It’s better than setting fires or stealing things. At least this way I’m not hurting anyone.
I’d never hurt Alorra, I’m simply fascinated by her. I’m sure there’s some explanation for why, I just haven’t found it yet.
On all fours, I slowly creep up the ridge of dirt, choosing a path further down from where she did in case she comes back that way. The earth is cool beneath my hands, the warmth from the sun having leeched out hours ago, and I wince when my knee lands on a sharp rock. None of it deters me—the dirt or the rocks or the darkness or the cold—and when I reach the top, I peek over it to see her climbing down the other side.
She hops from boulder to boulder, then slides down a few feet of loose dirt with one foot in front of the other, her arms out for balance. I think I have hearts in my eyes. I had no idea she was so athletic, and her silhouette in that tight leather riding gear… Well, it’s doing something to me.
I settle into a nook on the top edge of what I’m now noticing is a perfectly round canyon. My eyebrows draw together as I take it in. It looks like an impact site of some sort, but I can’t see well enough to tell what might be in the middle. Alorra jogs to a central point and crouches, then touches one hand to her chest. She stays in that position for long moments, long enough that I start to become concerned.
My inner demon goes on alert, his hackles rising at the thought of something being wrong. Is she okay? Is there something bad, tragic, horrifying there that she can’t handle? Does this spot mean something to her? Is she having a heart attack or a seizure or something?
I’m about to leap over the edge and sprint to her rescue when she moves again. I duck back down, peering into the dark as she slings the bag off her shoulder and unrolls something. Then she pulls out what must be a shovel, because that’s the only thing that makes sense based on the movements I can see. She’s shoveling dirt and scooping rocks into the cloth bag she unrolled.
I shake my head. Maybe I’m not the only one here who is mentally unwell, but who am I to judge? I let out a quiet snort,then carefully pick my way along the unstable rim to try to get a better look at what she’s doing. I drop to the ground again when she stands and turns, her face angled to the ground as she seems to search for something. When she doesn’t find it, she places her hand on her chest again and turns her face up to the sky, then starts walking. Without watching where she’s going—while in a canyon full of loose rocks and dirt and boulders.
Okay yeah, this woman is definitely not well.
I’m about to run to her rescue—again—when she halts in place and drops to a crouch—again. This woman is absolutely confounding, and the more I watch, the more I want to know. What could she possibly be collecting? I would guess maybe bits of meteorite, given we’re at an impact site and she’s picking up rocks, but how can she tell with it being so dark? Maybe she’s a witch? And the weird movements… Is she performing some sort of ritual, or casting a spell?
I know nothing about witches, but it seems the most likely guess.
Alorra repeats this process a number of times. Standing, walking with her eyes closed and face to the sky, following some unseen, unfathomable path before collecting more dirt and rocks into her bag. It has to be getting heavy, but she doesn’t stop for what must be close to an hour. Long enough that my legs are cramping and my brain has run through every increasingly far-fetched scenario I can possibly think of for what she might be up to.
When she finally ties the bag closed and puts away her tools, I breathe a sigh of relief. But then she turns toward me, and I realize I moved into the path she took to get down there in the first place, despite having tried to avoid exactly that. My eyes flare wide while my inner demon feels like it’s pulling me in two directions. One side wants to confront her, the other wants tohide so I can keep following her, and then there’s whatIwant which is to just not get caught.
Shit, shit, shit.
My head whips around, looking for an easy hiding spot, but there’s only bare earth on this side. I can’t stand or she’ll see me, so I scramble on my hands and knees, wincing with each sharp rock and stick that stabs my kneecaps, until I’m far enough down the outside of the rim to stand.
Of course, as soon as I do, my legs cramp and my feet slide out from under me. I tumble down the hill and a shrill, involuntary shriek of alarm splits the quiet night. Then I land hard on my back and the breath is punched from my lungs.
Shit on a witch’s stick.
I wheeze, trying to draw in air but not succeeding. The stars spin above me and I don’t feel real, like maybe my body isn’t on this plane anymore. Even my brain stops working for an endless moment as the universe pauses, admiring my monumental fuck-up.
Next thing I know, there’s a flashlight beam blinding me as Alorra crests the ridge and picks her way down the other side. I try to sit up, but grimace when my entire body feels like one massive bruise, so instead I lay there and wait. She steps gracefully over the loose rocks around me until her booted feet stop next to my head.
Scary, sexy booted feet.
I raise a hand to block the light from my eyes and attempt to look up at her, but all I can see is a glint of metal from her other hand. I wouldn’t blame her for stabbing me, but I really like this shirt, so I hope she doesn’t. Maybe it’s the shovel she was using earlier?
“Hey!” I say, donning my most charming grin. The one that always gets me laid and will hopefully get me out of this situation with minimal damage.
I hold both hands up in a surrender pose as I struggle to my knees, my back screaming when I straighten it. She brandishes what I can now see is definitely a knife.
“Don’t move,” she hisses.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy there, spitfire.” I freeze, not moving a muscle as I regain feeling in my extremities.
Tension crackles through the air between us, and it feels like even the wind is holding its breath, waiting to see what she’ll do. I’d prefer to be on my knees for her for a different reason, but this really isn’t so terrible.
Only… She doesn’t do anything.
I wince, now feeling too much as my knees protest the hard, uneven ground beneath them.
“Could you maybe not point your flashlight directly at my eyes?” I say, waving one hand a few inches in the hopes she’ll direct it elsewhere before I’m too blinded to drive home.
She doesn’t so much as twitch for an eternity, but eventually she lowers the light, angling it at the dirt instead of my face. I blink, then close my eyes for a few moments, my head spinning and eyes smarting with the afterimage before I blink again and my sight starts to readjust.
