you never stay in one place for very long;
A last kiss to go with the first one.
-----
“Don't look at that,” Inez says.
“You need to change the dressing.” Embarrassed to be caught staring, Jorm makes himself look away. “It's spotting through.” He's never seen a wound bleed that color before, thick and dark. He knows it's from the toxins. He doesn't want to know. If it gets infected, it will only be worse.
“I'll take care of it.” She touches his arm, hoping he'll drop the subject. “How's your head?”
He tells her it's fine, and not that his vision has been coming in and out of focus.
Their camp is small but maintainable. Their loudest naysayers would forget that before everything else, they had lived here. They can trap a small animal; Ines can cook from the things in the earth. They've just had bad luck lately, that's all. The woods ignore them, and lost people are always unlucky.
They haven't been able to move camp in three days. Inez's wound started it; the sting left her feverish and weak, the medicines she made slow and painful, a pebble against a storm. Jorm took down a beast that stung his forehead and knocked him unconscious before he fell.
He remembers less after that. Sometimes, Inez coughs red.
Their hopes of finding their daughters declines with every day they stay in the same place.
Ines cuts up their dinner with a slow, unsteady hand and pushes Jorm his portion. She eats so little of hers, her stomach turning down the idea of food, it looks like she hasn't eaten at all. She gives the rest to him (discouraged, he puts it aside) and goes to change her bandage.
“Don't look,” she says.
But even with his eyes turned away, he still hears her keening.
They step outside their shelter, check the fire, eye the lines of the perimeter. Something muggy and invasive is on the wind. It isn't difficult to imagine the forest turning on their presence
“Do you think Eidn will be all right?” Inez asks. She's asked it once before, when they first came here. It's different now, and somewhat sadder.
“Of course he will,” Jorm answers. “He's your boy.”
It's too near nightfall now to do much else, and they crawl back to their shelter where the light is even dimmer. He can see how pale she is even then, her face a blurry, white glow. She draws him to their pallet, where they linger in the dark.
She puts her good side against his good side, where they stay for a while.
“I'll sleep soon, I think.” Inez puts her head on his shoulder.
And he knows.
It's too warm outside to feel so cold. Jorm tilts her chin with her finger and kisses her like he used to, slow and lingering.
“You're beautiful,” he says.
“You've looked much handsomer.” Jorm 'tsks' at her and Inez nearly smiles. “Listen...” she begins.
“I know.” He kisses her cheek, the bridge of her nose. “I know.”
Outside the sky is raging and the beasts are closing in, and their children are so far away.
“I think it's going to rain,” Jorm says.
Inez holds him to her. She says, “I don't mind.”
-----
“Don't look at that,” Inez says.
“You need to change the dressing.” Embarrassed to be caught staring, Jorm makes himself look away. “It's spotting through.” He's never seen a wound bleed that color before, thick and dark. He knows it's from the toxins. He doesn't want to know. If it gets infected, it will only be worse.
“I'll take care of it.” She touches his arm, hoping he'll drop the subject. “How's your head?”
He tells her it's fine, and not that his vision has been coming in and out of focus.
Their camp is small but maintainable. Their loudest naysayers would forget that before everything else, they had lived here. They can trap a small animal; Ines can cook from the things in the earth. They've just had bad luck lately, that's all. The woods ignore them, and lost people are always unlucky.
They haven't been able to move camp in three days. Inez's wound started it; the sting left her feverish and weak, the medicines she made slow and painful, a pebble against a storm. Jorm took down a beast that stung his forehead and knocked him unconscious before he fell.
He remembers less after that. Sometimes, Inez coughs red.
Their hopes of finding their daughters declines with every day they stay in the same place.
Ines cuts up their dinner with a slow, unsteady hand and pushes Jorm his portion. She eats so little of hers, her stomach turning down the idea of food, it looks like she hasn't eaten at all. She gives the rest to him (discouraged, he puts it aside) and goes to change her bandage.
“Don't look,” she says.
But even with his eyes turned away, he still hears her keening.
They step outside their shelter, check the fire, eye the lines of the perimeter. Something muggy and invasive is on the wind. It isn't difficult to imagine the forest turning on their presence
“Do you think Eidn will be all right?” Inez asks. She's asked it once before, when they first came here. It's different now, and somewhat sadder.
“Of course he will,” Jorm answers. “He's your boy.”
It's too near nightfall now to do much else, and they crawl back to their shelter where the light is even dimmer. He can see how pale she is even then, her face a blurry, white glow. She draws him to their pallet, where they linger in the dark.
She puts her good side against his good side, where they stay for a while.
“I'll sleep soon, I think.” Inez puts her head on his shoulder.
And he knows.
It's too warm outside to feel so cold. Jorm tilts her chin with her finger and kisses her like he used to, slow and lingering.
“You're beautiful,” he says.
“You've looked much handsomer.” Jorm 'tsks' at her and Inez nearly smiles. “Listen...” she begins.
“I know.” He kisses her cheek, the bridge of her nose. “I know.”
Outside the sky is raging and the beasts are closing in, and their children are so far away.
“I think it's going to rain,” Jorm says.
Inez holds him to her. She says, “I don't mind.”