The shadows that edge and swell toward me, keeping me from seeing just how far this hole extends, fuel my overactive imagination. I conjure up all manner of frightening things in the murkiness.
I lose time.
I could have been at the bottom of this hole for hours or days.Unlikely days, logic whispers across my mind. I would be dead by now—starved or frozen.
Actually, I still have supplies...food and a flask of water, so starvation is not imminent. I force myself to reach for a strap of my bag and pull it around to the front of my body.
Unfastening the top flap, I withdraw the flask of water, downing a few sips, sighing in relief. I reach for some of the verdaberries and nuts Danhy packed, chewing on them even though mystomach rebels at the first hit of food in its hollow center. I chase down the bites with another small sip of water, taking several shallow breaths, commanding my stomach to cease its rioting.
Plugging the stopper back into the flask, I drop my face into the crook of my elbow and let the tears flow, warm and wet, the salty trails leading to my lips. I know I shouldn’t be expelling the water from my body—not when I only possess a limited amount—but there is no stopping me from this bout of self-pity.
How did I think I could do this and survive? I didn’t make it far before I fell into this pit.
I could still be in Tage’s warm fur bed right now.Tage.What is he doing now?
I don’t know how long I bury my face into my arm, hiding away from the ache of my body, the pain of my heart, from hopelessness. Eventually I doze off.
When I wake again, I’m not alone.
I come to this conclusion with a start at the first sound of a stranger’s voice, so bewildering over the silence.
“Is she alive?”
“Her shoulders are moving.”
Packed snow crunches beneath feet. That detail feels real somehow.
I keep my face buried in my arm as though that might prevent whomever—whatever—from seeing me even though it’s too late.Theyclearly see me.
“How did she get all the way down here?”
“Fell. Obviously.”
The voices aren’t like any I’ve ever heard. They’re garbled, like someone speaking with a mouthful of marbles. I feel their presence, their whispered movements. They orbit me as though in a dream with a hazy, not-quite-real quality, and I wonder if I’m hearing anything at all, or have I conjured them in my head in order to not feel so alone, not so lost...not so completely fucked at the bottom of this hole?
They continue, overlapping, talking almost conversationally.
I open one eye without lifting my head, peering out at the ground before me...at the feet that fill my line of vision and surround me. Shoeless feet. Not human. Not dragon. Long narrow feet with curling claws for toes.
I lurch into a sitting position, gloved hands pressing into the cold ground as my gaze swings around, braced for whatever these creatures have in store for me.
“Ohh, she lives!” one hisses through overlapping rows of fangs.
They circle me, six or seven of them, their sinewed forms moving like fluid, wings held close to their bodies. They didn’t come close to the size of a dragon, but their teeth were bigger,more...and their talons long razors, promising brutality and a painful end.
They can be only one thing.
Harpies.
I must have stumbled into their territory. I wince at the memory of Merik’s words. He, a big, strong dragon, never dared to encroach into their territory. But here I am. Human. Weak and stupid, I landed right in their midst.
I thought I would die at the bottom of this hole from the harsh elements, forgotten, my bones lost to the ravage of time beneath layers and layers of snow, beneath a mountain, lost to the Crags. Generations would pass and I would forever be a part of these mountains even when no one remembers me.
Tage would still be alive because...dragon. Unless killed, they lived a long, long time.
I would be but a dim moment in the long stretch of days,years, behind him. Perhaps he will find his mate. If not Danhy, then someone else. Another dragon. Or a lover in Penterra. Someone who deserves him as much as he deserves love and partnership. I want that for him. I do.
“Go on then,” I encourage. “Do your worst.” Only I hope it doesn’t hurt. I eye the rows of razor-sharp teeth they boast and wonder if humans are part of their diet.
