Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
I hold her and do not rest. Instead, I stay intensely awake, meditating on the feel of her in my arms, memorizing her closeness, the scent of her skin and hair, and staying alert in case there should be any threat.
Really, though, I know I’m trying to capture these memories to fill me up for the rest of my long eternity after this short week has passed by, and she’s lost to me again.
It seems impossible to me now that a few short days ago, I did not know her. And more even impossible that in another scattering of days, I will never see her again.
Doubly important, then, to live my entire life in these days I will spend with her and waste not an iota of it.
Deeply, I inhale and, for perhaps the first moments of my life, feel the peace I have forever chased. And try not to think how fleeting it will be.
Chapter Sixteen
KSENIA
When I wake, Thing’s arms are still securely around me. It doesn’t panic me like I thought it would.
Instead, it does what it did last night. It makes everything calm.
All the buzzing thoughts and sensations are quiet. The pressure of his arms squeezing ever so slightly allows me to breathe and not panic. After my mother’s death, I couldn’t stand for anyone to touch me except my father. Sometimes, if I experienced anything else upsetting or shocking, he would hold me like this. So tightly that it made everything else recede, and I could finally calm down.
I never knew if it was because of my mother’s shocking death and the hours I spent at her side or if I was just like this. I suppose I’ll never have the chance to know since I’ll always carry my history with me. I simply am who I am.
I never thought anyone else’s touch could calm me like my father’s. A thought that, on its own, starts to overwhelm me. Which makes me glad Thing is still holding me so tight.
I must wriggle or do something else that gives away the fact that I’m up because, above me, Thing’s deep voice rumbles, “You are awake.”
Smooshed against him like I am, I can hear the booming echo of his voice through his huge chest. Even that is soothing. A silly part of me wishes we could travel like this, attached to the front of his warm chest. I’m absolutely toasty, something I haven’t felt in. . . well, I can’t remember the last time I was completely warm. I couldn’t get close enough to the fire back in the castle. Some part of me was always cold. My backside while my front faced the fire, or the opposite if I turned my butt to the fire.
But with Thing wrapped around me like this, I feel completely warm and completely safe.
It feels. . . new. Even before the attack, the life I lived. . . Doing what I do and constantly fighting to keep my father’s organization alive and relevant in a changing world. . .
Feeling warm and at peace is rare.
Those aren’t things I value. I immediately argue with myself as I lean deeper into Thing’s chest, not quite ready to have him pull away. It’s absurd to find a stranger’s embrace so reassuring. But he’s not just any stranger, is he?
“We should get moving while there’s light,” he says in his deep, rumbly voice.
Reluctantly, I nod, stealing one last moment of warmth and security before pulling away. Immediately I’m slammed by cold as his arms retreat.
“Stay in your sleeping bag,” he says. “I’ll stoke the fire so we can have a hot breakfast before we go.”
I nod but stay quiet. I don’t trust my voice at the moment with the strange lump rising as I lose his touch. Suddenly the rest of the world rushes back in, and it’s so loud. The wind is blustery and it’s overwhelmingly bright white when he opens the tent flap. Then thoughts of my father and my revenge hit, and how far we have left to walk, not to mention the icy pins pricking my nose—
I bury my head in the sleeping bag and wait until he calls me again for breakfast.
When he does, I find he’s cooked more of the wolf’s meat from last night. It tastes like pork, and I’m surprised I don’t mind eating it too much. We’re both quiet, but we’re hurrying, too.
I think we both feel the urgency to use the sunlight. While I finish eating, Thing quickly breaks down the tent and packs everything back up in the hulking bag he pulls onto his back. Then we start our trek.
Quiet is the theme of the day. It’s strange after the intensity of yesterday. I don’t know what to say other than to monologue about different types of knives, and there’s so much to take in from the scenery around me. It feels like too much to talk and walk at the same time anyway.