WILLA
Anguish.
That was the first thing I felt when I came to.
A deep, throbbing pain pulsed through the back of my skull, sharp and unrelenting, like someone had split my head open with an axe.
I groaned, shifting slightly to my right. Something prickly and dry scratched against my cheek — cold, brittle, and smelling strongly of decay.
I forced my eyelids open, blinking slowly against the heavy fog in my head.
The world blurred and tilted — streaks of brown and faded green swimming in and out of focus.
"Shit," I murmured as nausea surged. I snapped my eyes shut for a moment, then opened them again.
This time, my vision adjusted. I glanced to my right as the cold, prickly substance scratched my skin once more.
"Dead grass," I whispered. I was lying in a patch of it, right at the base of a tree.
My gaze traveled upward. Tall trees loomed overhead like dark sentinels, their branches swaying gently.
