71

Chapter 90

"Grub, anyone?" Bugs drawls absently, sloshing around a ladle full of some thick liquid that certainly would fit the description of 'grub', getting more of the stuff on the ground than in the bowl.
"No, thanks. I'm not hungry." I hold up my hand in protest, so Bugs instead shoves the bowl into the hands of a preoccupied Coal, who blinks in surprise and takes one look down at the muddy brown grub in his hands, then inconspicuously sets the bowl behind the log he's sitting on.
By pooling our resources, we've mustered enough random edible items, most of them moldy or stale, for Bugs to cook up a meal that nobody will eat. There's no upside, except that we rid ourselves of food we could never use. The downside, of course, far outweighs that, as usual. The 'food' reeks so strongly of everything bad about food that you could ever have nightmares about, that it must be alerting every bloodthirsty creature, every hairy little Beast, within a ten-mile radius.
Our camp is a rough circle of five logs around a large bonfire. We just have to hope the surrounding trees are tall enough to hide the blaze from any unfriendly kind-of-human eyes. Me and Coal sit next to each other on on one log, and Bugs and Pops on the one to the right to us. To our left is Glass and Hour, and on the log next to them, Shiver and Stomp, sitting at opposite ends of the small log to avoid touching each other. On the last one, Glade glares coldly at the fire (Let us assume, for future reference, that everything Glade does can be fit with 'coldly', okay?), all alone.
There's no sign of Joe.
"Hey, anyone seen Joe recently?" I call out across the fire. I feel a nudge in my side. When I turn, there's Coal's hand, discreetly offering a handful of yellow berries that I quickly identify as Fyrbatik, which I take gladly, without asking when he had the time to go pick them.
"Aye, the wee lass mighta mention'd somtin, somtin 'bout ta walk in the nigh', or somtin like tat." Pops growls, I wait a moment for Coal to decipher the thick dialect,then whisper in my ear, "She said something about a walk in the night."
"Oh." I had been translating something more along the lines of "Pickles moo sometimes" and "Boats walk in the night". Go figure.
"Okay, then." I realize I should probably come up with some sort of plan of action, or at least pretend to be concerned about somebody I barely know. "Um, if Joe's not back when we put the fire out, we split up to search for her?"
The rebels grudgingly acknowledge this, nodding their heads and grumbling about Beasts that are out this time of night, looking up at the dark sky suspiciously and squinting, like that will reveal to them any hidden enemies lurking among the darkness.
That settled, I turn away from everybody, self-conscious, and wait for them to get back to their own business. The only place to turn that's not to obvious, is down, and I end up staring at my feet, then, of course, I pick one up in my hands and examine the soles, grimacing at their condition. Bare feet+Whatever I've been doing= Ouch.
My pale skin is nearly black with dirt and mud and blood and any other crap I've managed to find, because everything nasty that has ever existed has someway found a way to my feet. The skin is cracked and calloused, with mud caked in the cracks and callouses, and dried blood from all the sores and cuts staining it all dark red.
"I'm gonna go find a creek or something, wash up." I mutter, or something like that, standing as as casually as I can with every eye on me.
"I'll come with you." Coal says immediately, also getting up, looking indifferent to the attention on us as we hurry away as fast as we can without attracting more attention, out of the clearing and into the forest.
Once away from prying eyes, I turn to him, smiling in spite of myself. Because we're away, and together, and alone, and, as strange as this may sound, as dangerous as I know the place is, in the Wold. After so long on the mountain, that terrible, accursed place, a world of chilling air, staggering heights, and cold stone, I actually enjoy being back in the Wold. I was raised here, after all, have lived my entire life here- And now it just feels right to feel the cool, soft soil beneath my silent feet, the trees rustling in an evening breeze, my hair softly rising off my neck in the gentle wind.
His eyes are cool and blue, deep and kind, and for the first time I feel like I've truly broken through the ice that guards them. Like I'm really meeting Coal for the first time.
He smiles that beautiful, death-angel kind of menacing smile, like he's grinning because he knows there's nothing you can do about it. His thick black hair ruffles in the breeze, blowing over one eye, but he doesn't blink, doesn't take his eyes away from mine.
We stand like that for an eternity, barely a foot away from each other, gazing into the other's eyes like we can't look away. Neither yearning to be closer, nor itching to back away, not feeling self-conscious or embarrassed, but simply enjoying each other's company, and the wind in our hair and the soft ground beneath or feet. Enjoying life.
At last I break the spell by looking down at my feet, and trying to remember what we were doing out here in the woods, together, all alone...
"Right. Water." Coal says, and I try to hide a grin, which fails.
So we trudge through the woods, with no set path in particular, only keeping our backs to the camp so we don't get lost. Once and while we hear a rustle, or a growl, or a distant animal scream- But I never feel scared once. Because every single time something alerts us, Coal instantly has his arm protectively around me, is pulling me into the brush, behind a tree. I can't feel scared with Coal, because he'll protect me.
It's pitch-black, but the moon is bright and full like a second sun, illuminating the forest with tall, sinister stripes of shadow and bright ethereal whiteness, and my cat-eyes adjust to the darkness, so I see as well as in day-light.
After walking along for an immeasurable amount of time, which could have been five minutes or two hours, I see his ears twitch forward, and after a few more paces, I hear running water.
We emerge from the trees together, nearly walking straight into a deep forest pool, sparkling majestically with splotches of blinding reflections of the moon, and diving into dark patches where I can look down and see the bottom of the pool, the current flowing from the miniature waterfall at the head, then at the other end of the pool out into a tiny creek. Actually, I do walk right into it, you know, with my cat-like reflexes and all, and I flounder around pathetically, thinking I'm drowning, until I realize it's only a couple of feet deep, and I can stand with the water rising to my chest. Right.
"I thought cats didn't like water." Coal says from up on the bank. I stick my tongue out at him and dip back under, feeling the coolness surround me. Once I get over the shock of the cold (It is, after all, mid-autumn) it's not that bad. When I finally come back up for air, there's no sign of Coal. I feel my chest tightening, panic rising, but then I relax when I see the words scratched in the dirt on the bank.
DON'T PANIC. GONE UPSTREAM TO BATHE. WHISTLE WHEN DECENT.
God, he knows me too well.
Taking advantage of my time alone, I quickly strip the ragged remains of my once-lovely dress and tunic, laying them out on some nearby rocks to dry. I'm about to hop back into the pool, wet and cold now, exposed to the night air, but I see something that makes me happy.
Growing all along the edge of the pool is a dull green herb with small white flowers, that I recognize to be Shrensherb, which my mother taught me, when crushed and soaked, has a sweet aroma like dew on rose petals.
Joyous, I dance through the long plants, snapping the stems in my fingers, crushing a handful of the stuff, and soaking it in the pool.
I hold my breath, then jump in, and come up to quickly scrub every inch of skin I can reach with the herbs, scrubbing my tail as well, and when it's all been worn away, I go to work on my feet, grinding away the dirt from their soles with handfuls of sand from the bottom of the pool, but the callouses, earned from a lifetime of bare-footing through the harshest environments known to man, will never go away.
A pang in my side. I look down and suddenly all the crippling pain of the wound rushes back. I made myself forget and ignore it for so long, I really believed it was gone. Now the blood is unclotting, revealing the horrid, gaping wound; and worse- I suspect the bullet is still somewhere deep inside me.
I carefully, delicately rinse the wound, herb jammed between my teeth both to clean them and so I don't cry out in pain. I'm too scared to put any of the plant on the wound, as it might cause an infection. Amazing I don't have one already, in fact.
The blood washes downstream in a long, red cloud, and the creek runs red for a while, then dwindles, until a cleaner clot forms, and the red stops altogether, and I ignore the pain, only hoping I can make it until we reach our destination.
Finally I pick another handful of Shrensherb, crushing it in my fingers and mixing it with the water, then letting the fragrant juice soak into my hair, scrubbing deep into my scalp with my fingers until it hurts, all round and in my ears, relishing in the cleanliness of my body because I know it won't last long. I imagine all the dirt and muck and other crap all over me being syphoned off in a giant cloud and flowing swiftly downstream, away, leaving me clean and pure.
Then I just float along the top of the water, lungs full of delightfully crisp, fresh air scented with pine and those other lovely, wild forest smells to keep me afloat. I let the water flow around me, caressing my skin, gentle and soft and cool, and the tenseness leaves my muscles. My shoulders drop, my fingers unclench, my chest loosens, and I wonder why I haven't done this before. I stare aimlessly up at the moon, like a face that's staring back at me from some other pool opposite me, far, far away, amidst a forest of twinkling stars that twinkle like a million eyes winking at me, because they seem to know something I don't.
Something keeps nagging at the back of my mind, though. I feel like I've forgotten something important, only I can't remember what it is; I make myself let go, because I'm sure I'll figure it out eventually.
Relax.
I let that word flow through my mind, let my eyes close. My senses extend out past my ears and eyelids. I hear things miles away, see things that exist only in the depths of my own mind. I have nowhere to be right now, nothing to do, no new Beast to beat up, no Coal to save, no Servants trying to kill me.
Sure, I know the second I leave the pool, reality will catch up with me. I know, deep down, that sometime, probably sooner than I'll expect, I'll find myself facing certain death, the end of all things. And I know, as many times as I may evade it, eventually, eventually it will find me, and take me. But I barely shiver at that thought, because everything is right and perfect and good right now and nothing can possibly ruin it.
That's when I hear the scream.