Total pages in book: 193
Estimated words: 184001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 920(@200wpm)___ 736(@250wpm)___ 613(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 184001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 920(@200wpm)___ 736(@250wpm)___ 613(@300wpm)
It means life points the way home.
And if I had to guess, I’d say it was Maia that I woke up on.
Suddenly, Thorin’s insistence on making me study the map of the Cold Peaks for an hour each day doesn’t seem so unnecessarily cruel now. Without those sessions, I’d be completely fucked with no chance of mapping a way home. There’s still a chance of me getting lost though, since Thorin and I never got to the part of his plan where he’d drop me off somewhere random and force me to find my way home.
It won’t be easy barefoot and without my pack, but left with no choice, I start down the rocky slope that Bane must have carried me up. The thing I’ve learned about traversing mountains and untamed landforms is that you often have to go around to go through and up to go down, which is no less true in this case. By the time I reach the foothills, my feet are scraped raw and blistered from being ravaged by the ground. I’m leaving bloody footprints in my wake, and I’m limping by the time I reach the foothills.
I don’t know how I expect to make it all the way back to the cabin, but I know I have to try. I can’t wait for them to rescue me. Khalil and Thorin will check Maia, but they won’t think to look for us on this side of the mountain. It could be days before they are desperate enough to consider it.
Unable to take another step, I lean against the boulder at the base of the rocky path and tell myself I’ll only need a few minutes. After ten, I still haven’t moved. All that lies before me is more desert. Without the high vantage point the cave provided, I’m quickly disoriented. I have no idea which way to fucking go.
I’m contemplating hiking back up to the cave to reset when I lean back to stretch my sore muscles and my fingers brush something damp and soft like a sponge. Standing, I limp around the boulder I was using like a chair, and my heart speeds up a little when I find a patch of moss growing on the opposite side.
There was some of it in the cave, but I’d been too focused on leaving to consider what it meant.
Moss means moisture.
Moisture means I’m not going to fucking die.
There’s more of it on the rocks ahead, the moss growing thicker until it covers most of the surface on the rocks and mountain face. I follow that life-saving green with my gaze to a gap in the wall that would have been easy to miss without the moss pointing to it like an arrow. The passage is narrow, only wide enough for one person to fit through at a time, but already I can see moisture clinging to the walls.
Ignoring the pain in the soles of my feet, I jog toward the gap. It’s a tight squeeze, and I wonder how Bane carried me through it. It had to be him since Zeke, and even Seth, would have had the self-preservation to go back to the cabin.
It takes me a few minutes to reach the other end of the passage, and when I do, I’m met with the most beautiful sight.
Foliage.
Some of the trees are downturned from the storm, and I can see rain clouds in the distance. I’m limping along the soggy earth that is like a balm to my abused feet, and after a while my dried skin and hair becomes damp from the mist cooling the air.
Despite feeling closer to home, my steps become slower and slower, but I force myself to keep going. I keep pushing toward the storm that marks my way home. I know I’m getting close when the sky grows darker, and the mist becomes a steady drizzle.
The ground is becoming dangerously slick, and I have my arms up to keep my balance as I hurry down the slope. The muscles in my calves are twinging from the abuse, but I ignore them too as that voice in my head returns telling me to go, go, go.
The rain is coming down in sheets now, but I can’t stop, not even when my body begs me to risk taking some of the rainwater in my palm and drink. I’m pushing my body too far. It’s been hours since I had anything to eat or drink, I’m wounded, and I might have a concussion from whatever knocked me out.
Brightly colored spots begin to shield my vision, and my tongue feels like sandpaper.
A wave of dizziness overcomes me, and the world begins to shift. I’m falling before I even realize I’ve lost control, and the last thing I see before I lose consciousness is a blurred figure walking through the storm toward me.