Vin fell – wait, I fell? I watched Vin fall? I… hit the ground? Was I even there?
…Let me start over.
I was subsumed in a darkness that implied no light. It was all-encompassing: lacking form, colour, and motion. In such a space, thoughts were an impossibility, and memory a delusion. There was no ‘I’ – there was no one at all. For a brief, blissful moment, there was nothing.
Then my eyes blinked open and someone was screaming at me.
“Vin!” they shouted. “Move!”
I rolled backwards over rough stone, bones creaking as my vast weight shifted, and barely avoided a chitin-clad leg stabbing down at me. Another three immediately followed, one – surrounded by a purple glow – cracking painfully against the floor beside me, while I barely managed to catch the other two in each hand. The full weight of the Godkin above began to press downwards. A guttural yell erupted from my chest.
“Kit, cut the legs! Ronnie, hold it!”
Two pairs of human legs settled behind me and suddenly I was holding two severed chunks of monster as its brackish blood rained on me. Ronnie’s deformed shoulders braced against the creature, preventing it from collapsing on top of me. I scrambled backwards, rising to my feet in time to avoid another gout of blood.
“Kit – its blindside!”
The young woman shoved past me, helmet smacking painfully against my shoulder, and managed to duck and slip into the Godkin’s blind spots – four of its seven eyes were blinded by arrows – and jam her longsword between a chink in the chitin. A low keening filled the air. Blood pounded in my head. Kit yanked, but her sword was stuck.
“Ronnie, let go!”
The Ox Strain let go, forcing the monster to collapse – just in time to throw off the limb crashing towards her.
“I need a crack!” I yelled.
Immediately after my request, a blur of purple slammed into the Godkin, accompanied by the ringing retort of splintered chitin. The bolt juddered, pierced atop its bizarre abdomen. Kit ripped it out, and I called upon stolen memories to jam the severed leg into the gap created, shoving it deeper and deeper until I felt its life begin to-
You-
I threw the blood-soaked bandana off my head. My eyes shuddered in their sockets as deep gasps tore themselves from my lungs.
“Is it dead?” came the slow drawl of Gast.
Ronnie – several paces away from the corpse – shook their head, the motion sending her scrap armour jangling.
“It will be in a moment,” proclaimed Davian from behind. “Excellent word, Whip – your orders saved Vin from a hole in his chest.”
I could practically feel the girl’s sheepish smile. I regained my breath enough to straighten.
“And Kit,” Davian continued, “that was a very-“
“Kit.” I whirled on her, a furious scowl spread across my face. “What’s my one condition?”
She paused where she stood, wiping her blade down. “You little rat. We really gonna do this?”
“My one condition?” I hissed.
“How ‘bout yer shield?” she exclaimed, gesturing to the splinters still strapped to my arm. “Let’s chat ‘bout that. What happened there?
“No, you stupid reprobate,” I snarled, “why did you get godsdamned blood all over me?”
“I’m not your mam. I saved yer life-“
“I would’ve rather-”
“-so sorry I couldn’t baby you-”
“-gotten stabbed than gotten blood on me – I’m a Lizard, let me take it.”
Her eyes gleamed. “Oh, we can still work somethin’ out.”
Ronnie placed their vast bulk between us, placing their thickly-muscled arm against her, and the twisted, tiny one against me.
“Ox’s balls, Kit, I ask for one thing!” I bellowed down at her. “And you can’t even give me that?”
She let out an angry huff. “I didn’t come here with a plank of bloody wood for a shield. Where in everythin’ green and good did your proper one go?”
My eyes widened, and my lips peeled back. “Not your business, girl.”
On the edges of the red haze, I saw Ronnie gesture at someone.
“Girl? What are you, twenty?” She’d overshot by two.
“I’ll show you twenty.”
“Come on, big man.” Her eyes looked up at me, sneering. “Take a swing. See where it gets ya.”
Then Davian was there, both hands on my chest. I let him push me out of the cave, while Kit yelled obscenities after me.
----------------------------------------
“Whoever heard of an Oxkin spider, huh?”
I hacked a leg off a monster corpse as Davian nattered on. Even after I had sown the gash in his side closed, the old man fought through the pain, unwilling to let silence lie.
“We have fought Oxkin spiders before, though?” Whip’s voice was tremulous; uncertain.
I heard him chuff quietly as I severed another limb. Monster parts were valuable, but we didn’t have enough space to take every dead body. Most would be left to the harvesters waiting just outside of the area – and they would ensure we didn’t see a single chit of profit. It was important to get the best pieces early.
“That’s not what I meant, kid. It’s… well, it’s-“
“It’s just an expression,” I explained without looking up. “Davian’s trying to get a conversation going.”
I saw Whip nod from where she sat, inventorying the pieces we gathered using some chalk and a tablet. Her bad leg made it difficult for her to perform laborious tasks, and no one was certain whether the knocks she’d taken had fractured anything, or if her padded armour had deflected the worst of it. She herself couldn’t even tell us if it hurt; Whip was incapable of feeling pain. We’d collectively yelled her into relative inactivity, at least until we could rent a runestone to check her bone density. Her massively oversized crossbow laid beside her, unloaded.
Gast, Ronnie and Kit were bloodletting the progenitor monsters. The offspring – Strains, though it seemed cruel to place my teammates in the same category – would lack divinity in their blood, so they had just a few corpses to drain. It was easy enough work, especially since the three of them possessed only superficial wounds, though Gast’s arm had bruised so badly it was immobilised. Ronnie had taken several brutal hits, but their armour had helped them avoid injury, and the blood covering Kit hadn’t been her own.
Not injuries that demanded immediate mending. Which was helpful, given that we were also entirely out of healing and enhancement potions – Gast had taken a bad gash protecting the backliners and Ronnie had needed to chug the enhancers to avoid snapping their tendons when things got dicey.
My wounds had already closed, for the most part. Fortunately for us, Gast knew a set of runes for cleansing rot. It only took a bit of Godsblood to function, which was handy.
I wiped my bloodied hands on the crimson grass beneath. The heartwoods outside the man-made clearing were dense, packed closely together. Visibility was poor. Felling a patch of trees and relocating fallen logs and brush had taken the better part of two days, but trying to fight in the forest would have been a death sentence given how the quantity of trees prevented most swings. We had entered the Godkin’s cave reluctantly – the queen had been savvy enough not to play on our terms. The decision had been rewarded with a ruined shield and half a second of unconsciousness.
“Do spiders usually have so many children?”
I shrugged.
“Ah, well, it depends,” Davian eagerly responded. “They tend to have a few dozen, but it varies by species. It’s difficult to tell in the Heartlands.”
Whip chewed on a piece of her black hair. “But at least half of its children must have died.”
“What makes you think that?”
“They’re Strains,” she stated blandly.
“Ah, well, yes.”
Kit and I were the only non-Strains in the team. Davian’s face was twisted into a whirlpool beneath his straw-like hair and leathery skin. Gast was entirely hairless and ate less than the most malnourished child, yet she remained bizarrely obese. Ronnie, despite their considerable size, had a child’s arm and an inability to speak. And Whip’s leg required daily draining, lest it fill with pus. Even beyond their most noticeable traits, their mutations forced idiosyncrasies they needed to structure their lives around.
I had thought Kit would bond with me most readily, given how Strains were viewed. A naïve conception.
A yell echoed through the forest. I kept my eyes on the task. “What’re ya lippin’ a-bout?” The voice was deep for a woman, yet smooth as the surface of a lake. It would’ve been enjoyable, had a less obnoxious person wielded it.
I scowled. If only draining took longer.
Kit strutted into the clearing. Her fur armour was still damp from its cleaning, yet bloodstains remained. Ronnie copied her, a wry smile placed on their strangely infantile face. My lips quivered, but it was an extravagant flick of their white hair – as if it weren’t ear-length – that finally broke me. I snorted.
The young woman grinned mirthlessly in response. “Came lookin’ for intelligent conversation – was stuck out there with dumb and dumber – yet here’s a brain too big for me. C’mon, Vin,” her drawling accent transitioned to one with careful enunciation, “enlighten us – what is your splendiferous joke?”
“There’s none.” My face was straight, humour having withdrawn.
“Ah, but something must have been hilarious!”
“I’m just that funny.”
“Yeah?” she said, accent reasserting itself. “It wasn’t ya just bein’ snarky?”
My eyebrows tented, and I turned from my butchery for the first time. “Snarky?”
“Sassy.”
“Right.” I thought for a moment. “No. I’ve cooled down.” The lie was effortless.
“Sure.” Her words were terse. “Then let’s have a cool talk about your godsdamned shield.”
I closed my eyes for a moment. “That’s not your business.”
“No.” Her tone was harsh. “We both know that’s a mound of steamin’ dung. Yer equipment matters.”
“If I get myself killed-“
“I’m not worried ‘bout you. We all need you takin’ hits. You mess up, one of us dies.”
My teeth sunk into my lip. “If I admit I messed up, can you make an effort to keep blood off me?”
The breeze carried a scent of stale sweat towards me. Gast emerged from the treeline, huffing and panting as she heaved her vast bulk towards us.
Kit squinted at me. “You can’t keep ‘way from blood. Not in this work.”
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“Doesn’t matter,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s my condition. Back there – you should’ve let me get stabbed.”
“Enn’s greasy crack,” she exclaimed. Ronnie’s face contorted in disgust, and Davian made a gagging sound. “No! You gettin’ hurt risks everyone else. Die on yer own time.”
“I’m a Lizardblood. I can fight – have fought – with holes in me.”
“That’s-“
“Vin,” Gast interrupted. Her large green eyes were piercing. “Time for dinner?”
Kit spat on grass, then strode over to Whip. The girl started as the woman plopped down beside her and started squinting
I nodded. “Give me a hand?”
She inclined her head. I straightened up, stretching to my full height – taller than anyone present except Ronnie. My stature was a memento of a dead time, carved directly into my bones.
The hairless lady and I set to starting a fire. Gathering materials and digging a pit was my job, while putting the fire together was hers. We settled on a decent spot mostly free of bodies. I used my scabbard to shovel earth away – tiny roots tying chunks of dirt together – while Gast tried not to doze. We’d been operating on minimal sleep while the extermination was ongoing, and she had been hit the hardest – Gast usually needed to spend half the day resting to function well.
Small sticks were easy to find, and there were enough branches around to fuel a smithy. A few chops created manageable chunks, at the cost of a slightly blunted blade. Barely moments passed before I had enough to use, and when I return Gast already had an ember burning in some dried grass. It only made sense – all it took her was two rubbed hands, a press of her runestone and a flash of purple to gain a spark.
“Can you make it a bit hotter?”
The only response was a shuffle as she poked the runestone within her pouch, accompanied by the flame flaring purple for a moment.
“Thanks.” I cleared my throat, then yelled: “Is everyone alright eating the Strains?”
Ronnie stopped working chitin off a corpse to whirl and adopt an expression of exaggerated fear. Their underdeveloped hand accompanied an overdeveloped one, contorting in a few short, purposeful gestures – even as the hands shook. I only caught ‘food’ and ‘prevent’.
“Don’t eat me,” Whip translated blandly.
Ronnie made another series of gestures, and Whip cleared her throat again.
“Don’t eat me!” she screeched with a pitch closer to a bird’s than a human’s. I winced at the sound. “Is that better?”
The giant smiled crookedly.
“Are you sure I can’t eat you?” I asked, exceedingly polite.
Whip’s lips quirked awkwardly. “No?”
“Damn. I’ll settle for the spiders, then. Is everyone alright with that?”
There were nods all round.
Ronnie gestured something. “Can you put them in the little dough-balls?” Whip translated.
“Uh…” My gaze stretched upwards as I tried to remember if we had the ingredients. “Do we still have potatoes?”
“No,” supplied Whip, “we ate those three days ago.”
“Dumplings are off the menu, then. We’ll have stew.”
Kit groaned.
I plastered a pleasant smile across my face. “What? Stew’s good.”
She imitated my expression. On her, it looked mocking. Or perhaps it had looked poor on me as well. “Sorry to tell ya, but yer stew’s dog-chow.”
A vein my forehead popped. “Ronnie can have your portion, then.”
The giant in question smacked their lips loudly. Kit’s face scrunched up, and after a long pause she opened her mouth to speak. However, it was Davian that spoke first.
“Come now Vin,” he protested, overly loud, “that seems a mite unfair, does it not?”
I cocked an eyebrow. “If she doesn’t want to eat it, I won’t force her.” Turning to the tall woman, I asked, “Do you want to eat my ‘dog-chow’?”
The black skin around her eyes scrunched up. “No,” she spat.
Nodding, I turned back to the pot, just in time to conceal a victorious smirk. Sometimes, it really was too easy. Unfortunately, she couldn’t let me get the last laugh.
I chopped and stirred. Davian and Whip looked for edible plants. Ronnie continued levering chunks of chitin off the monsters, occasionally throwing me a strip of edible meat. Gast napped. And Kit threw pebbles at me. I managed to dodge and catch the first few, even with my back turned, however that only escalated the barrage. By the time the stew was ready to sit, my patience had worn down to a single thread.
Twisting my body to glare at her, I said, “Can you stop?”
“Yeah.” She stared blankly, and continued pelting me with tiny stones.
“Will you stop?”
“No.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Ronnie, can you watch the pot?”
They paused, and nodded. At that, I grabbed my backpack, turned around and jogged to the edge of the clearing, then pulled myself up onto one of the sturdier trees. The black wood of the branch was curled and thorny, but it was good enough.
Kit followed, and stood below, looking up. “Yer runnin’, then?”
“Yeah.” I brushed aside the broken wing tied to my pack, and flipped open its scarred leather flap. I removed a carving I’d been working on, drew my knife from my belt, and started whittling at it.
“Really?” she intoned. Her voice grew darker. “Yer just gonna leave and not say what’s up with the shield?”
“Yeah.” I was working on the stump of a severed arm.
“Look – it’s a problem. Yer gear keeps us in one piece. If you don’t have a shield, how’re you gonna shield us?”
“I’ll get a new one.”
“That’s-“ she began, then paused. “What?”
I turned the carving around, trying to perfect the finer details of the cloth around the stump. It wouldn’t work. It never did. “You’re right.” I tried not to think of the meaning behind those words. “I’ll get a better shield.”
“Ah. Right. Yer not lyin’?”
“No.”
“O-kay…” At that, she turned slowly, and began meandering back to the pot. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her shoo Ronnie away from the stew and begin watching it.
I continued scraping at the wood with my blade. It was spearwood – bone white, and tough as anything. Poor material for most woodworkers, however I needed the extra resistance. In a way the entire process felt meditative, bringing to mind working on my Face years ago as Bhan crooned instructions at me.
With a flourish, the knife gouged a final crease in the cloth. A puff blew away the splinters, and I scowled. It was imperfect, once again. The fold was slightly off. I growled. It had been going so well: the proportions were accurate; the clothes were rendered well; the blade’s filagree was done correctly. But the stump – the godsdamned stump-
“Mess up again?” intoned Gast, splayed across the forest floor.
I sighed, allowing the embers of rage to die. “Yeah.”
“Whip’ll be happy.”
Kit looked up from the pot. “Why?”
The butchering had finished at some point, so Ronnie sat sharpening their axe, using their tiny arm to run a whetstone along it. They used the weapon to make a circular motion, then settled back in to continue.
“She collects carvings,” I said, shuffling off my perch. Circumnavigating the gleaming spikes in the wood was difficult. “She likes mine, for whatever reason.”
Gast snorted, sending jiggles through the fat beneath her leathers. “’Collects carvings,’ huh.”
I grunted. Ronnie grunted immediately after. Kit giggled; then laughed; then erupted into a fit of cackling. The giant in question began wheezing, and continued making grunting noises.
I chuckled. “Shut up.”
Momentarily, the young woman quietened, wiping tears from her dark eyes. A grunt from Gast defeated the silence, and Kit heaved back into explosive laughter. As the giant and the swordswoman bayed like hyenas, I, somewhat awkwardly, dropped off the branch and settled down to maintain my weapons.
My knife was the first. It’s possible to fight without a dagger, but entirely impossible live without one. This particular knife was rather beat, its bronze twisted and warped – Gast had borrowed it to make modifications to some of her runestones, which blunted the tip badly. Bronze and rock didn’t mix well. That, combined with my efforts carving, placed the knife rather worryingly on the ‘ruined’ side of things.
I inspected my halberd, next. It had been leaning against a speartree. Everything was fine there – I hadn’t used it this extermination. There simply wasn’t enough room to swing it. We had brought actual saws to fell the trees this time as well, so it hadn’t been blunted against gnarled heartwood. Even if I had used it, it was made of Lizardkin bone – it wouldn’t break so easily.
My sling’s knots needed tightening. An easy fix. Which was good, because my ‘shield’ was completely irreparable. I had accepted that fate the moment I decided to use a barrel lid. I sighed. Bad call. But the dice hadn’t been in my favour last week – the only option had been to pawn my metal one. My teeth ground. Bad call nonetheless.
The sword came last. Inwardly, I told myself it was good, Owlforged iron. Yet a part of me cringed at the sight of it. Angular; simple; well-wrought; yet it paled in comparison to the blade I was accustomed to. It wasn’t extraordinary. It was too light; too unbalanced; too blunt. It was just another piece of detritus, strewn across the forest floor.
The sound of a set of haltering steps thumped over to me. By the time I was done, Whip, crutch snug under her arm, and Davian, silent as an ant, walked back into the clearing, each carrying a sack full of herbs, roots, and vegetables. They whispered to one another; I deliberately tuned out the details.
Kit offered no such courtesy. “What’s goin’ on with you two, uh? Bit of late-night romance?”
Whip – a little over sixteen – and Davian – just shy of fifty – blanched. The former’s countenance twisted, and while the latter’s unusual facial features made him more difficult to read, his visibly recoiling body revealed his exact thoughts.
“Why do you have to be so gross?” screamed Whip. The older man shot her a look.
Kit lips tilted. “Uh, alright, sorry. I jus’…” she paused, and threw a glance back at me.
I shot Whip a meaningful look. The girl straightened, and instructed, “Say why you did it.”
“Uh…” Her gaze flickered all over the clearing; everywhere but the person she was addressing. “I was… Just wanted to know what you were talking about.” The young woman paused. No one except me noticed her eyes widening. “Jus’ want ta know.”
The girl growled like a small dog, and placed the arm unoccupied by crutch firmly on her hip. “Well, we were talking about monster Strain breeding habits.”
I hummed quietly. Whip had gotten stuck on another topic – it’d be all she wanted to speak about for the next few days.
Davian nodded as he knelt and warmed his hands beside the fire, next to Kit. A tired gust was blowing smoke in the opposite direction. “It’s a rather arcane subject, from my understanding. It seems that whatever alterations divine blood makes to a person is intergenerational, however absent of the blood itself, much of the capabilities run stagnant. It’s most pronounced in the bird-Blooded-“
“Bird-Blooded?” I spluttered. “Did- did you come up with that?”
“Well, yes,” Davian answered, eyebrow cocked.
I grinned. “That’s great. Like you’re calling the gods ‘bird-brained’, or something.”
The old man’s lips flapped. “Uh, yes, well, that wasn’t my intention.”
“No, it’s great. Sorry for interrupting.”
He frowned. “Right. Where was I?”
“’Capabilities run stagnant’,” supplied Gast, who otherwise lay completely unmoving.
“Thank you. It seems that a Blooded’s power is at least partially supplied by what lays in their veins-“
“Keen eye, there,” stated Kit.
“-however certain changes can endure, even absent of divinity. For instance, Gast can interpret runestones, and even create some sparks unassisted, however she requires Godsblood for greater acts.”
I got to my feet and struck an extravagant pose. Ronnie orbited around me, shaking their hands dramatically.
Davian stared, then glanced back at Kit. “Uh. Yes. Which is what Vin supplies Gast, at certain intervals.”
“Thanks,” muttered the layabout. I gave her a thumbs up, however she wasn’t looking.
“Well. Anyway, those are the central principles surrounding Strains: alterations endure, however little can be done with them.”
“Which’s why ya can’t have kids,” finished Kit.
Silence dropped like a stone.
The crimson grass between my boots was sharp and jagged. I pulled up a clump and rubbed it between my fingers, feeling my skin open. An evening breeze ran through the trees, carrying the scent of earth, sky, and rotting bodies. For a moment, I tried to imagine how far the wind had travelled. Through the Heartlands? Across the Wastes? From the Foot? In the end, it didn’t matter. The wind was the wind, and home was years gone. The enduring quiet ate away the thoughts, bringing me back to the present.
It was damn awkward. Ronnie had already walked off. Eventually, as I was gathering the spit to break the quiet, someone fractured it for me.
“My parents were Strains.” Whip’s whisper carried, buoyed by the tension in the air.
Kit blundered ahead. “They’re not actually yer parents, though.”
The girl sorted herbs and vegetables from her and Davian’s pouches. Her back was to me. “What do you mean, not actually?”
“Strains can’t-“
“Can’t what? Can’t have children?”
I played with the grass between my fingers.
“Yeah,” said the young woman. “S’not possible.”
Whip turned around. “Of course we can.”
“But, that’s-“
“Just stop, Kit,” I murmured, eyes gazing into the forest.
Whip’s face was blank. “I want to hear this.”
I scowled. “Fine. Wait until I’m gone. Whip, give me what you’ve sorted. I’ll test them for poison.”
Before she could respond, I strode over and shovelled one of the piles – the one consisting of foreign herbs and mushrooms – into one of the sturdy bags. After I’d gathered most, I continued past her. Davian murmured something and followed, taking his unstrung bow with him. By the time I had passed the trees, Kit was already continuing. I caught ‘they’re not really yer parents’ and then tried my best to ignore the argument that followed.
We hurdled overgrown logs, shrubs, vines, and ant mounds. Occasionally, a bird twittered. They’d already begun to return to the area. If I were them, I would’ve stayed out. The argument tickled the edge of my hearing for a few minutes. I reached my hands down and began manoeuvring my ear plugs out of my pockets.
Davian reached up and grabbed my arm. “Could we talk, for a moment?” he asked.
I stopped and turned to him. “Why do we keep her around?” I blurted.
He sighed. “We’ve been over this, Vin.”
“She’s abrasive, inconsiderate, and just…” I searched for the words. “Generally a bad person.”
Davian’s eyebrow cocked; one of the few expressions his face allowed. “A bad person?”
“Yes!”
“She’s not a bad person, Vin.”
“Alright,” I spat, knowing the conversation was meaningless, “fine. She’s still a bad fit for the group.”
He squinted at me. “Even if she were irredeemably evil, the fact remains: we need her.”
“Lizard guts!” I swore. “We were doing fine before.”
Davian huffed, disbelieving. “I cannot count the amount of times you nearly died.”
“That’s because there were no times I nearly died,” I lied. “I’m a Lizardblood.”
“You are not Dure itself, Vin – you can’t heal a broken neck, or a pierced heart.”
“You don’t know that,” I hissed. “And it’s not your business, besides.”
The old man’s face twisted even further. “You little… Should we have to watch you die, then? And what, daresay, happens to us when you are gone? Who will negotiate contracts for a bunch of Strains?” he snarled. “We needed another front-liner, and Kit is, frankly, an excellent fit for the role. It’s a miracle she settled with us.”
I blinked at the outburst. “There… has to be someone better.”
“There isn’t. She’s one of us, now – abrasiveness and all.” He stared at me, unbalanced eyes rigid, unmoving.
I shook my head. “You’ll regret it.”
He smiled, weakly. “It doesn’t matter.” After a brief pause, he brushed down his shirt and straightened his belt. “Now, before you start imbibing poisonous-“
“Potentially poisonous,” I interjected.
“-plants, we need to discuss your shield.”
I groaned, and turned to the forest. “I’ve already talked to Kit about this. I’ll get a new one, Davian.”
His swallow was audible. “No.”
“What?”
“No.” This reply was firmer. He straightened his body, bringing the top of his head just below my neck. “The group will buy a shield. And it will be the property of the group.”
I allowed myself to face him again. “What is this?”
Davian looked up at me, stretched jaw quivering. “It is with startling frequency that your kit goes missing. Your armour. Your sword. Now your shield?”
“That’s not on you to fix.”
“You are a friend, Vin.” He continued before I had the opportunity to interrupt. “However, more than that, you are an asset. Your death hurts all of us.”
“No,” I spoke from between clenched teeth. “No. I refuse.”
“Let us help-“
“No,” I said, louder this time. “I’ll get a shield.”
“Fine,” he responded tersely, “but we’ll keep a backup. That is our choice. You cannot take that from us.”
I scowled, and, not trusting my own silence, shoved an ominous-looking mushroom in my mouth. Immediately afterwards, I spat it out.
Davian toed a stick on the ground. “Is it bad?”
I pawed my tongue and retched.
“Uh, well. I’ll get Whip to add it to our findings. You’ve most likely saved some poor family from-“
Gagging, I leaned against a tree. The dry wood scraped against my forearm. An eruption of coughs exploded from within, trying to dislodge a phantom poison from my throat.
Davian’s hands hovered over my back, entirely ineffectual. “Maybe continue this… later? You still need to finish furnishing the stew.”
I blinked the tears from my eyes, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. A thumbs up was the only instruction I could give.
There would be more time for poison tomorrow.