Butcher or be butchered.
Survive, if you can.
Those are the new rules.
Life hadn't always been like this.
I was happy once. Before my life crumbled before my eyes. Before I found out their secrets and lies.
FALSEHOOD NUMBER ONE: Helion is my home...
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Snow threatens to fall. I wait in the cave entrance, shivering from the frost, watching the sky. The only warmth comes from hot tears trickling down. Butcher built a raging fire before he left for the incoming airdrop, but harsh winds quieted the roar to a weak whisper.
With Butcher gone, one might wonder why I haven't taken off yet.
I can't—the fever still lingers, taking with it most of life's power. Breathing is easier than yesterday, but that's all. After the episode with Butcher, I relapsed, waking just this morning. I haven't dared to ask him how many days have gone by.
I don't want to think of him.
I do remember being lucid once. It was the strangest thing. My eyes opened to my tracker flashing red and Butcher was staring at me with horror in his eyes. Nerves bulged at the surface of my skin. I do believe I was saying something, but I don't know what. All I know is that Butcher addressed me as "Princess" with reverence in his voice—that was the strangest of all.
It was so odd. It felt as if Xaro were nearer than it's ever been.
But perhaps I was dreaming.
Near midday, snow flutters down. The jungle chokes with the white, cottony flakes. The snow is only another wall trapping me here. In the heat I possessed mobility. This terrible cold demands a coat and shoes, neither of which I have. It demands tough skin and a heart hardened to a frozen world. Goosebumps cover every inch of me and my fingers and toes have gone numb. I'm in no shape for this new terrain.
I wish the numbness could reach my heart.
The downpour accelerates, causing the far distance to disappear behind a white curtain of snow and frost. Despite the fact I'm nearly blue, I remain at my perch. My insides welcome the fierce cold. Maybe it will kill me—this secret wish no longer scares me.
I've been staring for quite a while when pointy, black ears materialize in the frozen picture. I squint, catching sight of a swarthy back slicked with snow. A creature stalks forward steadily and without fear, crossing earth's icy blanket easily. I think perhaps it is a shadowland wolf, until clear eyes glimmer in dying light.
A Fynx.
A jolt of fright helps me stand. I ease back into the shadows of the burrow near the fire. Maybe that will scare it off.
The Fynx continues advancing, but as it nears the cave my fear pauses. It's the miniature of other Fynxs I have seen. The nose is not so pointy, the teeth not so sharp. A helpless yelp escapes as it gazes at the flickering flames. It's only a frozen whelp.
I laugh—just a little.
It feels so good.
"Are you lost?" As if to answer, the ball of sable fur creeps into the bundle of dried grass serving as my place to sleep. The nose digs in first and then, with a heavy sigh, the small frame collapses. The poor thing's no bigger than a puppy.
