Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Kalos offers me a hand. I take it and realize he’s no longer holding Dingle’s lead. The leash drags through the mud and dirt after the goat, who continues to trot at our sides like a well-trained dog. I make a sound of protest as I spot it. “Don’t worry about him,” Kalos says, as if reading my mind. “He likes it with us. He’s not going anywhere.”
“We should still hold onto his leash, just in case.”
“You worry too much, Elsie.”
Someone has to. The Aspect of Apathy doesn’t worry enough, as far as I’m concerned. “Worrying keeps us safe.”
“I don’t think worrying will do much against assassins,” he comments. “Or poison.”
“Neither of which are on the road with us at the moment, so I’ll stick to worrying, thank you very much.”
He chuckles and gives my hand another squeeze before he lets it go. “I don’t know how you stand being a mortal. Being this wet and muddy is disgusting. I’m positive this is a storm sent by the High Father to humble me.”
I glance over at him, amused. The sourer my mood gets, the brighter his becomes. For some reason, it makes me feel better to see him cheery, even if he’s focused on abandoning our trek. “Is it working? Are you humble?”
“I might look humble, but that’s all.” He flicks a bit of mud off his cloak. “His storms do nothing to me. I don’t care about them.”
“You’re Apathy, you’re not supposed to care about anything.”
“Exactly.” He gives me a reluctant smile that steals my breath, as if we’re sharing a secret between us. “Can I tell you something, Elsie?”
“Of course.” My stomach feels full of nerves. Is this what butterflies in the stomach feel like? All jittery? What’s he going to say? Is he going to confess love for me? Tell me how he’s recanted his ways now that I’ve put my foot down? Spill all his secrets about the whole Belara thing?
“We should get off the road soon. There’s a village farther up.”
Oh. Or we could talk about villages, I guess. I don’t know why I’m disappointed. I glance up ahead, but between the steaming ground and the steady drench of rain, visibility is nil. “How can you tell?”
“I can feel them. Pockets of humanity have a throb to them that every god feels.”
Really? That’s fascinating. “Do you feel if they’re healthy or sick?”
“I can when I’m at home.” He shoots me a sly look. “When I’m seated upon my throne of scabs.”
I snort.
“I know you don’t want to kill anyone, but robbery is a victimless crime.”
I think he and I have very different ideas of “victimless crimes.” “I guess we could try and find some odd jobs if there’s a town and it’s safe for us to go there. Maybe we can work to earn enough food and a bit of coin for the road.”
“Ugh. Have it your way.” He’s not thrilled with my suggestion but shrugs anyhow. “I’m not sure why you’d want to work when there’s ways around it.”
I remind myself that he’s Apathy. “Because there’s nothing wrong with working for what you want.”
“Mm.”
“Don’t ‘mm’ me,” I say, laughing despite the situation. I’m hungry, I’m cold, I’m wet, and I’m tired, but for some reason, Kalos’s disdain for a bit of manual labor strikes me as funny. “What, do you think I’m going to march up to someone’s door and ask if the god of disease can clean their stables? I’ll work. You just hide out and watch Dingle or something.”
“I don’t like that you have to do everything.”
“So you’re going to work alongside me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
I laugh again.
We head toward the direction Kalos points to and sure enough, within an hour, I see the lights of a village just as it grows dark and the rain dies off. The sight of it is so overwhelming I want to cry with joy. Or collapse. I do neither, though, because it’s muddy and I suspect if I sit down, I’m not going to be able to get back up.
By the time we get to the village proper, it’s very late and all the houses are dark. There’s an open-faced stable near the edge of town, but every time we approach, the horses get nervous. Dingle starts bleating his loud angry/hungry cry, and no amount of fabric offered to him shuts him up. He wants food.
I don’t blame him. I want food, too.
The inn doors are closed and there’s a plaque on the door with unfamiliar writing. Probably “no vacancy” judging from how tight it’s locked down. Frustrated and exhausted, we head back out to the nearby fields, resting against a farmer’s split-rail fence while Dingle pulls up tufts of grass and chews away.
Kalos sits next to me, his clothing as sodden and uncomfortable as mine. “Was this what you expected when you offered to join me?”