Dust (Of Dust and Darkness) - By Devon Ashley Page 0,12
lips together, desperately trying to spread a single drop between them. My eyes widen at the stream just inches below my feet and my body instinctively squirms to reach for it. The hands upon my arms squeeze tighter and my body weakens into submission.
It’s night and all is dark. The full moon must have passed while I was imprisoned because it’s hard to see beyond the light of the flame. My head still hangs limply so I have no idea where I am, or how far I am from home.
After flying for a few minutes, I am unceremoniously dumped on the ground. The hardened clay beneath me is as uncomfortable as the rock prison I just left, but at least it doesn’t cut my skin. My captors up and leave me, but not alone. Once their light fades to nothing, I hear soft whispers and the pattering of feet approaching. Gentle hands embrace me and lift my upper body.
“Drink this,” a mature female says softly. I feel smoothed wood against my lips followed by a slosh of water. I’m eager but my mouth is slow to react, so my handler tilts the bowl, allowing the water to flow gently into my mouth. The relief is instantaneous, but my mouth is so dry and lifeless I gag on the small amount pooling within. Water trickles down the wrong part of my throat and I involuntarily heave, thrusting air upward to expel it. I choke for several seconds, and more than one pair of hands tries to cradle and comfort my body. “Try again,” the voice says, and I do, this time properly sipping at the water until the bowl runs dry. The water cools the burn I just caused, leaving my lips, mouth and throat refreshed, but not really satisfied. I sigh and lean back, releasing my weight to the hands supporting my back.
My eyes open and I immediately see the moon, just a tiny sliver amongst the bright specks in the midnight blue sky. It’s off to the side in the sky, early in its nightly journey, but the lack of trees around me make it easy to see. Behind me I hear the mature voice say, “Willow, dear, hand me one of the bowls of mash.”
I hear an annoyed huff, followed by a younger female voice answer, “We weren’t given any provisions for her. You know we don’t have enough to feed her too. And by the looks of her, she’s gonna die any moment anyway.”
“Willow!” the older female barks. “I wasn’t asking for permission. Hand me one of the bowls.” The sternness of her voice makes my body tense and I’m relieved she’s on my side at this moment. I can’t see Willow, but in my mind I picture her cowering before what must be a beast of a female.
“Here dear, try this.” I finally see the face that goes with this mature voice and it’s nothing like I expect. Sure, the pixie is several decades older and her poor face is weathered and wrinkled, but it’s the other attributes I didn’t expect. She’s not beastly but pathetically thin. Her cheeks are concave, her eye cavities hollow and the area under her eyes look almost bruised they’re so dark. And all this I can tell under the night’s sky. Come morning – if I survive – I’m sure it’ll look ten times more emaciated.
I’m not sure who’s supporting me from behind, but I appreciate the steady hold as the old pixie gets ready to feed me some type of dark mash in a wooden bowl. My stomach has no interest but my eyes sure do, and they widen with anticipation. She uses a wooden spoon to scoop it up and my lips envelop it, sweeping the substance off the smoothed curvature and into my mouth. My lips are so chapped even the smooth edges of the spoon feel as sharp as a shard of slate. The mash is gritty and mushy at the same time. My taste buds aren’t telling me what I’m eating, but just the texture alone gets my face to wince.
“It’s alright. It’s just some seeds and local berries. Really chew on this. I don’t want you choking.” I obey her command but my mouth is extremely sensitive, and each crack of the seeds on my teeth causes an explosion of pain in my gums. Despite being slicked down with mashed berries, the seeds are hard to go down and pieces get stuck in my