Page 21 of Escape from the Green

She exhaled so hard her whole body shook with it, her gaze going over my shoulder, refusing eye-contact. "Can I help build?" she asked, sounding needy.

Figuring she needed to do something, not sit there and think, I slowly moved to stand. "Sure," I offered. "First layer, we lay them with the stick ends up, letting the needles create a skirt around the bottom. Overlapping them. You get started on that. I will start tying things together while you do that," I offered, reaching in my pocket for the loose, rope-like pieces of shrubbery I had lucked upon.

"Okay," she agreed, ignoring my hand as she pulled herself up to her feet, setting to work with a single-minded focus that was impressive, laying things quickly, thickly, like she had done so a million times before instead of having been entirely ignorant of it.

"Survivalist shows," she mumbled at some point after likely having caught me looking at her with drawn down brows.

"I'm sorry?"

"On the television. In the human realm. They have these... programs where you watch people learning how to survive in foreign, brutal lands. Survivalist shows. I like them. That's how I know how to do this," she explained, pulling up the final row of pine branches. "I also know how to get water out of cacti, and create a snare."

"A snare?" I asked, unfamiliar with the word.

"Oh, well... you know how the humans eat other animals?" she asked, making my stomach turn a bit.

"I've heard rumors."

"It's not a rumor. Humans don't all survive on plants. Well, some do. But most eat flesh. And to catch the animals, they make... traps."

"Have you eaten flesh?" I asked, trying not to be disgusted by the idea.

"No. We can't. Or, at least, that is what other fae who have lived in the human realm say. We get violently ill if we try. Some don't survive."

I nodded at that, tying up the last of the branches.

"Will that do it?" she asked, hunching forward to try to get away from the wind.

"It will have to," I said, shrugging. "Come on. It's getting worse," I added, holding open a small spot where the rock jutted out ever-so-slightly, just enough room between the rock and our wall to let us slip through.

She hesitated enough to make me stiffen, realizing she still hadn't let her gaze move above my chest since she had woken up.

Maybe she never would again.

A part of me wanted to bring it up, to clear the air, to let her tell me how violated she felt. Even if we both knew it wasn't exactly my fault.

But the other part wanted to keep the relative peace between us.

She shrank small even before she ducked low, doing so to take up less space, to lessen the chance of brushing up against me as she slipped past me to crouch inside.

I'd cleared the snow out as best I could before I finished tying everything up, scooping it all out with my bare hands left blistering red afterward, but knowing that being wet would only make it less likely that we could keep warm, survive the night.

Taking a deep breath, I went down on my knees to climb in, securing the branch back in place, watching as the pine wall bent inward slightly, but barely let in the slightest of cool.

It was going to work.

I moved inward, thankful for the bit of light that came through the needles, finding Amy plastered up into the furthest corner, legs pulled up inside her jacket, her head on her knees again, attempting to keep in what was left of her body heat.

I moved halfway inside, trying to get close enough to her that my body heat might warm her as well, but give her enough space to feel comfortable.

And then all there was between us was silence.

The wind whipped, batting snow up against the bottom of our wall which kept it from moving around at all, securing it in place, keeping us as insulated from the weather as possible.

But as the evening approached night, her body started quaking gently, then more violently as the minutes dragged on.

When I heard her teeth chattering together, I couldn't keep silent anymore.

"Amy?"