She shakes her head.All quiet.
“And how are provisions looking?”
Sooah checks the leather pouch attached to her belt.Enough for one more day, I think. Maybe two, if we’re careful.
I set my jaw and ignore the tightness in my throat. This isn’t ideal, though I can hardly blame her. It wasn’t as if Sooah knew to pack for an indeterminate trek through Hell. If these trials don’t kill us and we don’t find ourselves in the fox’s jaws by morning, starvation could quickly become our greatest concern.
What are we to do? I have a responsibility to see Wen and Sooah from this forsaken place. They are more than just my guards—they are my family. I am closer to them than I am my own blood, and I refuse to see them suffer. I could attempt to play this by ear, see what the next Court of Hell will present us, though its name might suggest we’re in for trouble. Once the last morsel has passed our lips, what can I do to ensure our survival?
“Get some rest,” I tell her.
Sooah nods, walking a short distance to lie down next to Wen. His mouth hangs open in a raucous snore, but we’re used to it by now. Years spent around the campfire together have acclimated us to each other’s greatest strengths and faults, Wen’s mouth breathing included.
I scan the perimeter for any movement but find none. The fox hasn’t left its corner. My friends sleep soundly, enjoying respite that’s well deserved. As the minutes drag on, I find myself taking stock of my weapons once, twice, three times just to have something to do. All the while, my mind races, my thoughts too loud and my heart too skittish.
Without food or water, a human can last about a week, give or take a day. With just water, we may be able to survive a moon or two, but even now I’m aware of the dwindling weight of the canteen strapped to my belt. I’d heard old stories from my assigned tutors that, in times of war and extreme desperation, soldiers would turn to drinking their own blood in order to stave off their thirst. It was but a temporary solution, a small patch on a massive wound, yet if it comes down to it…
My chest grows painfully tight. I’m unable to draw a deep enough breath. My hand trembles when I bring it to my throat, powerless to loosen the invisible noose that’s slipped itself over my head. It is far too early to succumb to this helplessness, yet my terror only grows—a monstrosity in and of itself. Hell is playing tricks on me, twisting my fear into outright panic. With the fire now reduced to little more than embers, I cannot help but wonder what horrors lie waiting in the dark.
With a deep breath, I reach for my hunting log. My fingers shake as I tear out a few pages from the back, ripping them into thin strips. I move slowly, setting the paper down to catch flame. My unease subsides as the fire grows, banishing my apprehension along with it.
When I look up, I find a pair of dark, fierce eyes watching me from across the way.
“You alright?” Yue asks, staring with unbroken concentration. It’s disquieting, her stillness. It’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking. Will she remain, or will she pounce?
My cheeks burn. How much has she seen? “Fine,” I reply gruffly, disregarding the way my heart rails against my chest.
Yue snorts. “Humans and your lies.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Fear has a smell, you know.”
“I don’t care—”
“It’s sour,” she interrupts. “Like curdled milk left out on a hot summer’s day.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“I’m glad we’re in agreement. You’re turning my air foul.”
I shake my head slowly, as irritated as I am anxious. If there’s one thing I can trust Yue to do, it’s to put me in a worse mood. “You’re not much of a conversationalist, Fox.”
“You’ll have to forgive me, Breakfast; I’m out of practice. This is the most anyone’s spoken to me in years.”
She stares at me, somehow both indignant and accusatory. The depth of her black eyes is haunting. I could drown in them, and she would laugh with delight at my suffering.
“What?” she snaps when I say nothing.
“Speaking of breakfast,” I reply. “You told me you didn’t eat that little girl. The seamstress’s daughter.”
Yue groans. “This nonsense again?”
“If you didn’t eat her, who did?”
“What makes you so sure she was eaten? The brat probably ran off.”
I shake my head. “It was a demon.”
