Nugget has found a large beetle in the corner. Full predator mode, pink feathers ridiculous against the dirt floor.
"At least one of us is thriving," I tell her.
She ignores me. The beetle matters more.
Right. Unpack.
Three jars of moonbright paste—one almost empty, need to make more. Half a roll of bandages. Change of clothes. Small knife. Waterskin, nearly dry. A handful of herbs I grabbed without looking—chamomile, good for tea, and rosemary maybe? I'll check in better light.
I arrange everything on the shelf. Paste on the left, bandages beside it, knife on the table within reach. The paste jar is dusty—I wipe it with my sleeve. Outside, someone laughs—sharp and sudden through the thin wall. I go still. Is that about me? Of course that's about me. What else would it be about?
The bandages need to be re-rolled tighter—I sit on the pallet and start rolling, fingers moving, have to keep moving because if my hands stop—
The clearing. Everyone staring. His eye finding mine across—
Rolling bandages. Very important. Essential, actually. These wraps are loose and if I need them for a wound the tail end will unravel and I'll lose six inches of clean fabric and that's six inches someone might need and I should check whether the paste jar seals are holding because wax cracks in cold air and if the seal on that second jar fails the whole batch oxidizes and I've only got five treatments total and the moonbright field is back near the cottage which I can't get to and—
Years.
"Don't." I look at Nugget. Hold up the bandage. "Rolling. That's what I'm doing. Rolling bandages."
Nugget clucks.
More clucking.
Judgmental clucking.
"You're achicken. You don't get to judge me."
She catches the beetle and eats it.
I finish the bandage. I set it on the shelf. Neat. Tight. Good.
I've got a dwelling. I've got Nugget. I've got paste and bandages and hands.
The heat's still there. Every time I think about him directly, it comes back. So don't think about him directly.
But I'm tired. So tired. My hands are still holding the last bandage, half-wound, and I should finish it but my eyes are closing and—
Nugget makes a sleepy sound from her corner.
"Yeah." My eyes close. "Me too."
The bandage unspools against my chest. I don't fix it..
Chapter 7
Nugget is staring at me.
I open my eyes and she's right there, pink face inches from mine, beady eyes fixed on me with the intensity of someone who has been personally wronged.
She clucks once. Sharp.
"I'm awake."
She pecks my nose.
"Ow! Fine. Up. I'm up."
