90 DEADLY DAYS (WEEKLY UPDATES RETURNING THIS DECEMBER)

Chapter 38

There, in letting go, no judgment passes. There are no wagging tongues.

You aren't contaminated in the public's eyes.

Only your own.

Thinking too much gives me chills. I dig my fingers into my fur, yanking it to my jaw. If I stay in the abyss too long I'll never come out.

Snowflakes trickle down. Dim sunlight sets them aglow. Coniferous trees shine a brilliant hunter green under snow blankets. I force myself to become lost in the beauty and forget about the sick reminder next to me. The one churning up slush with long, aggressive strides.

I'm a snow fairy in comparison to him.

No wonder I never stood a chance.

We march for hours, searching for what dinner remains on the frozen plains. Stumbling upon fallen beasts is not uncommon. The eternal winter takes them out too. Most of them are stone cold with a resigned expression of exhaustion. They would become the next meal but it's impossible to break through their slick, glossy coverings of ice. I trail a hand over them as we pass. Who knows, maybe they never felt a soft touch before.

The touch of ice burns my fingers.

Butcher frowns as the sky brightens to noonday. Knees aching from wading through snowy embankments, we've gone too far and gained nothing. It will take us as long to go back as it took to reach this point. My legs moan at the thought. I'll be exhausted and starving.

We turn around just as whirring comes from the sky. I don't believe it. My head jerks up. A red 'X' on an airship's tummy shows up against the surrounding grey. Butcher lets his ironic smirk show.

"We should chase it," I say.

He's already marching across the snow.

Butcher tracks the ship east for hours. I follow, but it's not too long before I hang back, dragging sore legs along. You can only keep up with him for so long. My eyes sink back into my skull from extreme thirst. Once in a while I'll pause and shove snow in my mouth. It doesn't help much.

The airship finally pauses over a snowy meadow. Near its outskirts, a brown deer hightails it into dark woods. Hours ago Butcher would have hunted the poor thing down. Now he just watches it go. There are more promising prospects today.

And so the airdrop begins.

Burlap sacks the size of large dogs rain down. About ten fall out of the Xaron craft's mouth, hitting the ground with loud cracks. Brandishing his dagger, Butcher stabs through sack coverings to the inner contents.

I'm shocked into silence at what I see. Butcher chuckles to himself.

Puffer coats. Shiny gloves and knitted hats.

I didn't know Xaro would ever send things like this.

Cans of soup. Freeze-dried fruit. Woolen pants. Dried beef and lamb. Weapons I've never seen before. Circular balls with coned spikes. Handheld, steel cannon-like guns that glow with bluish light. I don't like this anymore.

My brows knit together as Butcher hauls one out of its case. I have no idea what it is but I wouldn't doubt that it could kill thirty of me in one go.

Setting it down as if it were a newborn, Butcher places it in the snow. I take a careful step back.

Grabbing a pair of pants and knitted cap, he throws off his shaggy, now decrepit, fur and tunic. Naked muscles stiffen under the clench of winter. His mutilated back muscles crinkle from the cold. I catch myself watching. A confused blush gathers in my neck.