Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Happy to see you, too. But I just hug his arm, relieved that he’s broken free from the fugue and he’s back to his normal sour self. “Dingle will be glad to see you back to yourself.”
He eyes me. “Not you?”
I’m surprised by the directness of his question. We stare at each other, and I feel a bit of heat creeping into my cheeks. “Of course I am.”
A vulnerable silence falls between us. I wait for him to say something. He just gazes at me, thoughtful.
I nudge him with my arm and break the spell. “I’m famished. You want to head into town now?”
“You mean you haven’t been? You’ve waited all this time?” He seems put out at the delay, casting me a frustrated look as he gets to his feet and dusts his wrinkled clothing off. “Why?”
Does he not realize what he was like yesterday? Or is he just being a brat? Sometimes it’s hard to tell. I stifle my irritation and remind myself that he can’t help it. “Yesterday was inconvenient,” I say, being deliberately vague. “But I feel good about our odds today.”
He huffs, frowning down at one pathetic-looking sleeve. He brushes his fingers through his tangled, short hair, and I’m disgusted that it somehow looks better than before. It’s just the right amount of sexy and tousled, whereas mine probably looks like “street rat” and “bird’s nest.” “We look like vagabonds.”
“I imagine we do,” I say cheerfully. “Now, shall we round up our goat and see if we have any luck?”
Dingle is a short distance away, eating some of the fallen green fruit at the base of the tree. When he sees Kalos, he makes a happy bleat and prances over to us, dragging his mud-encrusted lead rope along after him. He butts Kalos in the legs in his favorite goat-ish greeting and dances around him, elated to see his favorite person. Me, he ignores.
Oh well. You can’t win them all. “Grab his lead, will you? I’ve got our pack.”
We head the short hike down the road and over the hill towards the tiny town we’ve staked out. There are a few people out in the morning light, and I hear a rooster somewhere in the distance. Overall, it looks nice and settled and domestic, and best of all, untouched by ravaging armies. We walk down the rutted, muddy road, and I eye each building, trying to figure out who would be most amenable to an offer of help in exchange for a bite to eat. Not the blacksmith, that’s for sure. I know nothing about metal. Not the horse stables, because I don’t know anything about them, either.
A delicious scent wafts through the air and my mouth floods with saliva just as I see a sign with a loaf of bread on it, the end sliced off. Either the shop is a bakery or a restaurant, but it doesn’t matter. It’s our next destination. “Let’s stop here.”
There’s a grassy mat just outside the wooden door, and the windows to the shop are open, letting the incredible scents waft out. Dingle is tied to the nearest hitching post, and he makes a warbling protest as we head inside, scraping our battered shoes on the mat first. The interior of the small shop is nearly empty, save for a very long counter covered in breads of all kinds and a cooling rack filled with buns. Behind the counter is an enormous oven, and a woman is using a paddle to pull a loaf out. She turns to frown at us, eyeing our clothing with disdain. “Beggars get scraps on Sundays.”
I beam brightly at her, putting on my best customer service face. “You look incredibly busy. I don’t suppose you’d want some help today in exchange for a bit of food or some coin? I’m a very hard worker.”
The woman’s expression darkens. She makes a shooing gesture at us. “Away with both of you.”
“Please,” I say, a note of desperation in my voice. “We’re very hungry and we’re not asking for handouts. We’re willing to work—”
The woman turns her back, pulling more bread out of the oven.
“Just take one,” Kalos says, gesturing at the spread on the counter.
“No,” I hiss, pushing his hand down just in case he tries to grab one. Like I didn’t have the same thought? But I refuse to break the rules and end up like Seth and Margo. “It’s wrong.”
The woman turns towards us and sets the newest loaf of bread down at the far end of the counter. Instead of going in for another, she turns the paddle and brandishes it like a weapon. “Get out of my shop, the both of you. I don’t want you in here.”
“I just want to work for a bit of bread,” I exclaim, determined to make her see my side. “Do you have dishes? I’ll do all of them! Do you need your dough kneaded? I can do that! Just give me a chance!”