Page 53 of Souls We Rip

I grunted. He was right, and I hated it. Although I never saw her as a dog, but more as a thorn in my chest.

And still, I did not want her to be compliant. Somewhere between the Girls’ Fair and yesterday morning, I wanted her to fight me, to challenge me. Because each time she did that, I wanted to get to know myself more.

Since she arrived in my cave, the air shifted. The need to protect her that day from the Elk was unknown to me. It tasted sweet and bitter at the same time. My mind tried to trick itself that I resented her just so she could finish the contract.

But my throbbing pulse knew better.

“Leave, boy,” I demanded, thoughts circling in my head.

He stood there, waiting for something from me.

“What else do you need?” I asked, gritting my teeth.

“It might be helpful to say please from time to time. Let’s exercise!” His eyes widened; their shine lost in death.

“Please, leave me be!” I shouted, showing him the hallway.

“It is a good start, master! You might want to work on the tone, though. You know the old saying, you can catch more flies with a spoonful of honey than a gallon of vinegar.” He smiled, a corner of his mouth trembling.

The ghost might have sensed my foul mood, because he dashed through the wall of rocks.

I would sleep on that eventful day, before choosing which path to take with the woman.

“In two minutes, come to the library, human!” I demanded, my voice hard.

She was helping the ghost wash their dishes in two large basins. The woman looked at me, her nostrils flaring and continued to do her task.

“Please,” I added, tilting my head.

The human watched my servant, who nodded. She sighed and strutted past me.

“Good morning, master!” greeted the ghost, winking at me.

I groaned and went after her.

The walk to the library seemed to be longer than usual. It was surely the heat from the cave, and that my head was stuck in my skull and not the woman who swayed her hips before me.

Upon reaching my bookshelves, she grazed her fingers on one of them. She peered at one of my oldest tomes. The urge to tell her to take her wet fingers off my books nagged at me, but I kept quiet.

“That tome is from Medieval Times. Something about monks and their deities.”

I materialised a chair and sat on it. She looked at me, then at my chair. I sighed, bringing one for her too, with additional pillows.

The woman took a seat, crossing her legs as she held the book with great care. “Deities as in God?” she asked, her fingers skimming the pages.

“Sure,” I said, watching her naked feet bouncing in the air. “Aren’t you cold?”

She looked at me, her eyebrows almost touching her dark hairline. “No, you brought plenty of wood to keep me warm.”

I nodded, satisfied that her needs were met. I required her to be healthy for her baptism.

“Not like home,” she added, her tone turning gloomy.

“What do you mean? You had wood for fire,” I retorted. I remembered one scene the Mirror showed me in the past of her and her father carrying arms full of wood inside their house.

“True, although in the summer it is not needed. Our house is built with a structure of reed bundles and then a layer of dirt mixed with reed. This way, the houses are cool in the summer, and the warmth is kept in the winter.”

“Curious,” I mused, touching the chin of my skull with my left hoof.