No More Frozen Bones

Chapter Seven

My soft steps thrummed against the cracked, cobblestone pathway. I squeezed through the crowded street of people. Hollow People, I tended to call them. Bodies not adapted to the harsh climate. Hollow, as their gray-tinted faces and sunken eyes suggest. They look down at their own feet, shivering and not conversing with anyone but their children. They bump me and send me sprawling to the side, and don't flinch or show any emotion. Hollow.

The looming buildings boasted cantilevered rooms that jutted out over the bustling street. They cast a shadow over the path, snow seldom able to make its way through and onto the ground. Fire-bloods constructed them close together to block the wind. But, they left little room to expand. So, the Hollows built them up. It was easy to tell where the fire-bloods' well-made stone architecture ended. The creaking, dark wood a dead giveaway.

The crowd parted to dodge the pile of rotted planks of an old Hollow house that was covering their path. The rubble was as tall as me. Light seeped through from where it fell from the sky. Snowflakes fluttered down and met ground from the open space. Chills formed on my arms, tripping over a stray piece of plank. The street was always busy. Bodies, without a doubt, lay underneath the rubble. I covered my nose to displace the smell of rot. No one paid the collapse a second glance.

Elbowing past a Hollow man wearing a worn-down wool coat, I stretched onto my tip toes. Straining to look past the crowd, I still couldn't see. I cursed, blaming malnutrition for my lack of growth.

"Oomph," I grunted. A force to my back sent me stumbling forward to the body in front of me. They wobbled but righted themselves without turning around. My lips quirked when I spotted the dark, wooden, cantilevered building I was looking for. Fuzzy lettering sat on a sticking-out wooden sign. I didn't bother reading it. It laid one story above the fire-bloods stone, one of the first of its kind.

I extended my arms in front of me, holding back the person beside me so that I could squeeze through. I shuffled into the thin alley, having to turn sideways so my limbs didn't escape the sides. My palms cut on splintered wood as I ascended the shaky ladder. Crossing the squeaking beam above a fire-blood home, I shoulder my way through the door.

I tilted my head. The sight of rough-hewn tables and tall chairs always made my chest stir with bitter fondness. How fitting the Hollows would build a bar first.

I feigned having a chill, wrapping my arms around myself and rubbing them up and down my forearms. It was a Hollow establishment, after all. No fire-bloods allowed. I scrunched my face, gritted my teeth, and gave the crowded room a once-over.

The chopped raven hair stood out among the rest. I slinked over to the barstool next to her, dodging the strewn-out legs and spilled drinks on the floor. A burly man snorting with laughter stepped in my way while mid-conversation. I crossed my arms, setting my face into a glare. When he looked down, his arms raised in defense.

"Sorry, love." He moved out of the way, resuming his chatter in a thick accent.

I rolled my eyes, sliding into the seat next to my friend. Picking up a tattered menu, I pretended to read the fading letters while watching her from the corner of my eye.

"Third row, fourth word. What does it say?" She murmured, the sound almost consumed by the loud chatter surrounding us.

"Gur—" I hesitated. "Grain?"

Emma shrugged, shifting her gaze to me for a brief moment before looking back forward. "I dunno. That sounds right."

I drew my index finger across a line of text. "Last row, first word."

"I think that says bear."

My brow furrowed. "No. It doesn't make an air sound. It makes an ear sound."