his, his fingers loosely holding mine.
His eyes trace my body, looking for the source of my pain. He leans down to my torn and bloody jeans. Just below my knee, the fabric is ripped away and I gasp when I see the shredded flesh underneath. A shaking breath escapes my lips in a half cry as he pushes the material away from the wound.
Without a second’s hesitation, he unsheathes his blade and slices open his palm in one quick movement. His blood pools in his palm. He brushes his hand gently over my leg where the flesh is torn and bone can be seen.
The light pressure he puts on the wound is enough to make me see spots. My weight gives out; my mother holds me up like a child at bedtime. I bite my lip to muffle my pain, my fingers clinging to her shoulders.
It feels like hours pass, but the pain is gone as quickly as it came. Asher releases a heavy breath and lowers his hand. I swallow hard, blinking back the unshed tears. I breathe out short spurts, trying to calm my racing heart. I take a small nervous step, putting a bit of weight on my left leg.
I wait for the shooting agony, but it never comes. I bend down next to Asher. His palm has already healed under the smear of blood on his hands. I touch my bloody skin under the ripped fabric. Just like Asher, my wound is healed. My fingers run over the smooth unblemished skin. My shin tingles under the touch of my fingers. A warmth spreads through the limb. It feels a bit restless like the blood flow is a current beneath the skin.
“Are you alright?” he asks again, his silver eyes searching mine.
I give a small confused but grateful nod as I try to process what just happened. Ky’s bag rustles. The small opening between the zipper reveals Ripper’s curious little nose. A part of me is even more thankful Ky didn’t throw out his pack at the first sign of trouble.
Ten
An Explanation
After crossing the river, we set up camp. Everyone is wet and tired from the excursion. Everyone except Ripper who, once released from the bag, ran around in circles like he’d just been released from a ten-year stint on the inside.
In blossoming orange and reds, the sun sets, and we fall into our strange but normal routine. Asher found dinner—rabbits. I’ve come to notice he never kills more than we can eat, and I can’t help the warm comfort I find in his unnatural kindness.
With a clatter of sticks and crunching leaves, Ky sets up a fire as my mother and I collect water at the river for the next day. We all eat with little talking. Part of me is thankful to avoid speaking of the incident at the river.
It’s cooler tonight. The breeze isn’t stiflingly warm against my skin like normal but actually cool and soothing. Ky volunteers to take watch. Asher argues, but I think it bothers Ky that he isn’t taking watch over us. My mother and I have been his family for as long as I can remember. They were childhood friends and now lifelong friends.
Asher seems to understand Ky’s need to protect us, letting his protests quiet against his lips and conceding to Ky’s demand to keep look out. Asher sets up his pallet of light blankets, and I wait to see if he’ll actually sleep.
It only takes about half an hour before my mother joins Ky on the river bank. Their whispered voices can be heard in the silence. I can also hear my mother’s laugh. After everything that’s happened, Ky can still make her laugh.
I smile to myself as I look into the fire that has warmed and dried my now crisp clothing. Asher plays with the shiny tabs at the top of the instrument he’s carried with him since we left the house. He had to dump river water out of it, but it seems to work fine, I guess.
He twists six metal nobs back and forth, strumming quickly on each string before returning back to the nobs at the top. He does this relentless strumming and turning for nearly fifteen minutes. The repetitive noise is harsh and grating on my nerves, but then he stops and his fingers begin moving seamlessly along the thin board lined with strings. He simultaneously strums individual chords with his other hand. The noise is shaky at first, then he finds