Page 21 of Famine

He studies me, those green eyes almost as piercing as the markings on his chest. He doesn’t respond.

He must be thirsty. He hasn’t drank anything all day. I unhook the canteen I carry at my side and move it to his lips.

The horseman gives me one hell of a distrustful look.

I raise an eyebrow. Does he think I poisoned the water? AsifI’d go to that much trouble.

Just to prove to him that the water is fine, I bring the canteen to my lips and take a swallow. I lower it from my mouth and bring it to his.

He gives his head a shake.

“You must be thirsty,” I insist.

“I’m fine,” he whispers, his voice low and hoarse.

“Suit yourself,” I say, setting my canteen aside.

“Why?” he grits out.

Why are you helping me?he means.

“It’s what any decent person would do.”

He lets out a disbelieving huff, like there’s no such thing as a decent person.

The two of us sit in silence. I want to ask him all sorts of questions now that he’s awake, but I bite them back. He’s in pretty rough condition.

Just as the thought crosses my mind, he makes a low noise, his chest rising and falling faster and faster.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m whispering.

I hear his teeth gnash together and the high pitched sound of a bottled up scream.

Oh. Duh, Ana. The man is in major pain.

Without much forethought, I reach out and run my fingers through his hair. My father used to do this to soothe me when I was sick.

Another pained sound slips out of his mouth, and I withdraw my hand, thinking that maybe this isn’t so calming after all. But then the horseman leans his head towards my hand, seeking out my touch.

Feeling brave, I scoot closer, until his head is nearly in my lap. Then I resume running my fingers through his hair. The action seems to soothe the horseman. As I watch, his eyes flutter closed and his breathing evens out.

“What happened to you?” I murmur.

He doesn’t answer, and I don’t expect him to.

What are you doing, Ana?Of all the mistakes I’ve made, this may be my worst one yet.

Problem is, I don’t regret it, even though I should.

I most definitely should.

I wake up in the middle of the night to distant shouting. I push myself up, blinking around me. Last I remember I was running my fingers through the horseman’s hair. But then I’d gotten tired and laid down …

I rub my eyes and stifle a yawn. It’s still dark out and—

“… got away! … motherfucker … away!”

Thatwakes me up quickly.

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