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Branwen nods, standing from her crouch. “The sun is about to rise. Probably within the hour.”
The panther breaks apart, pouring back into the bowl I placed on the floor. “I don’t think there’s going to be a turkey sandwich perfectly preserved in any of that,” I point out.
Despite my words, I understand it. We’ve gone through everything here searching for food and come up empty-handed. What else can we do, though?
From what I can tell, practicing with the elements doesn’t use any more of my strength than moving a limb, but even that’s getting to be too much for me.
The hole in my stomach aches and cramps. The more I think about how hungry I am, the worse it gets, which is partly why I’ve been trying to keep my mind occupied by practicing.
Branwen’s normally tan complexion is wan, and there are circles under her eyes that weren't there a day ago. If I stand or move too fast, a wave of dizziness washes over me.
Too often I struggle to make sense of my own thoughts, like my brain doesn’t have enough fuel to understand anything.
We can’t stay down here much longer. We won’t survive.
“I’d sell my soul for toast and jam,” Branwen sighs, flopping down next to me and scrubbing a trembling hand down her face. I can’t remember when my own hands started shaking, but I know it’s been at least a day.
It’s worse to see my friend decline, though. Hunger isn’t the only thing eating me alive. My guilt is, too. She chose to come because of me.
And I’m making water animals instead of trying to find a way out.
My head falls against the wall, and I blink when my vision blurs.
“Oh look,” Branwen mutters, reaching over and plucking a blue jar from the shelves next to her. “These kind of look like walnuts.”
“What?”
Vertigo hits as soon as I turn to the side and I close my eyes and wait for it to pass. Once the world stops spinning, I open them and find Branwen holding a jar out in front of her, shaking it softly. Whatever’s inside rattles against the glass.
“I’m literally about to drool on myself, Idril,” she whines. Her perfume hits me, bitter and burnt with distress. Tears pool on her lower lashes, and her eyes are bright with hope as she passes me the jar. “Do you think we can eat them?”
They look like walnuts, but something feels off about them. Something….
A memory pops into my head—one from when I was a little girl, baking with my mother.
My whole body jerks like I’ve been electrocuted.
Oh Fates… I think I know what these are.
Heart racing, I stand—slowly this time—and with single-minded focus, cross the room as fast as I can without passing out.
I remember finding dirt yesterday… or was it the day before? The days have blurred together, but I know for sure we found it. Somewhere over…
Yes!
On a lower shelf, a row of clay jars sits, each filled with various types of soil. Kneeling, I hesitate, unsure which to use. I can’t screw this up. If I’m right, then this will give us more time. More time to find a way out. More time to figure out what I’m doing and how to use it to help us.
And how to break open that pillar, too.
At the very least, we won’t starve.
Please, let me be right.
“May as well leave it up to chance,” I murmur, reaching for one from the middle that looks nice and dark.
Good for growing things.
I head straight for the dais, unsure how much room I’ll need and unwilling to take any chances. Crouching down, I pop the lid off the jar of dirt and tip it over, shaking out a generous mound. Setting it aside, I use my palms to push all of the dirt into a small pile about four inches thick.
