Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 83205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I'm a jerk, because he's right. I let out a long, heaving sigh, and absently wipe at a bead of water trickling down his chest. "You say that, but I have to help out."
"When have I said you are not helping?"
"But that's the thing—ever since we got here, I've been useless. I can't fight. I can't track. I can't teach the snow-people how to carry a spear. I want to help out—and I want to help you. The least I can do is cook while you work hard all day training the army."
Corvak tilts his head, regarding me. "There are a great many things that can be done around camp. If you don't want to cook, I will. And you have been a great help. Just because you're not strong doesn't mean that you're not helping me. You guard the cave. You work on clothes and refilling our waterskins." He squeezes my arm, as if I've forgotten something important. "You speak with the snow-people and learn their language."
Somehow I feel more pathetic when he lists out my accomplishments. "Meanwhile you're keeping us alive."
He gives me an exasperated stare. "And you are keeping me sane as this game drags on. Do not speak poorly of yourself, Aidy. I won't have it. If you were not here, I would be dead already."
I'm skeptical of that particular fact, but I know he's trying to make me feel better. I move into the circle of his arms and lean against his chest. He's damp, but I don't care. He's comforting and strong and I adore him. "I'm sorry. Really. I'm just tired from cooking and leaning over the fire all damn day. There's more snow-people every time I turn around."
A grunt of acknowledgment. "More arrived today."
"See? And they need to be fed. I'll keep up, I promise. I just want permission to whine a bit." I press my face to his pectorals and kiss his skin. He smells good. There's a lingering hint of sweat that clings to his skin, but I like his sweat smell. "Wanna have sex? I can wash up and—"
"Aidy," Corvak says, ever calm. "If you want to cook, you can cook for me if it makes you happy. But you do not have to cook for every single mouth that opens. The snow-people fed themselves before we arrived. They will continue to feed themselves if we do not."
He makes it sound so simple, but I know there's more to it. I shake my head and run my fingers over his chest, wrapping some of the longer pelt on his chest around one finger. "You don't get it. If we feed them, they're well-behaved. I'm scared to think of how they'll act if we stop feeding them."
Corvak is silent, and I know he's thinking of the same thing I am.
Yesterday, we had a situation. Two of the larger snow-people males had approached the cave, wanting food. There was a cluster of them already waiting on the cliff, clinging to the rocks like mountain goats and waiting eagerly for me to come out with another bowl. The moment I did, the two males pushed to the front and tried to snatch it from my hands. Startled, I'd dropped the bowl at my feet, and a frenzy started. The males attacked each other, hooting frantically and tearing with their sharp claws. The fight was horrific and others were pulled into the fray. A young juvenile was knocked down the cliff and another male retreated, covered in blood and clutching a broken arm.
Corvak had been nearby and stepped in, and only his anger made them calm down.
After that, everyone was nice and orderly. There were no more incidents. But these people don't seem to have long memories or a lot of self-control. I worry there's going to be another incident. I worry there'll be a whole cluster of incidents if we stop being friendly and handing out food.
I'm truly starting to question this whole "army" plan.
"I will handle it," Corvak says, and rubs my arm. "They listen to me. If you don't want to cook for them, then do not. We will deal with the repercussions."
"No, I'll keep cooking for them," I say. Being tired is better than being dead. "Just…be careful, all right? How is the training coming along?"
He sighs, and the sound is as exasperated as I feel. "They are not good listeners, but I think we are making progress. I am paying special attention to a few that are smarter than others. If I can set them up as leaders, I can assign smaller groups to them." He pauses. "At least, that is the hope."
I snuggle up against him again, because I can hear the frustration in his voice. He's been working hard at this army of his, but it's a lot like herding cats. They don't listen well, and just because they look like people doesn't mean they act like any people we know of. Their attention spans are brief at best, to go with their hair-trigger tempers. But we can't give up, just because there are so many of them, and they're devoted to Corvak. That devotion means safety for us, if we can get things organized.