Page 89 of Souls We Rip

“That’s a lot of cheese. Are you cooking for an army?” I raised my eyebrow watching her hands covered in bits of dough.

She huffed, a smile breaking over her lips. “This child eats more than the two of us combined.”

“My little sister was like this, eating whatever she could. She was the wonder of the family, since, according to my parents, the older siblings would fuss with everything they offered,” I said, watching her hands shaking at the sound of my voice.

Her eyes met mine, and we stood there for a couple of seconds, admiring each other.

“Yes… well,” she cleared her throat. “I believe Andrei and Eugen are doing something to the stallion, I heard him neighing.”

Flour stained her apron, the contrast between the white and the ink-coloured garment standing out. Just like us.

“Andrei is trying to clean the stable, and the horse won’t budge. And Eugen is watching the scene,” she chuckled.

She was trying to deflect me from questioning her feelings. But I noticed her cheeks getting red and her lips parting as if she wanted me to kiss her. And oh, how much I wanted to do that. Not until she realises that there is room in her soul for both her god and me.

I grabbed her floury hand and kissed it, enjoying her turmoil far too much. “I’ll join them; maybe I can convince the stubborn horse to get out.”

Clothes dressed my body as I walked out of the kitchen, sending back my robe to my chamber. The linen shirt was covered by a mantle with tassels, woven in double folds. My legs were covered by thicker breeches, the winter wind already settling.

As I got out of the cave, dark clouds shimmered in the sky, the scent of rain clinging in the air. My head turned towards the sound of hooves hitting the ground.

Around the cave, a stable, high as my stallion, was packed with hay for the winter. The horse was galloping around it, the boy holding it by the mane. Seeing that, I ran to them, stopping the movement with my hand.

“Boy! Get down now!”

Seeing his pale face and his swollen eyes awakened something within me. I was scared for his life. That stallion was not meant to be ridden by fragile humans. For the second time in my immortality, I felt fear for someone other than me.

Eugen’s fragile body slid elegantly from the saddle, his feet creating a thump as dust flew around his legs.

“What were you thinking?” I asked, rushing to his side. “It could have thrown you!”

I felt my pulse in my ears; my breath was as wild as the stallion’s gallop. Kneeling in front of the boy, I pressed my fingers lightly all over his body.

“I am not hurt, Mr Goat Man,” the boy whined, trying to escape from my hands.

“Fine, but don’t come crying later,” I rasped, taking a step back.

His large amber eyes searched my face. “Will you tell me another story, Mr Goat Man?”

“I have a name, you know. You can call me Tiberius,” I suggested, my hand touching his shoulder.

Eugen pouted his lips, his long, ink lashes touching his stained cheeks. “Tiberius…” he tried.

“Alright, now let’s tell you a story.” I guided the boy to the outskirts of the forest, showing him every type of bird which circled the sky. The wind made it hard for them to fly, their wings flapping in vain.

The branches rattled above our heads, foreshadowing the storm. A lightning bolt split the ink sky in two, thunder following suit. Still holding Eugen’s shoulder, I felt him trembling from the noise.

With my mind, as soon as raindrops fell, I cast a shield over us, avoiding every unpleasant part of the storm.

“How about the story that everybody knows?” I suggested, taking my hand off his shoulder.

“Is it scary?” he inquired, his eyes watching the trees above us.

“Yes,” I whispered, the answer travelling in the wind.

He took a seat on the ground, dirt covering his white breeches. Crossing his legs, his ears were perked, and his hands barely stopped moving.

“It was the night of The Girls’ Fair, long before I took Ana and Andrei to join me. I watched how everyone danced and laughed, how they indulged in wine and food. Children were everywhere, running through the intertwined hands of their parents while they danced the hora. And that was the first time I felt…jealous of them.”