Shattered

By April Adams

When the woman wakes on the frosted grass, the only thing she remembers is the blood-thirsty cult offering her as a sacrifice in a ceremony gone serendipitously wrong.

She has no name, no past, and seemingly no future as her swollen eyes slide shut for what she hopes is the last time. Glenn Elambil, a handsome elf, rescues her, bringing her from the brink of death into a life she never could have imagined. She finds herself on a different planet, a world where magic is as natural as drawing breath.

It’s not all wizards and wonder, though. The War Lord, the god of the cult that tried to kill her, is coming. Those on the side of evil hunt her with dark magic and darker intent. The good powers of the world need her to do some favors for them, and to top it off she’s got a growing, complicated infatuation with Glenn. The key to her future lies in her past, which might be easier to find if her mind hadn't been shattered and reprogrammed by the cult. She must face it all and dive head first into her own psyche to find what is lost if she has any chance of survival.

Shattered, book one in The Legends of Rune trilogy, is a contemporary fantasy unlike any other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: April Adams
• Release date: Jul 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301007882

April Adams

April was born and raised in Magnolia, TX. Since she was five she's wanted to leave Texas - no offence to Texans - but she longs to live in the cool Pacific Northwest or better yet, the UK.While other kids were out partying and getting in trouble she was at home watching The Vicar of Dibley, Are You Being Served?, Keeping Up Appearances and more. When the BBC Narnia series came on she would dance with glee.She wrote her first screenplay at the age of fifteen, and as an adult she killed it with fire. It was horrible! She wrote a second screenplay but lost it. That's probably for the best. Since then though, she's suffered a massive case of writer's block that persisted for fifteen years.In her early adulthood she struggled, unable to finish high school or even think about college, she just tried to survive. She'd always been clever though, she could read before Kindergarten and made excellent grades all through school. She would have had an advanced degree with honors had life been kind to her.Even with no education she managed to make a way for herself in the working world. She eventually married and fulfilled her dream of becoming a housewife. Then she got the news that she was expecting a bundle of joy, and when Eli came into the world she became a stay at home mom.That did not suit. Her brain started turning to mush. A story started swimming around, characters flitted in and out of pre-sleep dreams. Still, they were just a jumble of things - not a story.It wasn't until she saw the BBC's The Hollow Crown that the pieces all fell together. It was during the wooing of Catherine scene. That wink and the words, "The elder I wax, the better I shall appear," made all the disjointed pieces fall together suddenly. She immediately started writing.The story begins with book one - Shattered.

Book preview

The Legends of Rune

Shattered

APRIL ADAMS

Published by April Adams at Smashwords

Copyright © 2012 April Adams

All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISDN: 9781301007882

DEDICATION

This book, and all future ones, are dedicated to God who gave me a love of reading and the ability to write. I also dedicate it to my family, without whom this book would have been finished much sooner.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

1 To The Pain

2 Wine for the Wounded

3 Brotherly Scorn

4 Journey to the Far East

5 Ambius the Wise

6 Mystics of Rune

7 There’s got to be a Morning After

8 Madam Hyla was a Bullfrog

9 Rok of Ages

10 Quicksilver

11 Lectures on Elemental Powers

12 The War Lord Makes a Mistake

13 War Counsel

14 Butterflies

15 The Heart of the Matter

16 Land of Blood

17 Mostly Dead is Slightly Alive

18 Lots of Planets Have a North

19 Having a Ball

20 Intruder

21 Nightmares

22 Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey Wyrm

23 A Wedding and a Warning

24 Getting to Gnome You

25 On the Road Again

26 The Storm Clouds Roll In

27 Inconveniently Ill

28 Anvin and the Elements

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to thank Emily Parkinson, Dawn Gibbs, and Doris Berube for being my readers and helping make this book better. Thanks to Charlotte Peterson for editing assistance. Thanks to my husband Daniel for trying to read it even though he hates reading, and for letting me write for hours on end. Thanks to my little boy Eli for watching the mind-numbing kid shows that drove me to finally become what I’ve always wanted to be – a writer.

Also thanks to Svilen Milev of Bulgaria for allowing me to use his image for the cover art. www.efffective.com

I’d like to thank www.vigilantcitizen.com for their amazing site that provided the research on MK Ultra. Also, many thanks to the YouTube channel howtechgraphics for the Photoshop tutorials that I utilized to make the cover art. There are a few nods to The Princess Bride and Doctor Who in here, and I’d just like that to be known. Not trying to borrow from anyone’s brilliance, they’re just a big part of me so they trickled into the book.

1

to the pain

Slowly, painfully, I began to regain consciousness. I was naked. I knew that instinctively. The only thing I could feel was pain fighting a desperate battle with the freezing cold, and the boom of my heart, weak but insistent, thundering away in my chest. Something had woken me. I could have slept for hours, could have tumbled wearily down the soft slope of hypothermia into delicious nothingness. Some outside force had pulled me back. I groaned as I felt that promise of oblivion slipping away.

Hello? he said, his tone uncertain.

His smooth male voice ripped through the silence, snapping the reaper’s lusty fingers from my face too abruptly to tolerate. I screamed through blood-stained hands and dimly wondered why I was so afraid. The smell of my own fear intermingled with that of the rotting leaves I lay shivering beneath in a fetid bouquet.

Agony pulsed through every dimension of my existence now that I was truly awake. I needed to see who was out there and tried to open my eyes, but they wouldn’t cooperate. The lashes were fused together somehow, and no amount of effort would part them. Bits and pieces of the last few hours came rushing back to memory as the blasted owl hooted in the distance.

Here, have my cloak, he said in a cultured English accent.

A blanket of warmth swept over me and I felt long fingers tucking it in. The heat of his body remained in the thick wool and the contrast of that warmth against my stone-cold skin made me break into a grand mal fit of shivers. I straightened out of the fetal position intending to rise, but it hurt, so I stopped. Tears welled up in response to the pain and began to soften the crust around my eyelids. Finally the lashes unglued, and I peeked through my fingers to find a tall, lean man with immense concern on his angular features crouching down beside me.

My lady, are you alright? he asked.

No. Do I look alright? I said through chattering teeth. The sound of the owl hooting again made me jump, pan-flashing fire through every nerve ending. I sat up quickly in reflex and felt myself break like an ice sculpture moved too quickly. The pain was so unendurable I nearly vomited on the man’s boots.

Is there something I can do to help? he asked, oddly eager to accept this gruesome duty. His pointed face looked up, startled, when the owl hooted again nearby.

I looked over at the empty bucket I’d taken with me from the water, wishing for even the sulfur-and-death liquid that had filled it. My tongue was swollen and glued to the roof of my mouth and my stomach rumbled with a hollow moan.

Do you have any food or water? I clutched the warm fabric to myself, hiding my nakedness. Not that it mattered, I knew I looked like an animated corpse.

He sighed and rubbed his hands through dark blonde hair. No, I’m sorry, he said, but I do have some wine.

I’ll take it, I croaked. My stomach tied itself in a knot at the mention, and I drained the wooden flask he handed me in three gulps. It was warming as it pooled in my belly, easing me somewhat.

You’re hurt, he said.

Figured that out did you? Where the hell am I?

He took back the empty flask and looked me over, observing my swollen, battered face and the four inch long slit across the top of my throat. The Eastern Lands, he said. Where did you come from? What’s your name?

Those basic questions shouldn’t have come as such a shock, but panic gripped me like a Kraken as I realized I didn’t have the answers. I… I don’t know. I swallowed hard, forcing back the bile-tinged wine that crept up my gullet. I can’t remember anything. I woke up… like this.

Right. Come on, then, he said. I have a warm house and food just a short way from here, if you think you can make it.

I smiled and tasted blood. Yes. It was a struggle to stand while holding the cloak tightly around me. Thank you.

An extraordinarily charming smile transformed his features from pointy and flat-lipped to handsome in an instant. He offered his hand to help me up and the warmth of his touch was enough to dispel the urge to flinch. I heard the owl again. It had followed me from the well, perhaps hoping I’d suddenly morph into a tiny rodent, or maybe just biding his time.

As I rose I felt a stab in my side that stopped me short. My ribs must be broken. The man held his hand out to help me. I felt the warmth of his fingertips brush my arm.

Don’t touch me, I snapped. I was just as shocked as he was by my violent outburst.

He pulled his hand back but remained where he was. I didn’t want to feel a man’s hands on me. Not just yet. Movement caused a hundred scabbed slices in my skin to break open and bleed. I could just see them in the dim, a vibrant red against skin turned yellow by the evening sun. Finally I stood and took a tentative step with the stiff-legged gait of a mummy.

I stumbled and fell, but he caught me before I struck the earth.

I’m sorry, he said, pulling back again.

No, no, it’s alright. Thank you.

It hadn’t been so bad. His touch wasn’t fueled by lust or hate. He only wanted to help. I decided to let him.

He wrapped his arm around me for support and we began to walk along a well-worn path. I glanced up at his face in profile and was startled to see that the tip of his ear formed a point. I brought a hand up to examine my own ear and felt a gentle curve, scabbed on newly perforated edges. I gritted my teeth. Even my ears were bloody.

My rescuer was almost a foot taller than I was, but even with the disparity in height he made a useful crutch. He had a prominent nose but not too large for his face. The corners of his mouth were turned downward, his gaze concentrating on the path ahead. His hair wasn’t long, falling only to the middle of his neck in tumbled curls.

I stumbled suddenly, my bare toes smashing against a stone. Damn it! I yelled.

He released me as I hopped in a circle like a one-legged frog. When the throbbing eased I stood wobbling, unsteady on my pins. He reached out to stabilize me, smiling kindly, and I took a hasty step back out of reflex. His smile broke but the hand remained outstretched. I gathered my remaining courage – what little was left. I wanted to run and hide from everyone, but the lure of food and drink was strong. I took a hesitant step toward him and he resumed leading me gently down the path.

Who did this to you? he asked.

I don’t know. I pointed in the direction I’d come and tried not to move my lips too much. I woke up next to some water in a forest back west before dawn. I walked for hours toward the sun and then I buried myself in the leaves to die.

He stopped, moving to face me with eyes that met mine and grew large. His hands gripped my shoulders and he asked, What water? What did it look like?

I don’t know, I answered, taken aback by this sudden intensity. I jerked away from his grasp. It had terrible tasting water in it. I can’t tell you much more. I left there as soon as I could move. The forest was creepy, all dead-limbed and skeletal. This forest looks different, I said, gathering the cloak that had fallen open slightly allowing the crisp wind to claw at my nether regions. It was bitterly cold. I felt like I wasn’t used to it, but had no basis for the feeling.

He was looking up into the darkening sky, trying to deduce what hole I crawled out of. You mean, the Dead Spring? he asked, returning his gaze to mine, his eyes still wide with something like fear. You came from the Dead Spring?

How should I know? If the water there tastes like death, then yes.

He shivered.

I was a dead woman, anyway. Only that blasted owl kept me company. Where am I?

He looked puzzled. As I said before, you’re in the Eastern Lands.

The Eastern Lands, I repeated, my eyebrows furrowing painfully. A drop of blood slid down my nose, released by the tiny movement. Ok, but what country? England maybe?

He sighed, smiled faintly with a sideways glance, and put his arm back around me. I flinched again, but he ignored it. Let’s just get you to a fire.

A shiver ran through me, from his touch or the cold I couldn’t tell. Agreed.

We walked onward with the sunset painting the sky like fire behind us, casting a faint glow over everything. The trees were lively here, colored with the palette of autumn, waving merrily in the breeze. Everything was washed in gold and flame. He held me upright, catching me when I stumbled but leaving me in friendly silence. I was relieved to find that the whole land wasn’t like the dark woods I’d first woken in. A thought occurred to me, one I didn’t want to ask but felt I must.

Am I dead?

He looked down at me and seemed to consider the question instead of throwing it out of hand. I don’t think so, no.

Damn.

He shivered visibly again, muttering what sounded like a prayer under his breath. The grip around me didn’t loosen but I felt him pull away somehow. It was as if he was afraid to touch me. Could I blame him?

I had woken up in the moonless dark in the icy early morning hours, the smell of blood thick around me. I’d lain there playing dead lest my attackers strike again. I didn’t remember being attacked, not exactly, but the evidence was screaming from every slash and broken rib.

As I lay there in the dark, flashes of memory came back to me. It was like standing on train tracks staring at the oncoming engine as the whistle blows its final warning, just waiting for the impact.

I had been in a stone room with dozens of black-robed figures surrounding me. My hands were tied to a post; leaning on it was my only hope of remaining upright. I heard the crack of a brutal whip striking my back. I could feel every stroke as it tore furrows through my flesh, the sound of it smacking sharply, releasing the metallic scent of blood. The robed people were cheering, hissing. Some were dancing with delight. I felt an overwhelming sense of evil. Something ancient and deadly with sulfurous breath was hovering above me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at it.

A man stood in front of me, I could just see him through the haze of tears, vaguely familiar. He was in a white robe like a priest, holding a delicate crystal bowl in his left hand and a chiseled stone knife in his right. He chanted something sinister and swept the knife viciously across my throat letting the blood spray into the bowl. There was a lot of blood but I realized mutedly that they had not severed an artery or I’d be dead already. My head felt light and dizzy and I began to lose consciousness, struggling against it. I had to try and fight but was too weak to do so.

The entity above me felt as if it was getting stronger as I was dying, as if I was inexplicably connected to it. When the last person had drained the bowl of my life force and shattered it on the stone floor, they all began chanting together, the sound deeply malicious. They moved closer, hissing and clawing.

Some sliced me with their fingernails, some with knives. I screamed but the noise escaped as only a whimper. The priest came and untied my hands; the release of the tourniquet-like ligature a small and welcome mercy. I crumpled to the floor. They began to beat me, kicking my face and ribs until I thought each shallow breath would be my last. I wanted to die, wanted it all to be over. I prayed silently for God to save me or kill me – just make it stop.

They eventually exhausted themselves, backing away. I uncurled from the fetal position and rolled sideways, lying on my back, staring into the red eyes of the demon hovering near the ceiling. It laughed like the sound of grinding boulders. I hadn’t thought it was possible to be even more afraid.

I was seized, carried a few paces, and thrown into freezing cold water. They held me under but they needn’t have bothered. I let myself sink down into oblivion. Death was welcome to take me, an answer to prayer. I’d seen a light then, a speck of blue that twinkled like a tiny star in the darkness that began to move in circles, swirling around me.

Breath entered my constricted lungs and water fell away from my tender skin. Rolling over a ledge of some sort I felt the impact of my body hitting earth. I could smell grass now as well as blood… and fear. When the first rays of dawn had spilled down around me, I’d risen. I’d taken only the briefest look at my reflection in the water, and even that tiny glimpse had shown me that I was grotesque.

Shaking my head now to clear my longing for death and my rescuer’s reaction to it, I did an inventory of my brain to find it swept clean and dusted. My head was completely empty, no clues to be found. I had no name, no history, no hope. I couldn’t remember anything else. I had just rolled over the stones around the water and plopped on the frosted grass looking like this. Why? What the hell was going on?

I felt like a leaf on a breeze, thrown from the tree and falling, spiraling down into the unknown. My head was dizzy from the trauma of it. There was no strength left in me to fight. No will left even to live. If I had ever taken my identity for granted before, I never would again.

The fading warmth of the wine went suddenly cold in the pit of my stomach. I bit my lower lip in frustration, shocked by the pain it caused. My teeth had been kicked through my mouth, apparently. I searched with my tongue and found the tooth-sized slits present on both lips. The lingering tannins on the wounds caused my vision to waver and my foot to slip out from under me. I fell but the man caught me, drawing me back up and pressing on, saying nothing. My energy was running out. He was carrying most of my weight now.

Ok, just try to be logical, I thought. I’d woken there but now I was here. I’d walked with the bucket of nasty water toward the dawn hoping it would be warmer that way. The forest had been dead, spindly black trees moaning in the wind. By midafternoon the bucket was nearly empty. My stomach was eating itself and I just wanted to die. I’d taken the last swallow and looked around for a place to bid life farewell.

With the slow movements of a windup toy nearing the end of its potential I had gathered a pile of long-dead fallen leaves and curled into them, burrowing down like an armadillo. I’d been surprised by how comfortable it was and how the layer I’d heaped over me actually helped dispel some of the chill. Perhaps that was just the numbness, the illusion of warmth as I froze. Sleep, not death, took me swiftly.

A swirling wind had whipped up around me and I thought I’d heard it speak. It lifted and carried me on. I had been swept along in the bed of leaves, moving quickly, as I’d fallen into a dream. That could have been part of the dream itself, I thought, but felt that it wasn’t.

I may be crazy, I probably am, but is it possible that the wind spoke to me?

He paused in midstride and nodded. Yes. Well, no. The wind doesn’t speak, but wind sprites do. What did it say?

Every step was killing me but the man kept walking, dragging me with him. It said something like ‘Keep going. I’ll take you to find help’ – is that even possible?

Quite possible, and I rather think, probable. You said the forest looks different now. How so?

It’s autumn here. It looked like the winter from hell back there. Nothing was alive, not even the grass. I’d walked a long way, but not far enough to escape the dead trees. I remembered the way the wind had howled through the bony branches, arms clanging together in worship of the darkness.

You must have been in the Central Lands. So, you definitely came through the Dead Spring. How did you come so far? It’s a long way from there to here.

I don’t really know. I just sort-of arrived here.

Interesting…. He trailed off in thought.

Talking hurt. Thinking didn’t feel great either, so I just focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The carpet of leaves was red, gold, and yellow – bits of fire speckled the gravelly trail. I no longer felt the forest’s eyes on me, no longer felt the bony fingertips of the reaper stroking my cheek with seductive affection, but I still felt cold as the grave.

The man’s eyes studied me. I could feel his gaze on the top of my head. His long fingers clutched my shoulder, keeping me from falling as I fumble-footed on. Never mind the Dead Spring, the country, the owl and the stranger. I only had one question. I shivered from the pit of my hollow stomach hoping to find the answer hovering in the chilly breeze that lifted my hair. One question – Who am I?

2

WINE FOR THE WOUNDED

Just when I thought I couldn’t walk another step, a roof came into view through the trees. It was a large tree house built high among the ancient branches with a swirling staircase leading to the door. Golden light shone from every window. It looked like Thomas Kinkaid had created it, bringing his art to life in the canopy of this forest. The sky had abandoned the brilliant crimson and orange of sunset for the deep violet of nightfall.

A sense of security passed over me and I sighed deeply, relishing the prospect of warmth. The resultant wave of pain snatched away my breath with hateful vengeance. The stranger pulled me up each of the many steps until the mahogany doors were within reach. I felt light headed, I needed to sleep again.

Welcome to sanctuary, he said. His smile beamed as warmly as the windows of his home. I’ll get you some clothes and a hot cup of tea.

Are you sure we’re not in England? I asked, smiling at the thought of warmth, hot tea, and of his being English without knowing it.

Yes. I’m sure. I’ve never heard of it, he replied with a half laugh, opening the door with a grand bow and a gallant sweep of his long arms.

I stepped through the doorway and into a room made entirely of wood. Everything came from a natural source. The floors, walls, and ceilings were all paneled in a warm maple. There was no chrome in the kitchen, no electronics of any kind. The dazzling welcome that had trickled through the windows into the woods below was all firelight. The room was amber tinged, cozy, and the warmth of it spread over me.

It’s beautiful! I croaked, unable to move having now reached our destination.

The man walked forward a step, trying to lead me further into the house but I remained rooted to the spot, motionless and staring in awestruck wonder. He stooped down and picked me up like a sleeping child and I didn’t protest. The cloak fell apart slightly, exposing me, and I snatched it back together. He didn’t look, just moved me deeper into the warmth of the room. It really wouldn’t have mattered if he had peeked. The sight of me as I was now was anything but tempting.

He carried me to a purple lounge chair close to a roaring fire in a great stone hearth. A moment later I felt a fluffy quilt being spread over me, the warmth of the fire held within it. Kneeling down beside me he studied my face, or what was left of it. He drew in a long, deep breath and seemed to brace himself.

My name is Glenn. Glenn Elambil, he said with his fists tightly clenched, and if you tell me who did this to you, I swear by all that is holy that I will find them. Just tell me who did this, and they will die.

I smiled at that, appreciative of the sentiment but discouraged at having no way to identify my enemies. Thank you, I whispered.

He walked away after waiting for the answer that never came. I wished I had something to tell him, some way to get revenge on those who had done this to me, but I had nothing to say. Sleep pulled me down as I grew warmer in the glow of the fire.

***

I felt a hand gently shake my shoulder, coaxing me from the void. It was warm there and cozy. I had felt safe floating in the space between dreams, content.

I’m so sorry to wake you.

Glenn’s voice penetrated the void and I came sharply awake, disoriented but quickly recalled to reality because of the overwhelming pain. I looked up into his lean face, smiling through the wave of nausea that overtook me. His eyebrows were lifted in sympathy, oddly higher over the bridge of his nose and slanting down toward his temples.

I brought you some tea, he said, setting a delicate porcelain cup on the wooden table beside me. Do you take sugar?

Yes please. I said, though speaking was growing more difficult as I thawed and began to swell again.

His eyes lingered on my face for a moment too long before he set about stirring the tea for me. I watched him intently, trying to get a better impression of him. I was lying on his lounge completely vulnerable with only a few layers of fabric between us. I wanted to know what sort of man he was. He’d come to my rescue but aside from that he was a blank slate.

The creases around his eyes spoke of grief, not mirth. There were no pictures hanging on the walls, no family portraits, at least not in the room I occupied at present. The place was cozy but not a home. His eyes kept trying to slide over to me. It was taking effort for him to keep from staring.

I had dreamed in the few moments of rest here. I had seen my face, my face before. I remembered how lovely it had been and reached up to feel what I had become. You mentioned clothes, I said, startling him.

Yes, yes I’m sorry! He leapt to his feet, moving quickly into a room somewhere behind me.

I moved very slowly and painfully but managed to stand up and cover myself before he came back into the main room, arms loaded with dresses. He stopped abruptly, seeing me standing there, and looked a little confused.

Do you have a mirror? I asked.

It was fear that flickered across his face only for a moment, then apprehension replaced it and lingered in his eyes. He looked down at me, stepped backward two paces, and gestured me into the room he had just come from. I held my blanket tightly around me and swept past him into the little bedroom. A full length mirror was in the far corner. I took a step toward it.

He touched my shoulder, halting me. I flinched but turned to look up at him, inquiring. He didn’t speak, just viewed me with something like pleading in his pointy features. Slowly his eyes slid from my face, to the mirror, then back. They still held that note of apprehension.

It’s that bad, is it? I asked with a tremor in my voice.

He nodded. I turned away again, with purpose, and crossed the room as quickly as I could. I stood in front of the mirror with my eyes tightly shut even though it was excruciating, bracing myself for what I would see when they opened.

I heard Glenn take a quick inward breath, set down his bundle, and walk out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Glancing back to make sure I was alone, I turned and let my wrappings fall to the floor. With a deep steadying breath I looked into the mirror, resolute.

My hair was black and wavy, matted with blood and leaves, tangled and filthy. The skin that was once flawless as a China doll’s was ghastly shades of blue, purple, and black. The delicate nose was swollen and crusted, the eyes merely slits in the swelling that distorted every feature of my once beautiful face.

The only thing recognizable was my defined jaw but even that was muddled with contusions. Just below my chin was the slit where they had drained my blood, stretching along the crease of my neck, jagged and red. I was gripped by unutterable despair and stood shaking, not letting myself look away or crumble, determined to see the full extent of the damage.

My body was much the same as my face, corpse colored and slashed over nearly every surface. I turned to look at my back side and was horrified to see grass and leaves sticking to the fleshy grooves of exposed tissue. My entire back was flayed like a skirt steak in a butcher shop. I could foresee myself dying slowly of infection from those wounds alone. There was a tattoo on my right buttock. I wiped away the filth to inspect it. The thing was crudely done, a triangle with an eye at the top. I didn’t remember getting that, but then, I didn’t remember hardly anything.

Morbid curiosity thus satisfied, I hobbled over to the pile of clothing. After wiping my hands on the cloak to remove some filth, I began to sift through it. My choices consisted of beautiful embroidered dresses, some linen, some silk, but all much too lovely to put on in this state. I noticed a wooden dresser along the back wall and went to searching the drawers. After rootling around I found a clean muslin night dress that tied in the back. It was a bit see-through but it couldn’t be helped. I painfully managed to slip it on, then I opened the bedroom door and peeked out.

Glenn was sitting on a chair next to the lounge, staring at it without really seeing it, seething. His hands were clenched so tightly that I could see the whiteness of his knuckles from my place in the doorway. I cleared my throat as gently as I could. He looked up and saw me there, unclenched his fists, took a deep breath, picked up my teacup, and brought it to me. He seemed ashamed at having been thus discovered, and handed me the steaming cup.

Are you ok? I asked, taking it.

The tea was warm, sweet, and made my stomach growl so loudly that he laughed in what came out as a breathy ‘heh’ before answering, Am I ok? My goodness, you’re a walking road casualty and you ask me if I’m ok?

He half-laughed again and looked down at his boots, his smile still brilliant even when mostly hidden. He was shaking his head, hands clasped in front of him, clearly uncomfortable.

I took a larger gulp, ravenous for anything. He looked