The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,72
fire. I sink into the chair.
“I’m having a hard time believing any of it,” he says. “If I hadn’t seen the way the creatures looked . . .”
“They sounded pitiful. I wanted to help them.”
“Yeah,” he grumbles, “I wasn’t too happy when you touched that one.”
I shrink from the memory of its cadaverous skin under my hand. Where are the runa now? How do they survive without shelter, extra clothes, a fire? No wonder they don’t live very long.
“If you want to change," he says, "your pack is there on the bed. I brought it over . . . in case you needed anything. ”
I pull a cloth out to dry myself, and the extra dress Kadee gave me, but I can’t change with Peree three paces away. So I hunch in a chair and listen to him work. He hoots in triumph as flames finally pop and hiss into existence. Then he seems to notice my dilemma.
“Change. I’ll go outside.”
I dry off and pull Kadee’s dress on quickly, then call him back in. “I can turn my back if you want to change,” I tell him.
“That's not necessary.” He sounds amused. His soggy shirt falls to the floor, and I assume his pants are next. The heat from the fire is suddenly stifling. I shuffle things around inside my pack, trying to look unfazed, but who am I kidding? Every sliver of my attention is focused on him.
“What’s that?” he asks.
I realize I’m gripping Peree’s knife, the little bird he carved, and the rabbit’s foot. They were all rolled up in the fabric remnant Bear gave me. I crumple the cloth bear in my hand to hide it, and hold his knife out to him instead.
“Here, I took this out of your pack when we left the caves.”
He takes it from me. “Thanks, I’ve been missing it. And now I can finish your bird. Is that the foot of a rabbit?”
“It’s supposed to be for good luck. A friend gave it to me.”
He plucks the fabric from my hand. “And this? It looks like a fleshie.”
I shrug. “Sewing isn’t exactly a talent of mine. It’s an animal, a bear.”
I wonder if he remembers Bear was the name of the “friend” he saw kissing me. From his silence, I’m fairly sure he does. He hands it back, and I shove it into my pack.
“Our women wear the carved birds on leather ties around their necks,” he says. “I could make a cord for yours, if you want.”
I finger the little carving, then hand it to him, too. “Thank you, I’d like that.”
We warm our dinner, and sit down to eat. There’s a new silence between us that’s uncomfortable, but not awkward. It’s not like we don’t have anything to say, more like we’re bursting to say things we know we shouldn’t. I push the food around my plate. It’s hard to eat with nervous tension like a grasping hand in my gut.
“Your hair’s still wet,” Peree says. “Come over by the fire and let me dry it.”
I scoot closer and turn my back to the flames. He sits to my side, and picks up handfuls of my hair, gently combing his fingers through the damp tangles. He takes his time, working his hands through each section until it dries. I relax slowly, just enjoying the feeling of his hands moving through my hair. After a few minutes, his fingers begin to glide across my shoulders, down my arms, and back up to graze the sensitive skin of my neck, lingering on the bare skin. I tense again. He scoops my hair up and lays it over my shoulder, then traces a looping trail down my back to my waist. The fire feels closer now—like I’m roasting over it.
“I’m going home,” I whisper, “after the Feast.”
His hand pauses at my hip. “What?”
“I'm going back."
"Fenn, I'm not sure my leg is ready for that kind of walking. Can't we wait for awhile?"
"I can't wait. I need to know what’s happening there."
He pulls his hand away. “So I’d just hold you back, is that it?”
“That’s not what I mean–”
“That's exactly what you mean,” he snaps. “I get it. You have a duty to your family and your people. And that’s most important.”
“Peree–”
“Forget it.”
I know what I’m doing. Trying to push him away, afraid of what might happen if I let things go too far. I want to smooth things over, but what can I say? No matter how much I might want to