Leah's Hero - Miranda Martin Page 0,4

up about every fourth word. I’m far from fluent in it, unlike Riley. Ziva is picking it up incredibly fast too. I’d probably be better if… well if I felt like it mattered. Like anything mattered.

“We need to gather more food,” Asia says.

Asia is thin and her black hair contrasts starkly with her pale skin, making her look almost like a ghost or something. She’s fairly flat-chested, but she has an ass that goes on for days.

“I’ll go,” Allie volunteers. “Who’s with me?”

“I think Leah should go,” Mick says, fixing me with a piercing glare.

My blood freezes. I open my mouth to protest, but words won’t come out. My throat clenches shut, and tears well up behind my eyes again.

“She’s fine,” Allie says.

“No, she’s not,” Mick says.

Mick’s mop of brown hair falls into her eyes, the only thing that breaks her glare in the slightest. I close my mouth, swallow, trying to force moisture back into my mouth. I can’t go outside. I can’t.

“Let her be,” Michael says.

Michael is the only male survivor of the crash. He has a baby face with wispy bits of hair that would be a beard on any other man. He moves around the table to stand beside me.

“Why?” Mick asks, placing a hand on her hip. “Why should I? We’re all pulling our weight, and she eats more than the rest of us. She can help more.”

“She’s hurting. It’s fine,” Allie says, defending me.

God! I want to crawl under something and hide. I can’t defend myself. I’m worthless!

“We’re all hurting!” Mick slams her fist down on the table. “We all crashed. We all lost everything. Why does she get to be a special princess? I thought Ziva was the only princess here!”

“Hey!” Ziva says, interjecting herself at last.

Everyone is angry, glaring. Lots of people start talking, and I can’t take it. I cover my head with my arms and the tears overwhelm me. The dam has broken. They fall free and I can’t stop them.

2

URUKOL

My knife slides through the meat easily, cutting it into thin strips. The pan is hot, white wisps of smoke drifting off of it. I sprinkle the meat with seasoning, turn it over and season the underside as well, then let it set.

I dip my fingers into the bowl of water and sprinkle drops onto the hot pan. Satisfying sizzles crackle and I know it’s ready. I lay the strips of meat onto it then turn my attention to the salad. Using a different knife, I chop the leaves into bite-sized chunks with rapid motions. Once finished I toss the processed vegetables into a bowl.

I turn the meat over before stirring the sauce, then chop the next part of the salad. I use a maul to smash a big handful of nuts into small chunks and sprinkle them across the bowl of salad. A quick spin of the bowl shifts the leaves and nuts around, and I drizzle a light oil over everything. Once more I toss the mixture until the oil I pressed from nuts has permeated through the meal.

After removing the meat from the pan, I let it sit on a rack to rest. While everything settles, I move the used dishes over next to my cleaning station. I lay out bowls, scoop salad into each one then lay strips of meat in an interweaving design on top of each one. I step back to examine the overall effect and find it pleasing.

Satisfied, I move the bowls to the dining table. One set at each chair where my brothers will take their meal. They’ll return from the hunt soon. I’m sure the hunt will have been successful. They are able warriors, after all. What warrior would return empty-handed?

Except me. I would. I’m not a warrior, though, not anymore.

My missing left wing feels like it’s twisting and cramping at the thought, and I grit my teeth, forcing myself to ignore it. Times like this, it feels like my wing is still there. That the accident never happened, that I’m still the male I was.

Stupid.

The pain shoots into my shoulder. I stop moving the bowls to the table and massage it. The scar tissue twists the muscle there, making it stiff. I rotate my arm and shoulder trying to work the kink out of it.

The pain finally passes, and I sigh in relief then finish setting the table. Rain drums against the roof, some of it dripping into the living space. I’ll climb up and do some repairs the next