Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
“This is another one of your insane dreams, isn’t it?”
“Horse,” is all I manage.
He waves a dismissive hand at me. “Go back to sleep, o, sunshine-spewing martyr. I’ll protect you from the horses.”
Thank goodness. With that promise, I nod and lie back down. I’m asleep immediately once more.
I wake up to early morning sunlight and the sound of drums. Sitting up, I rub my face in surprise. “It’s morning? I slept all this time?”
“Did you?” Kalos sounds sour about it, too. He sits on a corner of the bed, feeding Dingle an ear of corn. “I seem to recall arguing with you about a horse coming out of a picture.”
I wipe my sleep-crusted eyes. “I don’t remember.”
“Of course you don’t.” He sounds pissier than before. “Your stress dreams are making my hair turn white.”
“Ha ha. Cute.” I smile.
He doesn’t smile back. “I had to clean up after the goat. You’re welcome.”
His crankiness rolls right off my back. I stretch, yawning. I feel pretty good. Crazy hungry, but good. The music I can hear through the walls makes me want to tap my toes, too. “It sounds like a party outside.”
“It probably is,” he says, like a surly old man.
I hop up and move to the window, peering out through the bubbled glass. I can’t see much of anything, but the streets look as if they’re filled with colorful blobs that move. People, probably. “Do you think it’s Gental down there?”
“The better question is, do I care?”
“Wow, you’re fun this morning. Everything okay? Do we need to talk?” I turn away from the window, glancing over at him.
“I am not fun, because I am the embodiment of Apathy,” he grits out, tossing the corn cob down onto the woven brush mat on the floor. “I have been sitting here in a small room with a bored goat while you snored. I fed him. I entertained him. I even picked up his shit because it stank.”
Clearly, he resents all of this, too. The look of annoyance on his face pricks at me. It’s not my fault I slept for twelve hours straight. I’m the mortal in this equation, and I’ve been running myself ragged trying to keep us safe. There’s no need to take things out on me. I know it’s the Apathy speaking, but there’s a difference between being exhausted with the world around you and just being a dick. I ignore him.
Music from outside floats through the air, and I can’t help but tap my foot. I pull out my other tunic from my pack and sniff it. It’s wrinkled and smells rank, but it’s better than the one I’m wearing, at least. I quickly change clothing, my back to Kalos, and start to finger-comb my hair. If there really is a festival going on, it could either mean a lot of vendors or that everyone’s closed up shop to celebrate. I won’t know which one it is until I get down there. Humming to myself, I almost hope it’s the latter. I wouldn’t mind a few days of having fun and enjoying a party. I bet there’s good food and alcoholic drinks. Dancing. Merriment.
It all sounds so fun that I immediately want to be down there in the street with everyone else. But we’ve got Dingle to think about, and the goat needs food and drink just as much as I do. There’s a bit of old linen strips at the bottom of the bag, and I use one to tie my ponytail back, then tie the second in a jaunty bow around Dingle’s neck. The goat bleats and tries to nibble on it, and I laugh and scratch at his chin. “You have to look like a pet when we go out, buddy.”
“You’re going out?” Kalos sounds practically offended at the thought. “In all this?”
I give Dingle’s chin one last scratch and straighten. “Of course. We talked about this last night. We need supplies. We need clothes and food and weapons. It’s all very practical.”
“Which is why you’re humming,” he comments, voice flat. “And not at all that you wish to join the festivities.”
Even his dismal attitude doesn’t bug me. I check under the rickety bed, looking for my worn sandals. “I want to see what the festivals are about here. If it’s anything like home, there’s music and food and fun and I want to see what it’s like.”
“You weren’t chosen to be my Anchor because of ‘fun,’” he says in a scathing tone. “You’re not a fun person.”
That makes me stop short. I sit up and turn to look at him, miffed. “I can be fun.”
“No, you can’t,” he says firmly. “You have taken it upon yourself to be a martyr determined to nursemaid everyone you run across. You are perpetually cheerful and competent, even when it’s inappropriate. You are optimistic and determined, but you are not fun, no.”