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My eyes closed, and I felt fire dancing over my body already, drying my bare skin off. The damn things stung. Not the flames; the eyes.
The tears I was fighting so hard.
I had been fighting for so long, just to stay alive. To stay sane. To survive.
Would it ever end?
“Want me to find you some clothes?” Quake asked, as he sat down next to me.
Odin.
Quake.
I still hadn’t picked one.
Add it to the list of ways I was failing.
“There’s no point,” I mumbled. “You can’t see me, and I’m just going to burn them up.”
His hand landed on my face a moment later, and I pushed at it when he started feeling up my cheeks. His touch didn’t bother me—he was always gentle, and it honestly felt good to be touched. Even if I didn’t admit that to him. “You’re crying,” he said.
“No. Just wet from the river.”
He lifted his finger to his lips and tasted it. “Too salty to be river water.”
I made a face at him, but said nothing.
“I should probably mention that I can feel you, when you lay on the stone like that.” He gestured toward me. “The same way I can feel your feet, when you move.”
“It’s fine. You’ll survive feeling my butt on the stone.”
He made a noise of agreement, and held a bowl out toward me.
“I’m on fire,” I said. “I’ll just burn it.”
“Then open up.” He used the spoon—it looked like it was made out of stone—and easily scooped some kind of food from the bowl.
“No.” I didn’t get up.
“If you don’t eat, your fire will only get harder to control.”
I heaved a sigh.
A few minutes passed.
Odin took the bite himself, and loaded his spoon with another one.
“What is that stuff?” I asked him.
“A type of small pasta. Easy to make, tastes good. It would be better if I had sauce, but cooking isn’t exactly in my skill set.”
He wasn’t great at it… but he’d cooked for me anyway.
“Alright, I’ll try it,” I said reluctantly.
He held the spoon out toward me, and waited as I lifted my head up off the ground and wrapped my lips around the spoon.
Then he refilled the spoon while I chewed.
