Day 13, 6:35 AM

“The night's as hot as hell. It's a lousy room in a lousy part of a lousy town - I'm staring at a goddess. She's telling me she wants me. I'm not going to waste one more minute wondering how I've gotten this lucky. She smells like angels ought to smell, the perfect woman... the Goddess. Goldie. She says her name is Goldie.”

— Marv (Frank Miller)

I got laid! The thought hits me before I’m fully awake. I don’t remember ever having sex that good. Ever. Back in the brothel, Manuella just lay there, cold and limp like a fish, but last night she was a woman of flesh and blood and freaking fire.

I open my eyes to the soft predawn light, hungry for more, but I let her sleep. I slip out from under the blanket and my stomach growls, but I pay it no heed. Instead, I do my stretches, thinking of something we can work with. A plan which will allow us to escape.

A distant howl splits the forest, and Manuella stirs just as I’m wrapping up my ankles.

They are closer than they were when we stopped last night.

“Good morning,” I say. “The sun should rise soon. We have no water, and I’m not eating today. You should have breakfast, though.”

Even though she said she would share, I’m saving the food for her. I’m not certain how Redo works. Does it rewind time, or does it place my consciousness into a parallel universe which is lagging behind this one? In case it’s the latter, I want her to have every chance she can get, and if it’s the former, starving for a day or two won’t kill me.

Swords will. My ribs flash with phantom pain at the unwelcome thought.

The bloodhowlers were barely audible last night, at the edge of my perception, so I thrust and slapped harder, making sure Manuella couldn't hear them. I check Redo; its cooldown is two days plus loose copper.

Manuella slips out of the blanket, and I feast my eyes on her form as she gets dressed. She’s tall, but close to my ideal proportions. Her back, shoulders, and hips are wide. She’s big, yet lean, with enough meat on her bones. A perfect woman, a goddess carved by Greek or Roman sculptors.

She pulls her pants up and ties them before tying her breasts and donning the tunic. She turns around, and our eyes meet. A beautiful smile blooms on her face, her cheeks the satisfied, healthy shade of red.

We stare at each other, and my pants suddenly feel tight.

I clear my throat. “Once you’re done eating, I’ll carry you. What you said last night makes sense. I’m much faster than you, and if we stop going through the bushes and head down easier paths, I can just run for hours until I get tired.”

She’s still staring at me. “Aang, you will tire yourself out, and you will grow too weak to fight.”

“Eat up. I’ll take your boots and run like the wind. If they want to force me to fight them, they’ll have to catch us first.” Despite common sense, I feel great.

I’m strong enough to wrestle a buffalo, healthy, full of energy, and full of motivation. I can’t recall the last time I felt like this. Maybe I never have.

“I’ll stop if we run into a stream, we can drink and fill the canteen, but there’s no time for bathing, sorry.”

“Aang,” she gives me a beautiful smile, barely visible in the predawn light, but the hint I see is captivating nevertheless. “You should eat up. Especially if you plan to carry me.”

“No need. I’m full. I will princess carry you all the way to freedom.” I smile and then gulp.

A tiny worm of doubt nesting in the back of my mind is drilling a hole through my brain. It’s telling me that last night was a prostitute’s professional service, not affection. She was motivating the muscle-head to protect his property.

I don’t dismiss the thought as irrational. It’s perfectly rational, and spreading her legs for me is Manuella’s only choice unless she wants to surrender. But even if that’s really what happened last night, that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it. Billions of people enjoy porn for god’s sake, and it’s basically moving pictures. Tacky, fake, moving pictures. If she’s willing to give herself to me like that, and if I’m already dying, why wouldn’t I do everything I can to ensure she survives this mess?

She’s beaming back a smile. It’s honest and happy, and deep down I doubt it is.

“Eat up.” I say, and fifteen minutes later, I’m jogging through the forest. The trail I leave behind is so easy to follow, even a kid can do it, but they have to keep up, and I doubt they will ride horses through that thicket on the off chance their fugitives go crazy and start galloping through the forest.

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“How about you tell me some things while we run? Random chatter. What you liked doing as a girl, what do you think the loyalists have prepared for us? Do you think they have a fortification?” I ask to help us pass the time, and she obliges.

She tells me about her childhood doll, about her two dogs called Lary and Trump, she was a mischievous child, and chuckles escape me before long. However, her stories don’t go past the age of ten. I guess she doesn’t want to talk about Sir Gohen.

Then she describes the fantastical fortifications, the tens of thousands of professional men of war waiting for us to arrive entrenched in a freaking impenetrable Help’s Deep. She lies to me blatantly, and I let her.

Bloodhowlers holler in the distance.

They found our campsite. But an even more important realization eclipses that thought. They are closer than they were yesterday. I can only hope my sprint buys us the time we need.

It’s well past noon when we run across a stream. I thought I would be panting, my legs burning, but that’s not the case. I’m dripping sweat, my breath rough, but manageable, and my legs are more or less fine.

Manuella stares at me with disbelief for several long moments, then leans over and gives me a deep, passionate kiss. My lungs are screaming for air, but I don’t move away until she withdraws her head.

“You can do this,” she says while I gasp for breath.

I give her a nod, and she refills the bottle and passes it to me.

“Here, drink.”

I drink two full canteens, and she orders me to take fifteen minutes to rest while she bathes in front of me, exposing all her glory.

“You can have all of this tonight,” she says and my pants bulge. I would ravage her where she stands, but the pursuit is drawing closer with each passing minute.

Finally, she dries herself with the woolen jacket.

Towel. I must buy a towel for her.

She pecks me on the lips, and I pick her up.

I hold her tight and sprint so fast she squeals. “Slower, we are going to fall over.”

“I’ve already fallen head over heels,” I say, the line incredibly corny even to me, but I don’t care. I plan to run and keep on running until we’re safe.

It’s dark. I’m sucking on her tit and flicking her nipple with my tongue, my left pressed against her back for balance, my right squeezing her ass while she rides me. We’ve been at it for half an hour already, she’s always on the top, saying I must be tired, but I just think she wants to be in control.

Suddenly, I hear the howl. It’s further away than this morning, closer than last night. I ran myself ragged for hours, but only opened up this insignificant bit of distance.

“Ignore it,” she whispers in my ear, probably feeling me deflate. “They will never catch us. We will escape.”

They’ll catch us tomorrow, my keen intellect informs me, and my heart feels heavy, but then she squeezes me, and I grunt.

I push her down on her back and kiss her. My tongue savagely breaks into her mouth while I thrust into her as deeply as I can. Over and over.

Tomorrow I will die. The depressing thought won’t let go, and my ribs hurt.

Tonight I will fuck. I give the depressing thought a mental finger, doing everything in my power to ignore the phantom pain, and Manuella helps me with all she’s got.

Hours later, I still haven’t fallen asleep. I’m hugging Manuella from the back, cupping her breast with one hand.

“I’m sorry you feel forced to do this,” I whisper, intoxicated by her scent. “I should have said no last night, but you’re so goddamn beautiful.”

She reminds me of my wife. The reserved kindness, the determination which sends chills down your spine when she looks at you with those hard eyes. And then, there’s the pained smile when she’s looking me in the eye and saying everything will be all right, and we both know she’s lying.

“God, how did I let such a wonderful woman slip through my fingers,” I mutter to myself, and she wriggles her butt.

“I am not going anywhere. But you need to sleep. You need rest. Otherwise, you will lack the strength for tomorrow night.”

“There won’t be a tomorrow night. Not for me. And you know it.”

She turns around in our blanket wrap, pressing her breasts against me. It is a blessed feeling, and I thought she wanted to distract me, but instead she says something I never expected.

“Leave me, run. You still have a chance. Even if they decide to chase after you, I will serve as a diversion, and I will survive—”

“I won’t abandon you. I won’t let you suffer torture to save myself. I’ll think of a way and get you to that army, then you can trample this trash kingdom. If I survive this, I will be your king, you will be my queen. You’ll do everything. I just have to be there and warm your bed all day and all night, so you have a warm place to return to. How does that sound?”

“Stupid, obstinate, lazy, impossible. You leave me here and run.” Her voice is icy, and I think she’s genuinely pissed.

“The only way I’m abandoning you is if you kill yourself,” I say just as seriously, and she shudders.

“Do not force me, I promised my father. I have endured for so long.” Her voice shakes, and I realize I’ve said something stupid.

I draw her into a tight hug and kiss her crying face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I want you to promise me the same thing. Promise me you will stay alive. Promise me you will do everything in your power to be happy.”

I pause.

“Especially if I’m alive.” I continue with a laugh. “I want you to be happy with me. I want to keep seeing your face even when you’re wrinkled and your tits become saggy. I—”

The bloodhowler interrupts me, and I sigh. It’s still a distance away, but it killed the mood.

I release her and crawl out of the blanket, but she hugs my waist. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to get dressed and do my stretches. Unless you’re in the mood? I can always get dressed and do my stretches in three minutes.”

The damn dog was a mood killer. I almost grumble while working my hips, preparing for another day of running.

She eats her breakfast in silent darkness, and my stomach growls.

“Eat,” she orders, but I give her an unyielding no. The pursuit will catch up tonight, I will kill them all, trying not to die in the process. If I survive, all is good, I can eat. If I die, I hope Manuella survives.