Listen to the Water | FULL SERIES | Wattys 2022 Shortlist | ✔

(16) Sar: Departure

Adjusting when I wake up takes a too-long moment. There's stone beneath me, something soft over me that I don't want there anymore, and tepid water all around that tastes too much like shellfish. I pull off the blanket and bury my hands in it. The light in the room is soft and red, and the water swirls slightly. Being able to track that means I have more of my senses back than yesterday, though that isn't saying much. Yesterday is a dizzy blur.

I can't decide if I want to sit up. I shiver and grip the blanket tighter, like that will bring back the warmth I removed when I pulled it off. I'm cold, but I don't want to be covered. Shifting my tail proves I'm physically okay, and the vertigo that gripped me yesterday is gone. I'm just sore. And a little weak. Which means I should probably eat, but I'm not hungry.

I finally dig my hands into the blanket and sit up. My whole body shocks at the sight of another person on the ground across the room. It's Ande. It's Ande, and she looks dead—she looks dead. My body starts to tremble. It's only heartbeats later that her chest rises, and I remember there are signs to tell when a person is still alive from this distance. I can't think straight. It's been like this ever since... I shake my head, like that will block the memory. Then I unfurl the blanket and pull it back around my shoulders. I want Ande to wake up. She looks too much like a body, and the dim, red light makes it hard to tell when she breathes. It's not fair to wake her, but I can't move until she does, and I can't tear my eyes away.

I don't know how long it is before she stirs. The stubborn fear lifts as Ande stretches both hands over her head and arches her back, then rolls over. Her eyes widen when she sees me. It's closely followed by a smile that I return weakly. Automatically, really. Or maybe it's genuine. All my emotions feel so shaken up that it's kind of hard to tell.

"How are you feeling?" signs Ande, still lying on the ground. My facial expression gives me away, and empathy creases her face. "Any better than yesterday?"

That's a yes, so I nod. It's still not saying much, but I don't want to go back to yesterday, so this counts. I free a hand. "Where's Ruka?"

"Talking with Yaz if she's doing what she said she would this morning." Ande's eyes linger on me for a long moment. She taps her hair. "You should do something about that. It's going to start matting."

I lift a hand, flinching at the slide of the blanket over my skin. I haven't touched my hair in days, and it's showing. Sleeping on a hard surface hasn't helped. "You need it, too," I sign, because that's easier than actually doing the thing.

Ande also puts a hand to her hair, and groans. She's had it braided the same way since we left the pinnacle where we stayed after visiting the Seers. It's growing out at the roots, and her braids are going to start matting too before long.

"I'll do mine if you do yours," she signs. "Mutual accountability?"

I don't want to do mine. I don't want to let go of the uncomfortable but warm blanket, or lift my hands for that long when my arms are still shaky. I could lie down, but there's cold rock there.

"Or I can do yours," Ande offers, a little cautiously. "If you want. I'll be gentle."

She's got curly hair, too. Tighter curls, but there's a good chance she'll know how to handle mine. And now that I'm aware of it, the tangle and tug of my hair isn't comfortable, either. I give in and nod.

"Let me do mine first." She points beside me. "While you eat something."

My stomach sinks. There's food beside me, different from what Ruka left there yesterday. I can't make the excuse that it's not fresh.

"I'm not letting you leave here until you've eaten something," signs Ande, one-handed, already halfway through teasing apart one of her scalp-close braids. "Just so you know."