The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,38
ragged edges. I pull out the pouch Marjoram sent with me, squeezing and sniffing each smaller pack inside until I find the paste of agrimony and yarrow leaves. Peree hisses as I mop the blood and pat the mixture into place.
“This is my fault,” I whisper. “If I hadn’t said not to kill her, if you hadn’t had to push me away, you wouldn’t have been hurt.”
“Not your fault,” he says. “Should’ve . . . focused on my target.”
“That’s my point, you were focused on me, and you shouldn’t have had to be.” I dig Calli’s extra dress out of my pack and tear the bottom into strips. Fumbling with the cloth, I wrap it around his leg and tie it off. He moans, his body shaking. I hold his hand, wishing there was more I could do.
“Can you walk?” I ask, when the shudders begin to slow.
“One way to find out.” He makes a move to stand, and I put my arm around him to help. He limps forward a few steps. “I’ll manage."
I listen for the animal, but I can’t hear her ragged breath anymore. “Is she dead?”
“I think so.”
I bend down to find the body, and stroke her coarse fur. She smells of dust and scrubland, but of something far wilder, too. Where did she come from, and how did she survive the flesh-eaters and still feed her litter?
“Do you really think she’s a tiger?” I stand, supporting him again. He lays his arm across my shoulders.
“I’ve never seen anything like her.”
“What do we do about the young?”
“If we leave them, they’ll starve.” He pauses. “We could give them to . . .”
The flesh-eaters groan, like they know his thoughts. I tense. “No.”
“Starvation isn’t any kinder,” he says.
“No! The Scourge has taken enough. We’re not giving them this, too.”
He squeezes my shoulders. “Okay, then. Why don’t you go on? I’ll take care of them.”
I shake my head. “I’ll stay. We’re not separating anymore, remember?”
We walk toward the yipping babies. I know touching them will make what we have to do even harder, but I can’t help myself. I reach out and find a tiny warm body, cradling it to my chest. Its teeth prick my fingers like tiny sewing needles.
Tears fill my eyes. “Peree . . . ”
“We can’t leave them,” he says, “and we can’t take them with us. We barely have enough food between us.”
I place the baby back with its littermates and stumble down the passage. Sliding to the floor, I press my hands over my ears. A few minutes later, Peree leans against the wall next to me. His breathing is uneven.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I couldn’t do it.”
He doesn’t speak for a minute. “When I was first learning to hunt, Shrike and I came across a possum. He wanted me to shoot it. I couldn’t. I was ashamed, but he hugged me and said, ‘Never confuse compassion with weakness.’ I haven’t forgotten his words.” He shifts his pack onto his back. “We’d better get moving. I don’t know how long I’m good for.”
I wipe my eyes on my sleeve, and jump up. “We should go back.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“Even if we find the Waters soon, which isn’t likely, we still have a long walk back.”
“Exactly, so let’s see if we can find something before we have to turn around.”
“Peree, I don’t–”
He limps away. I catch up and put my shoulder under his arm to support him. The groans fade behind us. Loathing for the Scourge leaves me trembling.
“I hate them. They ruin everything,” I say.
“I know.”
“I can’t help wishing . . . ”
“What?”
“Nothing,” I mutter.
He turns to me, his lips near my ear. “Tell me.”
I shrug, covering the little shiver that moved down my body. “Do you ever think about how things would be different without them? I know it’s pointless, but I can’t help picturing what it would be like if we could live wherever we wanted. Groundlings and Lofties, I mean. We could all live on the ground, or in the trees.”
“Would your people want to? Live with us, I mean?”
I consider his question. Some might be willing. Fox and Acacia. Bream, maybe even Aloe. Then I think of Adder or Thistle living side by side with Lofties, and I sigh. “Some would, some wouldn’t. There’s a lot of distrust.”
“What about you? Do you trust me?”
I hesitate. “I think so.”
He chuckles. “Honesty. Another quality I admire.” He stumbles, and grunts in pain.