little more than befriending lonely people and painting pictures.
Painting. An idea struck, attractive because it had the potential to distract her from hunger pains that were growing increasingly urgent. She got up and hunted around the cave until she found what she was looking for: a wet patch in the wall, streaked with mud. It was too dark by now to know whether the mud was red or not, but hoping, she dug her hand in and loaded it up with “paint,” trekking across the cave to a wide wall. She stood in thought for a moment and then started a pattern she knew well: a rose vine, the same pattern that was tattooed across her shoulder. She swept a few long lines and then went back, working in the roses, and returned for more mud when she ran out, feeling her way for wet spots along the wall to make sure she was picking up in the right place.
How much time she spent on the mural she had no idea, but the supply of mud seemed endless. She stopped after she was content that she’d painted a full vine, beginning in one corner of the wall and arching up to the far corner, with offshoots and flowers and buds and thorns, and smiled to herself as she considered that the painting might not be visible at all come light—she had no guarantee that the mud would be coloured enough to show up. And it was quite possible that the painting was a disaster: she was working near blind, with a headache.
She sat down, feeling a little foolish but strangely happy all the same, and did her best to clean the last of the mud off her hands, using her track pants and the floor. Her hunger hadn’t lessened, but she didn’t feel quite as weak now. She was going to need to find a bathroom—most likely she’d have to designate a corner of the cave for the purpose, although the thought was depressing.
Her eyes were getting heavy, and although it briefly occurred to her that she might have a concussion and should avoid going to sleep, it also occurred to her that it might not matter if she did.
* * *
Tyler arrived back at the cottage shortly after the sun set. It had been a long, hard scramble up the cliffs to the town—probably not more than a five-mile trek, but it had taken well over four hours. Reese had been a trooper, never once complaining and keeping up a good pace, but they’d had to fight their way through thickets, scramble over a lot of steep rock, and backtrack more than once. When he finally saw the lights of the village winking in the dusk, Tyler felt like a burden had been lifted off his back, and he walked faster as he headed up the road to the cottage. Reese gave him a worn smile as he announced, “Almost home!”
Despite the steep grade of the road, Tyler picked up his pace. The lights were on in the cottage, and he could smell meat cooking. The smell was better than he would have expected from Chris, and he wondered if Diane had come over. He thought he glimpsed a female form passing in front of one of the windows, confirming the guess. It felt right that she should be there. He wasn’t quite sure about the propriety of Reese staying with him and Chris alone, but somehow he knew Chris wouldn’t want her to go stay with his mother. Troublingly, he was also fairly sure Diane wouldn’t be open to Reese anyway. He didn’t understand the dynamic between mother and son and guest. But, he realized, he cared about Reese, just like he cared about Chris and Diane.
He reached the front door and started to wipe his boots on the step, turning to say something to his travelling companion. Chris must have seen him coming, because the door opened before Tyler had been there a minute.
“Where’s Reese?” Chris asked.
Tyler turned, the words “Right here” on his lips.
The words died away.
She was gone.
* * *
It was the light that woke April. Light that came softly from behind her like the glow from a lamp. She opened her eyes and smiled sleepily as the mural spread out before her in vivid red on pale rock: the
Painting. An idea struck, attractive because it had the potential to distract her from hunger pains that were growing increasingly urgent. She got up and hunted around the cave until she found what she was looking for: a wet patch in the wall, streaked with mud. It was too dark by now to know whether the mud was red or not, but hoping, she dug her hand in and loaded it up with “paint,” trekking across the cave to a wide wall. She stood in thought for a moment and then started a pattern she knew well: a rose vine, the same pattern that was tattooed across her shoulder. She swept a few long lines and then went back, working in the roses, and returned for more mud when she ran out, feeling her way for wet spots along the wall to make sure she was picking up in the right place.
How much time she spent on the mural she had no idea, but the supply of mud seemed endless. She stopped after she was content that she’d painted a full vine, beginning in one corner of the wall and arching up to the far corner, with offshoots and flowers and buds and thorns, and smiled to herself as she considered that the painting might not be visible at all come light—she had no guarantee that the mud would be coloured enough to show up. And it was quite possible that the painting was a disaster: she was working near blind, with a headache.
She sat down, feeling a little foolish but strangely happy all the same, and did her best to clean the last of the mud off her hands, using her track pants and the floor. Her hunger hadn’t lessened, but she didn’t feel quite as weak now. She was going to need to find a bathroom—most likely she’d have to designate a corner of the cave for the purpose, although the thought was depressing.
Her eyes were getting heavy, and although it briefly occurred to her that she might have a concussion and should avoid going to sleep, it also occurred to her that it might not matter if she did.
* * *
Tyler arrived back at the cottage shortly after the sun set. It had been a long, hard scramble up the cliffs to the town—probably not more than a five-mile trek, but it had taken well over four hours. Reese had been a trooper, never once complaining and keeping up a good pace, but they’d had to fight their way through thickets, scramble over a lot of steep rock, and backtrack more than once. When he finally saw the lights of the village winking in the dusk, Tyler felt like a burden had been lifted off his back, and he walked faster as he headed up the road to the cottage. Reese gave him a worn smile as he announced, “Almost home!”
Despite the steep grade of the road, Tyler picked up his pace. The lights were on in the cottage, and he could smell meat cooking. The smell was better than he would have expected from Chris, and he wondered if Diane had come over. He thought he glimpsed a female form passing in front of one of the windows, confirming the guess. It felt right that she should be there. He wasn’t quite sure about the propriety of Reese staying with him and Chris alone, but somehow he knew Chris wouldn’t want her to go stay with his mother. Troublingly, he was also fairly sure Diane wouldn’t be open to Reese anyway. He didn’t understand the dynamic between mother and son and guest. But, he realized, he cared about Reese, just like he cared about Chris and Diane.
He reached the front door and started to wipe his boots on the step, turning to say something to his travelling companion. Chris must have seen him coming, because the door opened before Tyler had been there a minute.
“Where’s Reese?” Chris asked.
Tyler turned, the words “Right here” on his lips.
The words died away.
She was gone.
* * *
It was the light that woke April. Light that came softly from behind her like the glow from a lamp. She opened her eyes and smiled sleepily as the mural spread out before her in vivid red on pale rock: the
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