If ever there was a time to give thanks, it was my choice of golden potatoes over russet, I supposed. The stuffed in my mouth flavor was more potato-ey and less, uh, earthy and dirt. There were russets in that bag, though. I spied them as he hefted the bag over one shoulder, then me over the other, and proceeded to tote me like a bag of acquired goods to god knows where.
It was a bit hard to breathe, pinned like this. I suppose that’s how it happened. At least partly.
True panic is a funny thing.
When I got past the blood rushing to my head feeling as I hung over a rock hard shoulder like a sack of potatoes, bumping and jostling along as he went, not a care in the world for his captive, I started to think more clearly. It was as he strode along, taking me deeper and deeper into the snowy wilderness, almost seeming happy with his catch, that I felt it, incrementally as I jostled and he picked up his pace, before one good flop about over his shoulder loosened the blanket enough I managed to pull my arm over my belly, then my chest, before wriggling my hand high enough I was able to touch my face. The next big jostling saw one side of the blanket slipping free, leaving me free to pull both arms completely free.
The second I had both hands, I yanked the potato in my mouth free and shot up.
Beastman Vurhg lost his balance as I grabbed a handful of the fur atop his head in one hand, yanking his head back, and shoved the potato with my slobber and teeth marks all over it into his shocked, gaping maw.
The garbled shout he let out was music to my ears. Grabbing me up to throw me away from him in his sudden, shocked panic, was not on my bingo card for November.
A yelp escaped me as I flew so far the world whipped past me, I hit something hard, and slumped towards the ground.
Tangled up in my blanket, I gained my feet, fell, tried to stand up again, then immediately thumped to the ground as the world began to spin wildly.
With a groan, I dropped forward, landing on all fours. The coolness of the air hit me, so much so I began to shiver uncontrollably.
Warmth began to trickle down my head, mixing with the harsh chill. My hand lifted and I found I had finally lost my beanie. Wetness tipped my fingers.
Pulling my hand away, I struggled to make out what I was looking at. Everything was all mixed up as the world continued to spin. “I’m bleeding?” I mumbled, as I caught that tell tale smudge of red. Wiggling my fingers confirmed the color was indeed on my hands, coming from my head. “Shit.”
“Not shit. Blood.” The softly mumbled words a distance away made me jump, then jerk my gaze in their direction.
“No shit,” I mumbled dazedly.
“Yes. No shit— blood.”
For some reason, and I’ll be damned if I could puzzle it out, perhaps I’ve truly cracked, I laughed. Then laughed again, and again, until I sounded as crazy as this moment felt.
I could feel hot, wet, sticky blood trickling down my face then. All my laughter died at the beastman’s approach, the sound of his footsteps rushing near startling me.
A shadow of something came down over me and I ducked and rolled. Gathering Cy’s blanket around me, I made to stand, got two steps and stumbled, fell, got up, tried again, fell, and repeated the process over and over, as if the Yeti being behind me wasn’t spluttering and muttering in rapid fire growl-speak.
The Tree boys really had been speaking, I just didn’t understand. Gray alien tech induced baldness and language forgetfulness? Or did I never speak the Lo denaii lingo to begin with? Dad’s notes claimed I’d known it and understood it well. I once knew how to talk like that and actually understood what they were saying. The idea was mind boggling.
I’m a Yeti person.
No. No way. My parents and their friends were lunatics.
Hazel eyes panning back to the pink eyed Yeti man in the flesh should be argument enough for them but it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t!
My life wasnota lie.
More choked, sputtering mutters from my kidnapper interrupting my thoughts snapped me out of my funk long enough to snap, “What?!”
“No mean to,” he whispered.
He sounded so much like Elm had that day back at my house. Haunted. Guilt-ridden.
A small laugh left me. It was soft, semihysterical, and bordering on a sob.
“No. Shh. Shhh. No cry. Vurhg no mean to. Vurhg sorry. Vurhg fix,” the beastman hushed me hurriedly. Was he afraid someone was going to overhear? All the effing way out here? He sounded like a little kid worried I’d tell Mom.
It was laughable. That’s exactly what I did. I burst out into loud, weird, laughs mixed with intermittent sobs.
I was one hot mess. A bleeding, cold one.
