Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I still feel like the bad guy, though. And I cry a little under the blankets as we travel, riding on the sled that he’s pulling. Because I’m stupid and weak and human and get too tired and slow on my own. So I hide under the blankets and nap, because napping’s easier than holding a conversation.
I sleep all through the afternoon and wake up toward evening, when the sleds stop and tents are unpacked. There’s a bonfire being prepared, but I don’t feel much like being chatty. I slide out of my nest tucked between bundles on the sled, and my muscles groan a protest. I’ve ridden for the last two days. Why is everything so sore?
Then I realize I’m sore between my thighs, and I’m both embarrassed and sad.
“Are you all right?” Pashov asks, worry on his face as he sees me waddle forward a few awkward steps. “Do you need to see the healer?”
“I’m okay.” I pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders. “Where’s your mother? I should feed Pacy.” Kemli, bless her heart, has had my baby all afternoon. Maybe she sensed I wasn’t feeling like myself, but the moment she volunteered, I handed him over. Of course, then I felt guilty that I was passing him off to his grandma, and I might have cried a little over that, too.
Man, I’ve been a weepy mess lately.
He tries to take my hand. “They are setting their tent near the others. I will show you.”
“I can find it,” I say quickly, and pull my hand from his.
Pashov nods, his expression carefully blank. “I shall set up our tent, then.”
I hesitate. It’s on the tip of my tongue to beg him to go sleep somewhere else tonight. That even if it’s cold, I don’t think my heart can take another round of this. I glance away, and he turns his back. His tail flicks, and I realize he’s agitated. That’s one of Pashov’s little tells—he’s good at hiding his emotions sometimes, but his tail always gives him away. The side-to-side flick it’s doing right now tells me that he’s waiting for me to kick him out. And then what? Force him to sleep alone by the fire? Shiver by myself? I need to be a mature adult. His shoulders don’t seem as broad today, now that I look at him again. They’re slumped, as if he’s disappointed.
And that makes me hurt all over again. He expects me to reject him. He knows as well as I do that something went wrong last night.
Why does that surprise you, idiot? The moment he came you cried like a fool for an hour and then fell asleep. That has to hurt.
God, I’m just making things worse. I’ve never wanted to hurt Pashov. Ever. I watch him as he unties a strap on the sled, and I bite my knuckle. Should I say something? That I know he’s doing his best? That the problem is in my head? But will that even help? I watch him for a moment and retreat to the fire, because I’m a coward.
I see Kemli’s sharp face before I make it to the fire. Pashov’s mother has a face like a hawk, all pointy chin and strong nose. She’s the opposite of Sevvah, who’s round everywhere, with looping gray braids. Kemli’s hair has streaks of white mixed in with the black, but she doesn’t look much like the mom of three adults and one almost-adult. She’s a fantastic mother-in-law, though, for how fierce she looks. I see her holding Pacy on one hip, talking to Farli and bossing Borran around as he spits what looks like a fresh-killed quill-beast over the newly made fire.
When she spots me, her eyes light up with pleasure, and she waves me over. “My daughter! Just the person I wished to see.”
I smile at her and hope I’m hiding my heartache well. One of the best things about resonating to Pashov the moment I arrived was that I had a ready-made family to greet me and make me comfortable here. Other girls haven’t been so lucky, and I adore Kemli and Borran. I just worry I’m disappointing them now with how difficult this has all been for me. “Sorry if you’ve been looking for me. I was asleep.”
“Not a worry. I am used to going to the community fire and seeing you there, cooking for someone.” She beams. “That will have to wait for a new community fire, I think.”
I do like to cook for people. My instincts lean heavily toward nurturing, and when we first got here, the other girls struggled so much, and I never seemed to struggle. Not with Pashov and his family at my side. So I took up the ‘mother’ role (even though I’m the same age as everyone else) and cooked for people. Two years later, everyone still looks to me for treats, and I admit that I enjoy spoiling everyone in the cave. I miss my janky, makeshift skillet. I miss the fire pit.