Dust (Of Dust and Darkness) - By Devon Ashley Page 0,47

once hurt. “Thank you, Poppy. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She shrugs. “Burn to death in fiery pain, I guess.”

I do a double-take in her direction; it was an odd thing for Poppy to say, but I let it slide. I rise awkwardly to my feet, reaching for the nearest tree to support my balance. Standing is making me dizzy, which immediately makes me nauseous. “Let’s go home, Poppy. I don’t feel so well.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, looking at me in confusion. “We are home.”

“What? No we’re not. Come on, I don’t want to play anymore. I just want to fly home.”

“Fly home? You can’t fly silly. You haven’t got any wings.”

Instinctively, I try fluttering my wings, readying my eyes for the biggest eye roll ever. But nothing flutters. Just as I reach around to check the base of my wings, I catch my own reflection in the brook.

I gasp in utter horror. My wings are gone!

I really hate waking up on this floor. There’s an obvious difference between sleeping and passing out. With sleeping, I’m able to move around enough to keep my body from staying in one position too long. With passing out, I’m stuck in that position the entire time and it doesn’t feel good when I awake. I ache all the way to the core of my bones. Surprisingly, my wings, which I expect to be giving off the most excruciating pain ever, are numb of all things. The cartilage that protects the edge of my wings, the veins, and even my spine are oddly pain free. There’s a little tingling going on, but mostly, my entire wing structure is hardly bothering me.

Can shock do this? Am I so far gone my body doesn’t acknowledge pain anymore?

I gently apply some pressure to the three areas, and sure enough, I feel very little. With sixty-eight breaks, I should be crying and screaming right now.

That’s when I realize there’s something different. It takes me a minute to arrange the thoughts in my head into something cohesive.

I just examined my wings…with my eyes!

There’s light…from a lantern on the floor….just sitting there…by itself. I look to the top and see no one, hear nothing. But what surprises me even more than the presence of light and a full bucket of water, is a large cup filled with food.

I lean over and grab the thin wooden container. My eyes bulge when I see that it’s filled to the rim with all sorts of seeds and nuts: wildflower seeds, pumpkin seeds, peanuts, apple seeds, and my all-time favorite, sunflower seeds. This is the most food I’ve received in one sitting since I got here and by far the most variety, so I’m immediately suspicious given my current circumstances. I handle a few pieces but nothing feels weird. Nor do they smell like they’ve been sprayed or coated with anything.

I’m at a loss, unsure of what to make of this. My stomach, however, urges me to eat them regardless of a possible negative outcome. Fearfully, I lift a trembling hand and pop a sunflower seed into my mouth. Hey, I figure if I’m going to die of poison, then I’m going to at least savor my favorite flavor before I do. The seed is everything I expect – crunchy and nutty tasting – and nothing I don’t. I figure they’re safe to eat.

Part of me – the hungry, growling stomach part – wants me to devour the meal in a single bite. The other part of me wants to savor what could very well be the last meal of my life (because I’m still suspicious of this generous, abundant meal). I decide to placate both parts, first by shoveling a few handfuls into my mouth, then savoring the rest of the cup slowly. I’m still working my way through the bottom half when I spot Jack coming down.

I knew it was too good to be true.

I half expect him to tell me he’s glamoured my meal and I’ve been savoring a cup of dried excrement, but I doubt Jack could ever be that cruel – only Finley seems the type so far. For a moment he stands there awkwardly, like he doesn’t know what to do, and his body language leaves me puzzled. I cock my head and squint my eyes, waiting for him to do something other than stare.

“You’re awake.” I think he says it more for himself than expect an actual answer from me. Wordlessly, he pulls