The Daughter of Death- *RAYOR*

Chapter 11: When Everything Went Wrong

"I need to wash."

"No, you don't."

"I smell! And so do you."

"No, we don't!"

Blakely raised an eyebrow. "I am not going on smelling like a rats' nest."

"You smell like one all the time!" I said, though it wasn't true. "What do you think's going to happen? That we'll come across a shower hose in the middle of nowhere? That we're gonna meet a genie that'll grant you three wishes?"

"I'm so BORED!" Blakely screamed at the sky.

"DEAL WITH IT!" I yelled back. "It's getting dark! We can't stop!"

"There's a stream over there!"

"Then go 'over there'!"

"Please stop shouting," Arielle said quietly. "Willow? Please?"

I breathed out loudly. "Fine. We'll stop, Arielle's tired. You got and wash yourself." I spat the last words at Blakely, who slid off her pony and walked off in a huff to the stream.

"Willow?" said Arielle in a small voice. "I'm hungry."

"What do you want?" I asked, relieved to talk to her without Blakely there.

"Chicken."

I tried to strike a flint against a penknife, cursing Blake. We don't need matches. When Blake came back, her dark hair piled on top of her head, I still hadn't lit a fire.

Blake lit a fire without a word and dried off her hair. It was darker when wet, and she looked almost like the reaper I had first met. But now- emotionally- she seemed to have a heart. "You were striking it the wrong way," she said superiorly.

"I'm used to matches," I said, keeping my voice level. "Do you know how to catch game?"

"No," said Blake.

I went about setting traps around the area and took out my crossbow. I was used to the traditional bow and arrow, and it was stiffer than what I was used to. After wasting five or six arrows, I got the feel of it, and left Blake and Arielle to hunt.

I picked up the wasted arrows, which were now blunted, and stuck them into trees as I ran until I saw a clearing. I loaded an arrow, the bowstring tight, and waited. Ten long minutes passed before something rustled. A V-formation of seagulls were flying above, cawing loudly. I raised the crossbow, waited until they were in range, and pulled the trigger.

The arrow whistled.

I missed.

Rolling my eyes as they scattered, I reloaded and waited. After a dozen tries, my spirits were low. I chanced upon three pigeons, flying together, and aimed at the middle one.

There was a snap and a whistling sound, then a thunk. I ran through the trees, squinting until I saw the gleam of polished wood. I picked up the pigeon, removing the arrow carefully, watching the other two fly away. I wondered if I could use the arrow again, shoving it into my quiver and getting blood into my hair.

Maybe I do need to wash, I thought.

By now, nearly two hours had passed, and I was impatient, enough to return with that single pigeon. I returned to Blake and Arielle, retracing my steps, and dropped the pigeon at Blake's feet. "Can you pluck a pigeon?"

She looked appalled. She had lived in a palace before, after all, and blood was still leaking out of the corpse. "Yes, but-"

I nodded at the pigeon and sat down next to Arielle. Just looking at her made my heart warmer. She had an air about her that spoke of innocence and likeability. "Maybe fifteen minutes, Ari," I said.

"I'm tired," she said, resting her head on my shoulder. I put my arm around her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her small form. Being near a half angel had its perks. Her eyelids closed momentarily, her pale lashes fluttering on her cheeks. The firelight danced upon them.

"Don't worry," I said, not knowing what else to say. All my life I had taken care of Arielle, ever since that awful thing that she didn't remember.

"I want to go home," she said, very softly. I felt my heart clench in my chest for her.

"We will soon," I said. "Don't worry. I love you."

Her reply was lost in the crackling of the fire as her breaths became deeper.

Blake dumped a bloody bird on my lap. "I've checked," she said when I looked over it.

"I don't want to choke," I said, suspiciously. She threw her hands up into the air and I flinched involuntarily. A memory flashed before my eyes.

She seemed to notice but pretended not to. "No salt," she said. "It'll taste like smoke and wood."

"It's something," I said.

She punched me lightly on the shoulder. "I didn't think you would catch something, to be honest."

"I wasted a lot of arrows."

"Oh well. We have to start somewhere." At my expression, she rolled her eyes. "I was joking. And I will take care of the arrows."

I fashioned a spit from wood, hanging the pigeon over the fire. "How do you know this? You live in a palace."

Her face fell. "The thing about... all this-" she waved a hand, indicating her job. "You pick up things. Memories."

I looked downward. Suddenly angry, I tried not to look toward Arielle pointedly. She was propped up against a tree.

"It's my job, Willow."

"You enjoy it."

"I just take it seriously," she said, skating over the question. "I'm sorry," she added stiffly, as an afterthought.

I shrugged.

"Tell me about your mum," she said. "Please."

"I'd rather not," I said.

"Then tell me about your dad."

I felt anger boil inside me. "I..."

"Never mind," she said, accepting but disappointed. "You're halfway decent, Willow."

I thought maybe I was supposed to say something nice back. "You're not a murderous psychopath," I said.

She looked disappointed, but laughed. "You're so funny," she said in a taut voice. "Well. I'll set up camp, then." Her voice carried the barest trace of something. "Unless you want to talk."

"We can talk," I said. "The pigeon will be roasting for a while."

She brightened. "Can you tell me about your early childhood? Maybe when you were, I don't know, six?"

I felt my insides turn to stone. Six was the age when everything went wrong. Six was the age when my mother died.