Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 83205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
A gladiator.
Here.
Finally. I've been waiting to play this game for far too long.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
AIDY
The smell of the snow-people's soup this afternoon is making me nauseous.
I stir it at arm's length with a long rib-bone, covering my mouth as I do. Some days I don't ask if the food they're bringing me is fresh, because I've learned that they'll eat it either way—rotting or newly dead, it's all the same to them. I cook it regardless, figuring that heat will destroy most of the pathogens. Sometimes it smells unpleasant.
Today it smells stomach-turning.
I think I've come down with something. It's the only explanation for how sick I feel. I threw up this morning and have felt ill all day. Given our environment, it was bound to happen, but I'm concerned I've caught some sort of non-helpful parasite from the water or food. Who knows what's living inside these things? I touch my chest. To make matters worse, my chest worm has gone quiet. After weeks of incessant humming and singing and making me horny at the drop of a hat, it's gone on vacation. It purrs a little when Corvak comes home at night, but it's so much quieter that it concerns me.
I hope my sickness isn't killing it. All I know is that I need the dang thing to survive.
I continue to rub my chest as I scoop a bowl of food and head with it to the front of the cave. There are several waiting snow-people, and they all shoot me hopeful looks. Pinkie hovers nearby, her head jerking up the moment I emerge.
"Two more bowls after this one," I say to the waiting crowd. There's at least seven of them waiting, watching me with hungry expressions. "Only two."
The closest one takes the bowl and then races a few feet away with it, the others pressing against him in the hopes of stealing a bite.
Roots? Pinkie asks with a subtle gesture.
I pull the last sorry-looking, withered root from the folds of my clothing and offer it to her. She snatches it so quickly that her claws scrape my arm. I draw back and as I do, a new smell hits me. I turn and see that someone—several someones—have crapped on the path up to the cave.
It's too much for my stomach. My food comes up and I puke all down the steps. I wipe at my mouth, horrified, and then retreat back into the cave. I'll clean that up later. I sit down in the cave, sip some water until I feel better, and then hear a questioning hoot outside. I glance over and sure enough, there's a snow-person waiting at the cave entrance, clutching the empty, battered bowl. He wants to be fed. They all do.
With a tired sigh, I get to my feet and take it from him. Like it or not, I have a job to do.
By the time it grows dark, my stomach has more or less settled. I'm hoping it's just a temporary bug, and I finish the last of the snow-people food and dole it out. Normally they bring a bunch of dead things for me to cook up—fish, rabbits, whatever—but today there's nothing. Just a bunch of hungry mouths. I give out what I can and try not to think about what it's going to be like when we run out of food for them.
Once it's gone, I take the pouch and the cooking utensils with me to the pool and clean them in the hot, fresh water. The heat makes me languid, and after everything has been rinsed, I curl up on the rocks to take a quick nap, my arm propped up under my head. It's not the most comfortable spot to sleep, but I'm so tired I don't even care. The heat is nice, the rocks underneath me toasty warm.
"Aidy."
I wake up to gentle knuckles stroking my cheek. Drowsy, I smile and open my eyes gazing up at him. Corvak looks tired, his thick lion's mane of hair slightly damp from the snow. He's still wearing his makeshift layers of outdoor gear and there's an expression of concern on his face as he regards me. "Is something wrong?"
With a yawn, I sit up. As I do, I feel the aches and pains of sleeping on hard rock. Not my brightest idea. The bowl I was cleaning has floated over to the far side of the pool and the leather pouch hangs perilously close to the edge of the water. My stirring rib is nowhere to be seen. Shoot. I must have knocked them in while I slept. "Sorry, I was taking a nap."
I lean over to pick up the pouch, and as I do, my stomach protests. I press my hand to my mouth, willing the nausea to go down.
"Aidy?" His hand touches my hair and Corvak kneels next to me. "Are you well?"