“Bloody hell,” he muttered then he picked me up, I slid my arms around his shoulders and shoved my face in his neck as he carried me back to the hides.
“I wanna go home,” I snuffled into his neck.
“You can’t,” he told me as he went down to a knee and placed me on the hides but I didn’t let go of his neck, in fact, I clutched him tighter.
“I don’t like it here,” I told him, my voice held tremors, the tears kept falling.
“Orlando will be working to –”
I cut him off by wailing, “I ate Thumper!”
Then I shoved my face further into his neck and arched into his body.
“Thumper?”
I yanked my face out of his neck and stared at him. “A furry bunny! I ate bunny! Bunnies are cute! You don’t eat them!” I cried then pushed my face into his neck, tightened my arms around his shoulders and pressed my body to the solid heat of his.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his arms sliding around me as he settled on his side in the hides, his body facing mine, mine pressed tight to his, his arms staying around me.
“I wanna go home.”
“Let Orlando do his work.”
“I don’t like it here,” I repeated.
“Cora, calm yourself,” he ordered on a squeeze of his arms.
This was good advice and I tried. I took heavy, broken breaths and closed my eyes tight. It took awhile and, along with the tears, it exhausted me so when my sobbing subsided, I was tuckered out.
But I didn’t let him go. He was real. He was warm. He was strong. He saved me from that thing. He fed me. He took me someplace safe, dry and warm (ish). He was a jerk, he hated me but he was taking care of me. In this strange land, if I didn’t have him, I would be royally screwed (more than I already was, that was).
“Thank you for taking care of me,” I whispered, pushing closer to his body.
That body got tight.
“But I don’t want to eat bunny anymore.” I was still whispering.
“Fine, Cora, I’ll not hunt bunny anymore,” he sounded slightly amused, slightly surprised and slightly annoyed, a strange combination that worked for him. “Go to sleep,” he said on another squeeze of his arms.
I pulled in another breath and sleep came closer.
Then I mumbled, “Pray God, those things don’t harm her.”
His body again got tight.
“Pray God,” I repeated softly.
“Sleep,” his voice rumbled the order.
“She tra la’ed and danced on her toes. Anyone who tra la’s and dances on their toes shouldn’t be harmed, even by those things. No, especially by those things.”
“Cora, what did I say?”
I fell silent.
Then, on the edge of sleep, I whispered so low it was barely audible, “I hope Aggie’s okay.”
I felt his arms squeeze one last time before I was dead to the world.