The first thing Kyle felt was the cold.
It wasn't the chill of a cold room or a bad weather.
This was a deep, marrow-deep frost that made his teeth chatter rhythmically.
When his eyes finally fluttered open, his vision was swimmy and pale, like looking through a thick fog.
He tried to move his hand to rub his face, but his arm felt like it was weighted with lead. He looked down at himself and saw his both arms and left leg, was bandaged.
Both of his arms were wrapped in thick, white linen from wrist to elbow. His left leg, stretched out beneath the thin blanket, was similarly encased in heavy bandaging.
"Don't move or you'll die." a voice uttered. Almost pleadingly
Kyle turned his head slowly. Lyla was sitting on a stool by his bed, her face ghost-white. She looked like she wanted to cry.
"Lyla..."
Kyle's voice was a ghost of its former self.
"What happened? My arms... Why can't I feel my legs?"
