Page 26 of Trapped By Claws
It was too much.
I burst into tears.
For all the good it did, I just sobbed.
On top of all that, it was so hard to get warm. My fingers and toes ached and burned. Stripping off my still-wet socks and shoes made them sting even more. And the cold damp in the airmade it worse. Even wrapping up in the old robe did little to curb the cold.
I piled the extra garments up as well as the blanket and curled up on the mat. It was so thin I could feel every pit and dent in the stone floor beneath it.
Everyone was alive though. This hadn't been a mistake. It was the only choice.
I told myself that over and over until I cried myself to sleep.
I woke, shivering. How much longer before I got deathly ill?
Probably not much.
It was no wonder parents warned their children against bargains with fae if they wound up in places like this.
Shuddering, I sat up and limped out to the main room, rubbing my arms as I went.
Corvin was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Tagger.
"Hello?" I called out softly. "Hello?" I spoke louder this time. "I'm sorry about what I said. I didn't mean for it to sound so bad." My cheeks and chest stung with shame. It was clear that my words had struck a deep chord in him. Almost as if he were embarrassed.
As I rubbed my arms and stomped my feet to get the blood flowing, I continued to search.
No sign of him anywhere.
If I was going to find a way out, now was the time to do it.
Not by water.That wasn't the way out. But there might be another way.
I searched around the common room. There was a plate sitting out on the table with strips of salted, dried fish on it. A piece of wrinkled paper sat next to it with a picture of a stick person with a skirt putting something in her mouth and an arrow pointing at the fish. I frowned a little. A large blue pitcher with a superficial crack down its side sat beyond that with a similar picture of a stick woman drinking from it.
That was thoughtful. But I was his prisoner. If he wanted me to survive, he had to feed me.This didn't mean anything.
I had to figure out something fast.
My stomach cramped as I imagined Mama wandering the beach.
How long before Mama accepted I was dead and gone, and went back to searching for Erryn? And how was Mama going to get off the beach? They'd probably send up a smoke signal or something. But that could take a few days.
Creator, let Hosvir care for Mama.
I pressed my lips in a tight line, my appetite fading.
Despite the nausea and discomfort, I forced myself to eat the dried, salted fish and drink the water. I hadn't eaten since yesterday, and commonsense encouraged eating when I could. Even if it did taste foul and fishy.
It left an oily residue on the inside of my mouth. I'd experimented with a number of salting and drying techniques in my journeys over the past years. Some methods worked better than others, but this one created a foul aftertaste that coated my tongue.
Still, it filled my belly, and it gave me strength.
The clothes I had hung up to dry overnight were still damp. The oversized robe, trousers, and tunic would have to do. I couldn't go without socks and shoes though. I found a spare pair of oversized socks to wear, but my shoes were still damp and I had no alternative.
I cringed, knowing if I wasn't careful I'd have blisters and sores on my feet before the day was over. But if I was going to escape, I couldn't do it barefoot.
Ugh.
