Lucy 1813

The old woman bats my hand away, leanin in to sniff at my side.

I grimace.

I haven’t had a real bath in centuries, literally, so I can only imagine that the experience isn’t a pleasant one for her. But when she pulls away again she looks pleased and mutters a string of words that mean absolutely nothing to me. She flaps her hands at me as if she wants me to stand up.

I give her a nervous look. As much as I want to stand up, move around, go after my ducking brother who stormed out of here the day before yesterday without resolving anything, the truth is that my side is stitched up with deer tendons. You can’t blame me for being nervous about putting them to the test.

But now she’s tugging on my arm and the...

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