Chapter 2 #2
Still, if he was curious enough to get me out of this damn trench, that would even the odds.
“Can you help me out of here?” I called up at him.
“If you can toss down some rope, that would be grand.” His eyes blinked closed slowly, also very like a cat, then back open again.
Oh… realization struck when he did not move.
He couldn’t understand what I’d said; this was a one-way street.
This guy did not have translators like many of the trusted aspirants had—like Haven did.
Which meant there was only one way he could ever understand what I said: if he was my mate.
If he touched me, and his sigils lit up, that supposedly meant some kind of telepathic bond would allow us to understand one another.
That information was part of the talk Vera, Zathar’s mate, had given all of us when we’d arrived at Haven.
There were five of us girls, as well as eight men.
That had been three months ago. Then I’d heard it all again three days ago, when seven more girls had been rescued from the crashed ship—a rescue I’d been part of, and one I was proud to have pulled off with the group.
I began shaking more violently the longer I stood still, my armful of damp wood still clutched to my muddy chest. Did I want to convince him to get me out, and how was I going to do that if he didn’t understand UAR Common?
With a sigh, I carefully put the wood down at my feet, and then I gestured up at him with my hands.
“Pick me up, rope, come on, you know what I need! Get me out of here.” I mimed tossing a rope, I mimed climbing, and I felt like an idiot doing it.
It was getting so much colder, too; it was beginning to seep into my bones.
My fingers were growing stiff, my shaking growing slower, which was a bad sign, a very bad sign.
This was getting me nowhere. If I stood still any longer, I’d freeze to death.
Bending down, I picked up the bits of wood I’d gathered for a fire and resumed walking.
“Fuck you, then. I’ll find my own way out.
” The green eyes blinked at me, and then they disappeared.
I kept walking, but a hint of fear crawled down my spine.
It was so wet down here; if he wasn’t going to help me out of this gully, I’d have to take the risk myself.
My eyes started scanning for the most likely spot, but it still looked no better than it had forty minutes ago.
Then I still had a hint of daylight; now I could only see by the strange light coming from the left side of the gully.
North, if I wasn’t mistaken. When I spotted a place where several roots stuck out of the steep, slippery muck, I decided this was as good as it was going to get.
I tucked the wood into the front of my coat, secured my belt, and shook out my hands.
My hair was muddy, though mostly dry, and crunched as I pushed the strands behind my ears and out of the way.
Yuck. It was a wonder he’d even recognized that I was female beneath all that mud.
I doubted he would have been able to catch much of a scent, either.
“Here goes nothing,” I said to myself, and I curled a fist around the first bit of root I could reach, right above my head.
I tested it very carefully to see if it could hold my weight, then pulled myself up and started to reach for the next, much smaller and thinner handhold.
That one shifted, then broke, and I swore in frustration.
“Stand back, I’m tossing down the rope now,” the male voice called.
This time, he was right above, at the top of the very edge I’d just attempted to climb.
I slid back down, hand stinging as I released the one root that had held me.
He’d come back! Or maybe he’d never left; he’d just needed to get his rope or something.
He was watching me move, just a pair of blinking eyes, and as soon as I was clear of the muddy wall, he tossed his rope down toward me.
The end landed with a splat in the muck at my feet.
I picked it up with stiff fingers, pulled on it to test that it was secure, and then considered the best way to ascend.
Not with assistance from that muddy wall, that was certain.
“Coming up!” I called out, and then I leaped, grabbed hold of the rope high above my head, and used a foot lock with my feet to secure my position.
That allowed me to use my hands to grab higher on the rope before releasing the foot lock and twisting my body up to secure the same lock with my feet again, higher up.
This was not a technique easy for anyone to do; it required a lot of core body strength, but it was as familiar as breathing to me. It worked even when the rope and my boots were a little crusted with mud in places.
I had almost reached the top when a soft sound caught my attention.
It was dangerous to pause when my body was this bruised, tired, and cold.
Yet the soft, mewling noise pulled so poignantly at my heart that I couldn’t help myself.
Too dark to see much beneath the slightly overhanging lip of the ground here, I was guided by sound alone.