For YOUR Eyes Only:
Below is the third chapter from my new series, The City of Broken Dragons.
This work is very new, unedited, and it's highly likely it will change. However, as my newsletter subscribers and members of my Street Team, I would love to share it with you!
I hope you enjoy this first glimpse into the world of Neethris!
Chapter 4, Part 1: Hostility
from
The City of Broken Dragons
A new series by D.H. Nevins
(Keep scrolling down to get to part 2)
"I'm not getting on that thing."
The thing in question was a magnificent, black horse, its muscles defined under the gleam of its lustrous coat. A bobble of deep red tassels adorned its bridle, and red velvet trimmed the saddle.
"I don't believe you have a choice," Rune answered, running his hand over the horse's neck.
On the horse's breast plate, its browband and on the skirt, shiny silver plates displayed an embossed crest of some sort, with the image of a fire-breathing dragon entwined around a crown. I stepped back and narrowed my eyes at Rune. This looked like the property of someone important, and Rune, I was sure, was a thief. There was no way I was going anywhere near the animal. "Who's horse is this?"
"This is Spirit. He's mine." The horse tossed his head as though in agreement. "Reemish cared for him while I was away."
"He isn't stolen?"
Rune stilled. "Of course you would think that," he bit out. "Is Spirit acting like he's stolen? Like he doesn't know me?" As Rune spoke, the horse bumped him with its head, and Rune stroked his neck again.
He had a point. But if that horse belonged to Rune, did that mean the guy was actually… someone important? That couldn't be right... and somehow, it didn't seem fair. "That crest," I said. "There's a crown on it. Does that mean what I think it does?"
"How should I know what you're thinking?" He paused to check the straps, then he shrugged. "It's the crest of the royal family." He glanced at me as I took a step back, and he let out a dry laugh at my reaction. "Relax. I am simply a captain in their military."
I wanted to call him on his bullshit. A captain? There was no way. "Oh, right. You're 'simply' a captain. Is this a military of children?" I said. "Otherwise, I think you're a little young to be playing that part. Maybe if you said you were a trumpet major or something—"
He folded his arms. "I'm twenty-two."
"And how old is the general? Twenty-four?" I folded my arms to match his stance. "And do you even play the trumpet?"
"What?" he asked, sounding confused. "Our general is 53." He tilted his head. "What trumpet?"
His confusion could work in my favor, and I felt I was finally getting some information from him. If he wasn't a thief, then with that horse and those crests, he had to be royalty. Otherwise, why would be be a captain at such a young age? I stepped closer to him, sensing his discomfort. "Hey, I'd like to be a colonel. If I signed up, how long would I need to wait? Like, a year or two?"
His face hardened. Instead of stepping back as I had anticipated, Rune matched my move and leaned toward me. "Only if you prove yourself in battle. And the very thought of that is laughable."
I stuck my face right into his personal space. "Is that what you did, Captain? Here I was, thinking you were just wasting your time peacocking around my Classic Literature lectures. Silly me. You were actually out winning battles. Tell me, how was your last one? Was it filled with glory?"
He froze. "It was not."
"But you clearly impressed someone. I mean, why else would you be a captain?" He still didn't move, his face icing into a hardened mask, so I continued. "Why don't you tell me about this non-glorious battle that somehow promoted you up the ranks. Or… maybe there were no battles at all and someone just gave you the title?"
"You know nothing of my past," he said through a tight jaw. "Your life is sheltered. Easy. Boring. You couldn't imagine…"
"What?" I asked. "I can't imagine a person handing you something you didn't earn? That's all I've seen! And any 'battles' you might have been in were probably a joke! So what happened, Captain? Did you try to sacrifice yourself for your soldiers?"
"Stop—"
"Did your quick thinking save many lives?" I continued, ignoring him. "I imagine your world must be a better place now, thanks to—"
"Stop!" he shouted. "Never speak of battles or war with me again, Ember," he bit out. Then he turned away from me, but not before I saw what my offhand comments had done. I couldn't mistake the look of horror in his eyes, nor could I unsee the glazed look one gets when visions of death replay below the surface. My father had that same look when he told me of my mother's passing years ago. Then the police officers both had it when they showed up at my door last year. The wind was howling in protest on that dark, starless night. And the moment I opened the door to them, I knew it. Their eyes told me of the tragic accident, that I would never see my dad or my grandparents again. That my entire family was gone. I swallowed my memories down as I watched Rune fuss with the straps on the saddle.
I had been so certain he had never stepped foot on a battlefield. As such, I had only wanted him to admit that his title had been handed to him. Yet between the two of us, I had turned out to have been the fool. I shuffled where I stood, feeling very small. As much as I despised the guy, I had never meant to bring up his demons like that.
I cleared my throat. "I was just… trying to make sense of you. Of this place." I watched him with his horse as my conscience warred between being decent and a need to understand my situation. "I don't understand why this horse—with a royal coat of arms—knows you. Is yours, I mean. And… you can't blame me for wondering how someone your age can be a captain unless you're a royal, yourself." I let out a breath of frustration. "You have to admit that you aren't being very forthcoming. If I'm stuck here, I need to understand more about this place. And, frankly, about you."
He turned and leveled a look at me. "I doubt you have the capacity to understand."
I folded my arms. "Nice."
He shrugged, but didn't say anything else.
"So…" I began. "You're not a prince or anything cliched like that?"
The corner of his mouth quirked. "No. Trust me, this isn't a faerie tale." He gestured to the horse. "Now let's go."
I kept my distance, however. I had meant it when I told him I wasn't getting on that horse. "I think I'll just walk."
Rune let out a grunt—almost a growl. "Must you fight me on everything?" Shoulders stiff, he placed his foot in the stirrup and swung himself up into the saddle. "Nakhon Khor is three days away. On horseback." He reached his hand out in an offer to help me up. "False bravado aside, I doubt you'd want to walk it."
"What? How far?" My heart slammed against my ribcage as though seeking a fast escape. Three days? I jammed my hand into the pocket of my skirts and grabbed my insulin case, needing to feel the anchoring reality of it. "I can't," I said, stepping back farther. I have about a week of insulin, I thought, my mind tripping around in loops. I only have a week…
He half-rolled his eyes. "We've already been over this. You're stuck here. Now come—"
"No-no," I said, utterly panicked. I stumbled backward, sure that my eyes were as wide as saucers. "I can't. I can't." I turned and began walking toward the path that would take me back to the sea. "I have to go home. I can't stay here." I could see the top of the green rise in front of me. I was almost there. But a moment later, all I was staring at was black horse hair. I had nearly crashed into the beast when he cut me off.
"You don't get it," I said, my voice rising at the wall of horse in front of me. I stepped away from the animal, flapping my hands in agitation. "I have to go back. I need to get out of here. Please. If you won't help me, then just… forget it. I'm not going anywhere with you and your stupid, royal horse."
Call it hate or distrust, I couldn't bring myself to tell Rune about my diabetes. My heart was warning me against it, screaming at me that I shouldn't say a thing. It seemed to be the obvious choice. He wasn't sharing much of anything with me, and as such, I couldn't help but feel like I needed to guard my secrets here. But if I couldn't tell him, what was I supposed to do?
My stomach turned as I paced farther from the horse and rider and gestured at the space around me. "I'll just… have to find the way home on my own." Please, I thought at him. Please relent and help me get back.
He was silent for a while and simply stared down at me. "Fine," he eventually said, making my heart stutter as he called my bluff. "Stay here and rot. But I'll leave you with this one tidbit of information that will eat you up when I'm gone." He leaned down and, gesturing to the sea beyond the rise, said in a voice just above a whisper, "You can't get home that way." Then, without a backward glance, Rune kicked his horse into motion and galloped away.
The thing in question was a magnificent, black horse, its muscles defined under the gleam of its lustrous coat. A bobble of deep red tassels adorned its bridle, and red velvet trimmed the saddle.
"I don't believe you have a choice," Rune answered, running his hand over the horse's neck.
On the horse's breast plate, its browband and on the skirt, shiny silver plates displayed an embossed crest of some sort, with the image of a fire-breathing dragon entwined around a crown. I stepped back and narrowed my eyes at Rune. This looked like the property of someone important, and Rune, I was sure, was a thief. There was no way I was going anywhere near the animal. "Who's horse is this?"
"This is Spirit. He's mine." The horse tossed his head as though in agreement. "Reemish cared for him while I was away."
"He isn't stolen?"
Rune stilled. "Of course you would think that," he bit out. "Is Spirit acting like he's stolen? Like he doesn't know me?" As Rune spoke, the horse bumped him with its head, and Rune stroked his neck again.
He had a point. But if that horse belonged to Rune, did that mean the guy was actually… someone important? That couldn't be right... and somehow, it didn't seem fair. "That crest," I said. "There's a crown on it. Does that mean what I think it does?"
"How should I know what you're thinking?" He paused to check the straps, then he shrugged. "It's the crest of the royal family." He glanced at me as I took a step back, and he let out a dry laugh at my reaction. "Relax. I am simply a captain in their military."
I wanted to call him on his bullshit. A captain? There was no way. "Oh, right. You're 'simply' a captain. Is this a military of children?" I said. "Otherwise, I think you're a little young to be playing that part. Maybe if you said you were a trumpet major or something—"
He folded his arms. "I'm twenty-two."
"And how old is the general? Twenty-four?" I folded my arms to match his stance. "And do you even play the trumpet?"
"What?" he asked, sounding confused. "Our general is 53." He tilted his head. "What trumpet?"
His confusion could work in my favor, and I felt I was finally getting some information from him. If he wasn't a thief, then with that horse and those crests, he had to be royalty. Otherwise, why would be be a captain at such a young age? I stepped closer to him, sensing his discomfort. "Hey, I'd like to be a colonel. If I signed up, how long would I need to wait? Like, a year or two?"
His face hardened. Instead of stepping back as I had anticipated, Rune matched my move and leaned toward me. "Only if you prove yourself in battle. And the very thought of that is laughable."
I stuck my face right into his personal space. "Is that what you did, Captain? Here I was, thinking you were just wasting your time peacocking around my Classic Literature lectures. Silly me. You were actually out winning battles. Tell me, how was your last one? Was it filled with glory?"
He froze. "It was not."
"But you clearly impressed someone. I mean, why else would you be a captain?" He still didn't move, his face icing into a hardened mask, so I continued. "Why don't you tell me about this non-glorious battle that somehow promoted you up the ranks. Or… maybe there were no battles at all and someone just gave you the title?"
"You know nothing of my past," he said through a tight jaw. "Your life is sheltered. Easy. Boring. You couldn't imagine…"
"What?" I asked. "I can't imagine a person handing you something you didn't earn? That's all I've seen! And any 'battles' you might have been in were probably a joke! So what happened, Captain? Did you try to sacrifice yourself for your soldiers?"
"Stop—"
"Did your quick thinking save many lives?" I continued, ignoring him. "I imagine your world must be a better place now, thanks to—"
"Stop!" he shouted. "Never speak of battles or war with me again, Ember," he bit out. Then he turned away from me, but not before I saw what my offhand comments had done. I couldn't mistake the look of horror in his eyes, nor could I unsee the glazed look one gets when visions of death replay below the surface. My father had that same look when he told me of my mother's passing years ago. Then the police officers both had it when they showed up at my door last year. The wind was howling in protest on that dark, starless night. And the moment I opened the door to them, I knew it. Their eyes told me of the tragic accident, that I would never see my dad or my grandparents again. That my entire family was gone. I swallowed my memories down as I watched Rune fuss with the straps on the saddle.
I had been so certain he had never stepped foot on a battlefield. As such, I had only wanted him to admit that his title had been handed to him. Yet between the two of us, I had turned out to have been the fool. I shuffled where I stood, feeling very small. As much as I despised the guy, I had never meant to bring up his demons like that.
I cleared my throat. "I was just… trying to make sense of you. Of this place." I watched him with his horse as my conscience warred between being decent and a need to understand my situation. "I don't understand why this horse—with a royal coat of arms—knows you. Is yours, I mean. And… you can't blame me for wondering how someone your age can be a captain unless you're a royal, yourself." I let out a breath of frustration. "You have to admit that you aren't being very forthcoming. If I'm stuck here, I need to understand more about this place. And, frankly, about you."
He turned and leveled a look at me. "I doubt you have the capacity to understand."
I folded my arms. "Nice."
He shrugged, but didn't say anything else.
"So…" I began. "You're not a prince or anything cliched like that?"
The corner of his mouth quirked. "No. Trust me, this isn't a faerie tale." He gestured to the horse. "Now let's go."
I kept my distance, however. I had meant it when I told him I wasn't getting on that horse. "I think I'll just walk."
Rune let out a grunt—almost a growl. "Must you fight me on everything?" Shoulders stiff, he placed his foot in the stirrup and swung himself up into the saddle. "Nakhon Khor is three days away. On horseback." He reached his hand out in an offer to help me up. "False bravado aside, I doubt you'd want to walk it."
"What? How far?" My heart slammed against my ribcage as though seeking a fast escape. Three days? I jammed my hand into the pocket of my skirts and grabbed my insulin case, needing to feel the anchoring reality of it. "I can't," I said, stepping back farther. I have about a week of insulin, I thought, my mind tripping around in loops. I only have a week…
He half-rolled his eyes. "We've already been over this. You're stuck here. Now come—"
"No-no," I said, utterly panicked. I stumbled backward, sure that my eyes were as wide as saucers. "I can't. I can't." I turned and began walking toward the path that would take me back to the sea. "I have to go home. I can't stay here." I could see the top of the green rise in front of me. I was almost there. But a moment later, all I was staring at was black horse hair. I had nearly crashed into the beast when he cut me off.
"You don't get it," I said, my voice rising at the wall of horse in front of me. I stepped away from the animal, flapping my hands in agitation. "I have to go back. I need to get out of here. Please. If you won't help me, then just… forget it. I'm not going anywhere with you and your stupid, royal horse."
Call it hate or distrust, I couldn't bring myself to tell Rune about my diabetes. My heart was warning me against it, screaming at me that I shouldn't say a thing. It seemed to be the obvious choice. He wasn't sharing much of anything with me, and as such, I couldn't help but feel like I needed to guard my secrets here. But if I couldn't tell him, what was I supposed to do?
My stomach turned as I paced farther from the horse and rider and gestured at the space around me. "I'll just… have to find the way home on my own." Please, I thought at him. Please relent and help me get back.
He was silent for a while and simply stared down at me. "Fine," he eventually said, making my heart stutter as he called my bluff. "Stay here and rot. But I'll leave you with this one tidbit of information that will eat you up when I'm gone." He leaned down and, gesturing to the sea beyond the rise, said in a voice just above a whisper, "You can't get home that way." Then, without a backward glance, Rune kicked his horse into motion and galloped away.
Chapter 4, Part 2: Hostility
from
The City of Broken Dragons
A new series by D.H. Nevins
Asshole, I thought for the thousandth time. I hadn't thought Rune would actually abandon me. Not truly. I had mistakenly believed I was forcing his hand by refusing to go with him, guiding him into a place where he would finally give up and show me how to get home. Clearly, I didn't know the guy at all.
I was trudging along the dusty track of a road—following the same direction Rune had taken when he galloped away. At first, I had simply stood there, watching him grow smaller in the distance. My eyes followed him along the beige ribbon of road as it tracked up and down the rolling hills of the countryside, until he was little more than a cloud of dust on the far horizon. My hopes of convincing Rune to help me return faded with the dissipating dust.
It wasn't long after he disappeared, however, that I finally decided on a course of action. I needed to move—to do something, anything, to get home. I set my gaze on the cottages along the side of the road. Anyone who lived this close to the portal might know something… and if so, maybe I could convince them to help me. Maybe. But just in case, I also settled on that distasteful, alternate plan. Finding Rune. He was, unfortunately, my only solid lead for getting back. So if the people here couldn't help me, then come hell or high water, I was going to track that jerk down—and go right to the military in Nakhon Khor if I needed to.
I walked with my hand in the pocket of my skirt, running my fingers along the cool edges of my insulin case. With each step, I worked harder and harder to push away the fear that its invaluable contents only guaranteed a week of health… of life. But I could have months, I reminded myself, each crunching footstep punctuating my point. Perhaps even a year. I nodded and squeezed the case, forcing myself to believe it, forcing myself to keep moving. The only alternative was to give up, and I couldn't do that. I wouldn't.
The first cottage I came to was tiny, with only one door and window at the front. It looked well-cared for, however. Its walls were a gleaming white, and a trellis along one wall was bursting with flowers of pink and violet.
I paused on the road, gathering my nerves. I had formed a plan, which I had played out over and over in my mind as I neared the small structure. The idea seemed simple enough; I would try to start up some friendly conversation before mentioning that I was lost, and that I had arrived here unexpectedly. Then, if the person seemed to understand what I was hinting at, perhaps I would be able to move the conversation further. With a last stroke along my insulin case, I removed my hand from my pocket and moved forward. It was time to get help.
"Hello?" I called, peering around the yard. I didn't see anyone on the property or in the fields surrounding it. Hearing no response, I made my way up the pathway and tapped tentatively on the wooden frame.
The door burst open. "Jess?" blurted the young woman on the other side. She was dressed in the same attire I was, with messy red hair gathered behind her head. Her face seemed open at first, even expectant, but her countenance shifted the moment her eyes focused on me. Her lips hardened into a thin line, and her eyes looked like they would shoot fire at me if they could. "Who are ya? Whaddya want?"
I shuffled backward at her sudden animosity. Knocked completely off course by her reaction, I doubted the woman would even let me ask for the time of day. Yet I had to try. "I'm sorry to disturb you," I began, "but I'm from very far away, and I'm not sure how I got here—"
"Ya? Well, if ye've come this far, then ya ken keep goin'."
"Please. I need help."
"Not from me," she said. Then she slammed the door in my face.
The thatch on her roof vibrated from the force of the slamming door, sending bits of debris onto my shoulders and hair. Dust floated through the air around me, and I waved my hand to clear it. "Wait," I said to the door. "I'm lost. I don't know what to do."
"Ya want some direction?" she called through the door. "Here's some. Git yer ass back to the road 'fore I come out 'n make ya. Git off my property!"
She said the last with such vehemence that I stumbled my way off her stoop before she shrieked the final syllable. With my feet back on the road and my face burning with humiliation, I tripped my way forward without truly seeing. Keep moving, I reminded myself, dusting the traces of thatch off my body. I don't know her story. It's okay. Just keep moving.
Some time later, when I made it to the next cottage, I approached it with far more caution. Yet despite my efforts at exuding kindness, then deference, and finally, destitution, I was met with the same level of hostility. This time, a man had been working on a garden at the side of the cottage. He had stopped his weeding when I approached, and seemed to stand there frozen, with his back still to me. He hadn't laid eyes on me yet—I was certain of that—yet his body language made it clear that my visit wouldn't be met kindly. Why? I wondered, as he turned to face me.
"Good afternoon, sir."
As expected, his face soured when he looked me over. "Git awa' from here," he said, shooing me with his arm as though I were a stray dog.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but—"
"Git!"
"I will," I said, holding my hands in front of me. I was careful to stay on the road this time, and not step onto his property. "Could you give me some direction? Then I'll go. I promise."
His answer was to pick up a rock, then crank his arm back as though preparing to throw it at me. "Git!"
"Okay, okay," I said, quickening my pace as I continued along the road. I held my hands up between us and didn't fully turn my back to him until I was certain I was out of his throwing range. I kept moving until I was well out of sight, and only then did I stop to peer down at myself. Was it something about the clothing Rune gave me? I wondered, inspecting the garments. They looked quite similar to what the woman was wearing at the first cottage. I still had my Fluevog shoes on, but that couldn't account for their reactions, could it? Strangely, the shoes seemed to match my medieval-like outfit, and not only that, I was fairly certain neither cottager even saw my shoes before they reacted to my presence. And the first man—Reemish—didn't attack me because what I was wearing was odd. It was because he thought I was stealing the outfit. So what was the reason for their animosity? Could it be that they react to all strangers this way?
And if so, why? Did that mean I was in danger? Should I be wary of others here?
There was nothing to do but continue. Trudging along the road, I passed by the other cottages without stopping. Eventually, I came over a rise and saw a small village before me. It seemed to be bustling with activity, with most people coming and going from a temporary market in the central square. The vendors looked to be packing up for the day. Some were pushing away carts stacked with their wares, while others were hitching wagons to horses or mules. There were goods of all sorts: stacks of knitting and cloth, metal tools and cooking pots, and of course, there was food. I saw bread, cooked and uncooked meat, stews, and what was left of their stacks of fruit and vegetables, all being packed up for the day. My stomach rumbled in response. No, I thought at it, wanting to stretch out the time between insulin injections.
But I'll need to eat at some point, I reminded myself. Starving is bad. Sugar crashes? Also bad.
Wondering what I should do—and how I was going to get food without money—I started down the road toward the village.
I was trudging along the dusty track of a road—following the same direction Rune had taken when he galloped away. At first, I had simply stood there, watching him grow smaller in the distance. My eyes followed him along the beige ribbon of road as it tracked up and down the rolling hills of the countryside, until he was little more than a cloud of dust on the far horizon. My hopes of convincing Rune to help me return faded with the dissipating dust.
It wasn't long after he disappeared, however, that I finally decided on a course of action. I needed to move—to do something, anything, to get home. I set my gaze on the cottages along the side of the road. Anyone who lived this close to the portal might know something… and if so, maybe I could convince them to help me. Maybe. But just in case, I also settled on that distasteful, alternate plan. Finding Rune. He was, unfortunately, my only solid lead for getting back. So if the people here couldn't help me, then come hell or high water, I was going to track that jerk down—and go right to the military in Nakhon Khor if I needed to.
I walked with my hand in the pocket of my skirt, running my fingers along the cool edges of my insulin case. With each step, I worked harder and harder to push away the fear that its invaluable contents only guaranteed a week of health… of life. But I could have months, I reminded myself, each crunching footstep punctuating my point. Perhaps even a year. I nodded and squeezed the case, forcing myself to believe it, forcing myself to keep moving. The only alternative was to give up, and I couldn't do that. I wouldn't.
The first cottage I came to was tiny, with only one door and window at the front. It looked well-cared for, however. Its walls were a gleaming white, and a trellis along one wall was bursting with flowers of pink and violet.
I paused on the road, gathering my nerves. I had formed a plan, which I had played out over and over in my mind as I neared the small structure. The idea seemed simple enough; I would try to start up some friendly conversation before mentioning that I was lost, and that I had arrived here unexpectedly. Then, if the person seemed to understand what I was hinting at, perhaps I would be able to move the conversation further. With a last stroke along my insulin case, I removed my hand from my pocket and moved forward. It was time to get help.
"Hello?" I called, peering around the yard. I didn't see anyone on the property or in the fields surrounding it. Hearing no response, I made my way up the pathway and tapped tentatively on the wooden frame.
The door burst open. "Jess?" blurted the young woman on the other side. She was dressed in the same attire I was, with messy red hair gathered behind her head. Her face seemed open at first, even expectant, but her countenance shifted the moment her eyes focused on me. Her lips hardened into a thin line, and her eyes looked like they would shoot fire at me if they could. "Who are ya? Whaddya want?"
I shuffled backward at her sudden animosity. Knocked completely off course by her reaction, I doubted the woman would even let me ask for the time of day. Yet I had to try. "I'm sorry to disturb you," I began, "but I'm from very far away, and I'm not sure how I got here—"
"Ya? Well, if ye've come this far, then ya ken keep goin'."
"Please. I need help."
"Not from me," she said. Then she slammed the door in my face.
The thatch on her roof vibrated from the force of the slamming door, sending bits of debris onto my shoulders and hair. Dust floated through the air around me, and I waved my hand to clear it. "Wait," I said to the door. "I'm lost. I don't know what to do."
"Ya want some direction?" she called through the door. "Here's some. Git yer ass back to the road 'fore I come out 'n make ya. Git off my property!"
She said the last with such vehemence that I stumbled my way off her stoop before she shrieked the final syllable. With my feet back on the road and my face burning with humiliation, I tripped my way forward without truly seeing. Keep moving, I reminded myself, dusting the traces of thatch off my body. I don't know her story. It's okay. Just keep moving.
Some time later, when I made it to the next cottage, I approached it with far more caution. Yet despite my efforts at exuding kindness, then deference, and finally, destitution, I was met with the same level of hostility. This time, a man had been working on a garden at the side of the cottage. He had stopped his weeding when I approached, and seemed to stand there frozen, with his back still to me. He hadn't laid eyes on me yet—I was certain of that—yet his body language made it clear that my visit wouldn't be met kindly. Why? I wondered, as he turned to face me.
"Good afternoon, sir."
As expected, his face soured when he looked me over. "Git awa' from here," he said, shooing me with his arm as though I were a stray dog.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but—"
"Git!"
"I will," I said, holding my hands in front of me. I was careful to stay on the road this time, and not step onto his property. "Could you give me some direction? Then I'll go. I promise."
His answer was to pick up a rock, then crank his arm back as though preparing to throw it at me. "Git!"
"Okay, okay," I said, quickening my pace as I continued along the road. I held my hands up between us and didn't fully turn my back to him until I was certain I was out of his throwing range. I kept moving until I was well out of sight, and only then did I stop to peer down at myself. Was it something about the clothing Rune gave me? I wondered, inspecting the garments. They looked quite similar to what the woman was wearing at the first cottage. I still had my Fluevog shoes on, but that couldn't account for their reactions, could it? Strangely, the shoes seemed to match my medieval-like outfit, and not only that, I was fairly certain neither cottager even saw my shoes before they reacted to my presence. And the first man—Reemish—didn't attack me because what I was wearing was odd. It was because he thought I was stealing the outfit. So what was the reason for their animosity? Could it be that they react to all strangers this way?
And if so, why? Did that mean I was in danger? Should I be wary of others here?
There was nothing to do but continue. Trudging along the road, I passed by the other cottages without stopping. Eventually, I came over a rise and saw a small village before me. It seemed to be bustling with activity, with most people coming and going from a temporary market in the central square. The vendors looked to be packing up for the day. Some were pushing away carts stacked with their wares, while others were hitching wagons to horses or mules. There were goods of all sorts: stacks of knitting and cloth, metal tools and cooking pots, and of course, there was food. I saw bread, cooked and uncooked meat, stews, and what was left of their stacks of fruit and vegetables, all being packed up for the day. My stomach rumbled in response. No, I thought at it, wanting to stretch out the time between insulin injections.
But I'll need to eat at some point, I reminded myself. Starving is bad. Sugar crashes? Also bad.
Wondering what I should do—and how I was going to get food without money—I started down the road toward the village.
