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“My dad never wanted to,” Ash says. “He thought it was smarter to stay here, where we know there’s food and we’re familiar with the land. He felt like leaving was too much of a risk. He never wanted to do anything that put Caleb or me in any unnecessary danger.”
“But?” I ask, hearing a wary kind of wistfulness behind her words.
Ash shrugs. “But I wouldn’t mind seeing what else is out there someday.” She holds out the bowl she has in her hand. “You better eat this before it gets cold. Rabbit stew.” She gives me an apologetic smile. “We eat a lot of rabbit.”
“It smells great,” I tell her, meaning every word. “Definitely better than lizards and tree bark.” She’s brought a hunk of heavy dark bread as well. I finish it all in huge gulps, and have to resist licking the inside of the bowl when I’m done.
“There’s more,” Ash says. “But first maybe you want to change clothes? Get cleaned up?”
At her words I realize how itchy I am, from my scalp all the way to my toes. I think there’s dirt and blood caked in every crevice of my body. I can’t imagine how bad I smell. “Yes, that sounds good.”
Ash leads me out of the tent and down toward the river. The sun is starting to set, and the noise of the camp has been reduced to a peaceful buzz, everyone settling in for dinner. We walk along the edge of the river, away from the camp a bit, and Ash points to a spot where the riverbank is flat and even, the water flowing gently. “This is where we wash off,” she tells me. “I’ve heard you have running water in Westfall. Nothing like that out here.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “The river is fine. At this point, I’ll just be happy to be clean.” I glance around. “What if someone comes along?”
“The men go in that direction”—Ash hooks a thumb back over her shoulder—“so don’t worry about prying eyes.”
I still stand uncertainly, but Ash doesn’t appear to have my reservations. She strips off her clothes in about five seconds flat and splashes into the river in a tangle of sun-browned limbs. She reminds me of a puppy, all big earnest eyes and eager warmth. “Hey, there’s soap in my bag, if you want to grab it,” she calls back to me.
I tell myself there’s nothing to worry about. I’m not embarrassed for Ash to see me naked, but it leaves me feeling vulnerable. But I have to admit it feels good to shed myself of my smelly, dirt-streaked clothes. I leave them in a pile and join Ash in the water, which is surprisingly warm against my bare skin.
The soap is coarse and scratches as much as it cleans, but I scrub hard anyway, suddenly anxious to rid myself of every speck of sweat, blood, and dirt. I dunk my head under the water and work the soap through my tangled hair, too.
“Sorry,” I say, passing Ash what’s left of the bar of soap. “I used a lot of it.”
“We have plenty,” Ash says. She pauses in washing and points at my forearm. “How’d you get the scars?”
I glance down at my arm. “Dog bite.” I steel myself for her to ask the details, already weighing whether to tell the truth or make up a new version of the story. But Ash only nods, lifts her leg out of the water.
“A wild dog got me right here when I was little,” she says, running her hand over a scar on her thigh. “Caleb shot it.” She lowers her leg and turns her arm my direction. A web of scar tissue covers her left biceps. “And this is from a mountain lion, just a couple of years ago.” She laughs. “I have a bunch more. I’m covered in scars.”
“These are my only ones,” I say, my fingers sliding over the scars. They don’t bother me as much as they used to, not since Bishop changed the way I thought about them. And I realize from the lack of reaction that to Ash, the scars are just something that happened to me. They aren’t me. Not anymore. I look up to find Ash watching me, her head cocked.
“What?” I ask.
“You have sad eyes.” Ash makes the observation like it pains her, and I understand why Caleb worried about her wanting to find someone to save. Empathy probably doesn’t get you very far out here.
“Not as sad as they were a few days ago,” I say, as lightly as I can, but Ash doesn’t smile.
“If you ever want to talk about it—”
“Thanks,” I say, cutting her off. “I’m going to get out. I’m starting to get cold.”
There are towels in Ash’s bag, and a change of clothes for both of us. The pants she brought for me are a little short, but I roll them up to midcalf and they work fine. The sleeveless shirt is homespun and worn, but smells clean and fits well.
Woodsmoke dances in the early-evening air as we head back to camp, and Ash points to a bonfire in the distance. “Come on,” she says. “We can drop our dirty clothes back at the tent and go sit around the fire.” She glances at me. “You don’t have to talk to anyone, if you don’t want to.”
I give her a grateful smile. “It’s just a lot…getting used to this.” I tip my head up, breathe in the scents of river grass and smoke. The stars are starting to come out, faint glitter tossed across the lavender sky. They are the only thing in my whole word that look remotely familiar. “It’s like being in a dream you can’t wake up from.”
“Sounds pretty awful,” Ash says.
“Not awful exactly.” I don’t know how to explain it to her. That what I left behind wasn’t so great, either, except for Bishop. “Just very strange.”
Ash finds Caleb on the edge of the fire pit and nudges him over so we all can fit on his blanket. He nods to me, which is probably his version of a friendly greeting. I pull my legs up, wrap my arms around them, and rest my chin on my knees. Just a few weeks ago a fire at night would have created nothing but sweat and sticky skin. But with a hint of fall in the air once the sun’s set, it’s the perfect temperature. Now that I’ve stopped movi
ng, weariness leaches into my bones, and I wonder if I’ll ever feel the buzz of excess energy again.
I notice the way almost everyone stops to greet Caleb as they gather around the fire. “Is Caleb in charge here?” I ask Ash, careful to time the question when Caleb is talking to someone else.
