The boy tried to get up once again, but collapsed back into the creekbed instead. He looked towards the man and told him that he was unable to.
Suddenly, the man was frothing with anger. "Get up!" He screamed, delivering a pulverizing kick to The Boy's side.
The boy rolled over and coughed up blood. For a moment, he sat there - scared out of his mind - watching the blood float down the stream into the distance.
"Up! Get the fuck up!" The man yelled, and prepared a punch.
The girl by the tree began crying.
The man turned to her. "Shut the hell up, you incompetent little bitch. Otherwise, I'm coming to knock you on your ass, next."
Slowly, the man crouched beside the boy. "Listen, kid." He growled menacingly, "They call me The Fetcher. I fetch things..." He pointed at the boy and the girl. "Like yourselves. This doesn't mean I have a perfect record, though."
The stream gurgled, as if it recognized the blood running down its waterway and chuckled at it in companionship.
"Oftentimes, little children can be... Weak." He spat out that last word. "Those don't make it through on my watch. There's millions o' you buggers, and if you don't wanna get up, then I just as well might try another little boy." The Fetcher cocked his head. "We wouldn't want that, would we?"
Shakily, and over the course of several seconds, the boy managed to get his feet under him. Afraid to step back, he looked at the Fetcher expectantly.
The Fetcher, to the boy's surprise, genuinely smiled and ruffled the boy's hair. "See?" He said in his thick cockney, "It's not too hard. Good work kid." He walked over to the tree where the girl sat, motioning for the boy to follow him.
The boy did.