Page 91 of Starside

Then he begins to undo his armor.

“I’m bathing,” he says. “You can do whatever the fuck you want.” He digs his sword into the ground. It stands tall and proud in front of me.

He undoes his boots. I swallow, wondering what’s next. He has to lower his hood and mask to bathe, right?

Curiosity momentarily stuns me.

Then I get my fucking mind together and scurry into the woods. I am not going to sit here and stare at Harlan Raker bathing. That’s ridiculous. And likely a death sentence, as he clearly doesn’t like anyone seeing him without his layers, much like I do.

Asshole.

When I’m done imagining just what lurks beneath that hood—each iteration becoming increasingly demonic—I distract myself by foraging. There are some of the same mushrooms I found before. A few different ones. Some leaves that are edible, given their smell. Others that smell bitter, poisonous.

Another advantage of having a mother who loved plants—she taught my sister and me which ones we weren’t allowed to touch. The ones that would burn our ankles … the ones with enough poison to kill a horse.

By the time Raker emerges, I have an armful of provisions, wrapped in leaves. Some roots and nuts, even.

He walks right past me with not so much as a grunt. His hood is slightly wet. It’s the only indication that he was ever in the water at all.

My own skin is dry and dirty, but I swallow my bitterness and follow him up another hill. The sun is almost setting.

When we reach a waterfall, he throws his pack down and turns without another word. To hunt, I know. He didn’t have enough time to cure the elk’s meat. Much of it was left behind uneaten.

I close my mind against the memory of that elk’s lifeless gaze and begin washing my mushrooms in the waterfall. I scrub the dirt off them and the leftover berries and spread them on a smooth rock to dry.

I watch as the sun is pierced by the mountains and melts into a golden smear. It vanishes quickly. Then I make my way into the cave. Raker follows a few minutes later. Empty-handed.

I try and fail to hide my mirth. “What’s wrong? Couldn’t find another gentle creature to kill?”

He steps past me without a single glance.

“Maybe if you’d let me bathe, you could have found your dinner,” I say, chomping happily on one of my roots.

His sword carves into the stone floor with a sharp crack, the rock rippling.

I shrug. “Ignore me. Sorry, I forgot the rules. Shut up and listen. Don’t bathe. Don’t protest when friendly beings get murdered right in front of you.”

At that, he whips around. “Just because it had fucking flowers in its horns doesn’t make it friendly,” he says, with just about all the disdain in the world.

I glare at him and get to my feet. “It was a gentle creature in a grove. It was looking at me with more awareness than you, you demonic brute.”

His voice is venomous. “That gentle creature was a moment away from skewering you through.”

My laugh echoes through the cave. “Oh, so that’s it? You were protecting me?”

He makes a sound of contempt. “Your life is meaningless beyond you possessing something I need. I need you alive for now. Unfortunately.”

I bow at the feet of my past self for setting the map aflame, for I have no doubt in my mind that Raker would have cut me down days ago if I still had it.

He won’t kill me. Which gives me the courage to finally, truly get under his skin. He’s ignored me for days. He has left me behind. He has insulted me at every turn.

Fuck. Him.

I take a slow step toward him. “I repulse you, don’t I?” I say, tilting my head, searching within that hood for anything to glare at. Even a hint of those gray eyes. I see only darkness.

“You have no idea,” he says.

I look him up and down, wondering why I bother him so much. I come up with a decent theory. “You think I’m unworthy of this blade.”