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)
And I said I was going to try harder, and I mean that. As he leaves, I hold Pacy close and look at the three little plates that Pashov must have spent hours whittling down for me. Funny how I’ve been telling myself he can’t care for us like he used to, and then he goes and does something as small and meaningful as that.
I can do something similar, then.
Back before his accident, Pashov loved my cooking. He’s never been completely fond of plain old roasted meat, but some of the concoctions I’ve come up with he’s loved. He likes my soups, the little cakes I make from not-potato, and he especially loves the spicy little meat pies I make by combining seeds and ground up not-potato to form a type of crumbly dough. I was going to make him some of those the day of the cave-in, and the knot in my throat swells in remembrance. That time is gone, I remind myself. Look forward. Your mate is alive and healthy and wants to reconnect with you. Let it happen.
I should.
I let Pacy finish nursing. When he crawls out of my lap and heads for the basket of bones, I get up and grab a pack of the food supplies. Pashov’s mother, Kemli, is our plant expert, and she’s been in a gathering frenzy ever since the cave-in, trying to restock what we lost. As a result, I know we have a fair amount of herbs for flavoring. The herbs here on the ice planet are different than the ones at home—some are pine-needle-like and stripped from small bushes. Some are a lichen that grows on rock, and there are a few types of strong, peppery seeds in a leather pouch. I dig through the supplies in the cave and find a couple of dried roots, but no not-potato. I’m disappointed, because I really want to make the meat pies for Pashov. I want to see if food can jog his memory. Didn’t I see that in a movie once? If anything would bring his memory back, it’d be those pies.
I make a noise of frustration, staring down at the dried, twisted roots in my hand. These are good for stew, but not for the pies.
While I’m frowning down at the roots, the privacy screen is pulled back and Pashov enters. He has a snowy, frozen carcass in hand, and his mane and shoulders are covered in snow. More drifts in as he steps inside, carefully replacing the screen.
“How’s the weather?” I ask, putting the roots down.
“Warmer than yesterday,” he tells me, shaking off the snow. “But still snowing.”
“Do you think the others are all right?” I feel a little guilty that we’re the only ones who stopped on our journey.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t they be?”
“Because it’s a blizzard,” I point out. But if he’s not worried, I guess I shouldn’t be.
“The humans will not freeze. Their mates will keep them warm.”
I don’t know how to take that comment. Is he implying that I won’t let my mate keep me warm? Is that why we stopped? Or is it an innocent remark and I’m picking it apart? Probably the latter.
Pashov removes his cloak and sets the carcass down by the stones of the fire. He gestures at the roots that Pacy’s currently trying to pull from my hands. “Are you hungry? I can thaw a chunk of this—”
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “There are trail rations to eat. I actually wanted to cook you something. A surprise.”
The look of astonished pleasure on his face is painful to see. “You would make food…for me?”
“Of course. You loved my cooking before.” My heart aches, and I feel guilty all over again. Have I truly been this awful to be around? “I thought you might like it if I cooked something for you today.”
“Nothing would please me more.”
“Nothing?” I can’t help but tease.
The look he sends my way is playful. “Perhaps one thing would. But I enjoy cooking as well.”
I giggle. “Cooking is all you are going to get today.”
“Today,” he agrees. “Tomorrow is a new day.”
And I can’t stop laughing, because this teasing side? This is my Pashov, for sure. My heart suddenly feels lighter than it has in weeks. “I can make stew and a few other tasty bits, but I really wanted to make you meat pies. I need not-potatoes, though. Do you think you can find me one?”
“Not-potato?” He nods and grabs one of the scattered bones to use as a digging stick. “I will be back very soon with your root.”
Pashov leaves the cave, and I move to the carcass. It’s quill-beast, which has a fatty, delicate meat that will be perfect for cooking. I pull out my belt-knife and begin to skin it, thinking about all the tasty things I’ll be able to make for Pashov. Quill-beasts have a layer of blubbery fat that will go great with some shredded not-potato to make my ‘dough’ for my meat pies and…