Dust to Dust | ✓

8 || Huntress

The rest of the night was a blur. As soon as Zehra had dealt with the meat she dragged all the way back and cleaned herself off, she rolled out a pallet for Aiko, throwing two blankets out for her and explaining that it was much colder that time of year. Aiko barely registered her words before she was in the makeshift bed and fast asleep. Despite all that had happened, the night was restful, long, and free of the nightmares she would awake to.

When sleep finally relinquished its hold on her, her eyes fluttered open to blinding afternoon sunlight flooding through the open window across from her. She groaned and yanked the blankets up over her face. The bottom was a thick quilt, more than warm and thick enough on its own, but the top was a soft blanket of lush animal fur. Together, they nearly completely smothered her vision in black, and she began to drift again, lulled by the promise of escape through her return to the haze of sleep.

"Do you always sleep this late?"

Aiko startled at the sound of another voice, throwing the covers off as she flung herself upright. For a brief flicker of a moment, the lilt of the voice came in Felix's gentle Furvus accent, low and teasing with the faint hint of a smile on his lips. But when her eyes landed on the figure standing behind her, arms folded and one brow lifted in amusement, she saw only Zehra and the illusion of Felix scattered like embers in the wind. Sighing, Aiko fell back against her pillow, staring at the wood paneling above her. Anywhere but Zehra's sea glass eyes, too blue and too icy to measure up to Felix's gaze.

"No," Aiko muttered, brushing her thoughts of Felix away. They clung to her like spiderwebs, sticky and persistent. "This is a special occasion."

"It's well past midday."

"Don't you have work to get to?"

"I hunt late in the day when the Pure are out."

"Right." Aiko rolled over and propped herself up with her elbows, squishing her cheeks between her fists. Cryptic words told her nothing, and since her time attached to the Core, she had grown to hate them—save for when she was hooking Felix with similar phrases and dragging him along with her. She let her gaze slide up and down Zehra, searching for some kind of other hint to her true meaning. Very few could completely conceal their thoughts, for either their face or their body would always give away what their words wouldn't.

The woman was already dressed, cleaned, and ready for the day, but her face was a smooth wall of stone that gave nothing away. Likewise, her stance was just as still, her chin tilted downward and her arms folded; neither of which queued Aiko into anything of use. Zehra was unreadable, unmoving, unwilling.

Blank.

Zehra turned away sharply, her sky blue skirt flaring out around her legs. The tail of her tied-back black hair fell gracefully against her back. "Are you hungry?"

"I suppose I could eat." Aiko pushed up and wriggled free of the prison of blankets that tried to pin her down.

"Wash up and get dressed. Meet me outside and I'll have something ready for you." With that said, Zehra disappeared with the squeak of a door's hinges and a slam as it closed behind her.

The thought of eating outside in the cold made Aiko's toes curl. If it weren't for the twisting, growling emptiness in her stomach, she might have refused. She couldn't remember the last time she had remembered to eat—much less actually eaten. But if I don't eat, I won't be able to continue my search for Felix.

Her stomach growled again, yawning like a gaping chasm. She sighed. Maybe Zehra likes being stabbed by the frigid wind while she eats. Accepting this as the only way to take another step forward, Aiko resigned herself to the cold. She abandoned the warmth of her makeshift bed, grabbed her satchel, and left to explore Zehra's tiny house. There was a bedroom, neat and nearly devoid of personal effects—aside from Zehra's bow leaning against the bed frame. Down the other end of the wall, she found a tiny washroom. She cleaned up and changed into her spare clothes. Combing her curls back, she tied it out of her face with two gold ribbons. The ghost of Felix's long fingers threaded her hair and she stiffened. There was no one there. It's your imagination. He's gone.