span of a few terrifying minutes, her curiosity had transformed into a full-blown case of paranoia. A cliché, she knew, but the old adage about charming men being dangerous had never felt so acutely relevant. A shiver ran down her spine as she realised the disturbing truth— most psychopaths were, in fact, often packaged in deceptively attractive and intelligent exteriors.

Her voice, a stark departure from its usual confident timbre, emerged as a breathless whisper. "I can't determine whether you are a licensed practitioner or not," she stammered, her eyes darting around, searching for an escape route. "And I perfectly, clearly saw you there!"

His retreat, a subtle acknowledgment of her distress, offered a fleeting moment of relief. "I mean you no harm," he assured her, his eyes holding a depth of sincerity that was both compelling and unsettling. "I'm only a healer, roaming this forest for medicinal herbs."

The concept of a healer is rare but the reasons seem to make sense to Elena. Perhaps her fear had gotten the better of her. Just as she was about to respond, a sharp pang of pain lanced through her again.

His face, previously etched with concern, now morphed into a mask of genuine worry. "At least let me tend to your wound," he urged, his voice gentle but firm. "It could get infected." He remained where he was, respecting her boundaries.

Elena helplessly nodded, stuck in the middle of a forest, even if she escaped, her injury would undoubtedly slow her down. And the thought of running simply to fuel his twisted amusement was a terrifying prospect. With a defeated sigh, she resigned herself to her fate, her nod a silent surrender.

There was little choice left.

He moved with a swift efficiency that belied his gentle demeanour. Firstly he cleansed his hands with a clear liquid, the scent of pine and something faintly medicinal filling the air and then dried them thoroughly on a small, clean cloth. . "My name is Theon Horatio," he introduced himself, his voice a soothing counterpoint to the stark reality of their situation. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

A flicker of disbelief crossed Elena's face as a wry smile tugged at her lips.

Was that a new type of pickup line? Elena managed to suppress the scoff that threatened to escape, but the amusement in her eyes was evident.

"Elena. Elena Silas." She replied, offering her hand in a gesture of formality. "Nice to meet you, Theo."

His gaze lingered on her outstretched hand for a moment before he shook his head, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Elena. A beautiful name," he complimented. "I apologise if this seems rude, but shaking hands might contaminate your wound," he explained, his focus shifting back to the task at hand. "It's Theon, by the way. You mispronounced it."

Elena rolled her eyes, a gesture born more from surprise than irritation. She was accustomed to the smooth charm of city slickers, not the sharp wit and dry humour of a man who seemed to have stepped out of a wilderness survival guide.

Despite the dire circumstances, she found herself strangely drawn to him.

The pain, however, was a relentless overture, discomfort growing louder by the second. The injured area throbbed, a sensation that was at once searing and numbing.

She attempted a smile, a thin, strained line that stretched across her face. "Theo sounds nice too, I'm going to call you that." She said, her voice a shaky counterpoint to the forced cheerfulness. "I'm more into science fiction than fairy tales, so which planet are you from? Because I definitely first saw you a few feet away from me."

Her attempt at humour was met with a genuine chuckle, catching Elena off guard.

So, he did have a sense of humour.

"Sure, my pleasure. You can call me, Theo," he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "But, I'm afraid you might assume I'm a psychological imbalance if I tell you the truth."

"Well, tell me," she challenged, a touch of defiance in her voice. "I'm going to assume I'm being delirious due to the pain."

He hesitated, his expression turning serious. "Are you in a lot of pain Elena?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. "I apologise, I don't have the proper medical supplies to treat you. Right now, I'm just cleaning and bandaging it to prevent infection until you can get proper care."

Elena nodded, her discomfort increasing. "I can't quite describe it," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "It burns, but it's also numb. It's strange."

His expression grew more serious as he noticed something concerning the wound. The swelling had intensified, and an unnatural discoloration was spreading outward. Alarm flickered in his eyes as he gently pressed on the area around the wound.

"Elena," he said, his voice urgent. He took her wrist and checked her pulse, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then, he placed a hand on her forehead. Her skin was hot and clammy. His expression hardened as he realised the gravity of the situation.

A sense of urgency washed over him.

He sensed the danger. A cold dread seeped into Theo's core, replacing the initial calm he had, his heart pounded in his ears as he connected the dots.

The rapid deterioration of Elena's condition, the unusual discoloration of the wound, the spear itself - all pointed to a sinister conclusion. Panic threatened to consume him, but he forced himself to remain calm, to think clearly. Every second counted.

"The spear is poisoned!" he exclaimed, his voice sharp and urgent.

Without a moment's hesitation, he gently lifted Elena, cradling her in his arms, his calm demeanour that clawed at his insides.

He knew he had to get her out of there and find help– fast.