Chapter 43 #2
I have watched Dad skinning game before. Plenty of times. That doesn’t mean I know how to do it myself, without making a complete mess.
There’s no one here to do it for me.
No one here at all.
I swallow hard and get to work.
It’s ugly.
My first cut is too shallow. The second too deep. But I grit my teeth and keep going.
By the end, I’m splattered in blood, swearing under my breath, and more than half convinced I’ve ruined the whole carcass.
I set it aside, clean my blade in the dirt, and face my second problem.
The fire.
I stare at the carcass, then at the cold ground, and let out a humorless breath.
No flint. No steel. No Jax.
Fine. I can do this.
First I gather tinder, dry grass from beneath the overhang, brittle bark peeled from the inside of a dead branch, a fistful of pine needles.
Then, I search for wood dry enough to catch, splitting a thin piece with my knife until I have a small board and a spindle no thicker than my thumb.
I loop my belt around the spindle and brace the board against the ground. By the time I start sawing the spindle back and forth, my shoulders are already aching from the hunt.
Nothing happens.
I grit my teeth and keep going.
The spindle splits. The board jumps. My palm skids and I hiss a curse.
Again.
I reset it and force myself to slow down.
Pressure. Rhythm. Heat.
That’s all this is.
Sweat beads at the back of my neck despite the cold. My arms shake. Smoke finally curls up from the notch in the wood and my pulse leaps so hard it nearly throws off my rhythm.
“Don’t you dare die on me now,” I mutter.
A tiny pile of black dust gathers. One faint orange glow appears at its center.
My breath catches.
Carefully, I tip the ember into the rest of the dry grass and bark. I put it between my hands and breathe into it. Slow and steady.
For one terrible second, I think it’s gone.
But the tinder catches with a soft whoomph. Flames lick upward. Relief hits me so sharply my knees almost give.
Once the flames are steady, I find a green branch, sharpen one end, and spit the rabbit over the fire.
Grease hisses into the flames.
The smell is enough to make my mouth water.
I crouch there and turn it slowly, watching the meat darken. My hands are raw. There’s dried blood under my nails. Smoke clings to my clothes and hair.
There’s nothing honorable or powerful about me right now.
I’ve never looked less like the Ezkai General.
A short, humorless laugh escapes me.
If Vera could see me now…
The thought dissolves as quickly as it comes.
Vera.
Kazh.
Noire.
Jax.
All relying on me finding and bonding the dragon.
The dragon’s rejection rises up inside me all over again. This time it feels…heavier.
I stare into the fire and think of Jax without meaning to.
Not the kiss…not the way his mouth felt on mine, the way his hard, hot body feels wrapped around me while we sleep…
No.
No. I think about practical things.
The way he always checked the perimeter before sleep.
How he navigated the map and confusing paths in the forest.
The way he always noticed what I lacked before I noticed it myself.
My jaw tightens.
His absence hurts in a soft, pathetic manner.
I tear off a piece of rabbit once it is cooked enough not to bleed and nearly burn my fingers in the process.
The meat is tough, tasteless, and a little underdone near the bone. But I don’t care. I eat every bite I can salvage, licking grease from my thumb afterward with no dignity at all.
I’ll need all the strength I can get.
The food helps immediately. Warmth spreads slowly through my body. The haze surrounding my mind lifts.
I’m ready.
I stamp out the fire and listen for any running water. I need to refill my skin and wash my hands.
The mountain looms somewhere ahead, hidden beyond the trees. I feel…something. A pull. A direction towards it.
Today, I move slower.
After hours of walking, I come across a small river. The forest is thinner here. The ground grows rockier, the incline steeper. I wash my sticky hands and refill my skin before pushing forward.
A familiar scratch splits the air so suddenly and so loudly that every muscle in my body locks.
My head snaps up.
Another one follows, echoing across the mountainside.
My dragon.
My pulse leaps. I break into a run. The sound came from above and to the east. I weave through the trees, breath sawing in and out of my lungs, until I reach a clearing just large enough to give me a view of the canopy overhead.
Nothing.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, turning in a slow circle.
The scratch comes again, farther now.
I scan the trees and spot the tallest one at the edge of the slope. A pine thick enough to hold my weight, its branches stretching above the rest.
Good enough.
I unbuckle my belt as I run to it, looping the leather around the trunk to brace myself as I climb. Bark tears at my gloves. Resin sticks to my palms. Every muscle in my body screams.
The tree sways slightly the higher I go, and the wind grows sharper, colder. Still, I keep climbing until the branches thin enough that I can see over the surrounding forest.
There.
A black, long shape cuts across the sky.
My breath catches.
She’s magnificent from this height, even at a distance. Her body glides through the air with terrifying ease, dark scales flashing where the sun catches them between the clouds.
She circles once above the mountain range, then again, lower this time, as though surveying the land below.
I press myself against the trunk, tracking her path.
Where are you going?
She turns then. Not back toward the forest, but toward the mountain.
A jagged wall of stone rises above the forest, nearly sheer in places. Near the top, partly hidden by shadow, is a wide ledge jutting from the rock. She angles toward it with slow, powerful beats of her wings.
She lands with enough force that even from this distance I see loose stone break from the ledge and fall. She lowers her head and disappears into the dark mouth of a cave.
“There you are,” I whisper.
I go still.
The mountain.
The ledge.
The cave.
I’ve found her den.