Page 60 of Famine

He steers us onto the dirt road, and we resume our travels.

“So,” I say as we pass a tiny farm, “you can control swarms of bugs.” My tone is light, but I have to swallow down my alarm.

“I don’t control the bugs, I just call to them.”

Because that is justsomuch clearer …

“How do you call to bugs?” I ask as the farm’s small orchard withers away.

Famine sighs.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “but do you have something better to do right now?”

“If I give you one of your damned compliments,” he growls, “will you stop questioning me?”

My eyebrows hike up with surprise. He’s actually going to try complimenting me? This I have to hear.

“Sure,” I say.

But in the silence that follows, I brace myself for some stinging barb.

“You have a lovely voice.”

I feel an unexpected flush of warmth at his words.

I tilt my head in confusion. “But I thought you wanted me to stop talking,” I say.

“About me. Talk your ass off about anything else.”

“I’m sitting here with a man who says he’s not actually a man, riding a horse that might not actually be a horse—”

“He’s a horse.”

“—and I’m supposed to not talk about any of it.”

“Precisely.”

There’s a long pause.

“Fine. I guess that leaves me to talk about sex. Moist, thick, wet sex.”

Another beat of silence passes, then—

“Would you like another compliment?”

The stars are out and the night has turned chilly and I’ve long since lost feeling in my ass and yet we’re somehowstillon this godforsaken horse.

“Eventually, I’m going to need to sleep,” I say.

“I’m not stopping,” Famine says.

“And you wonder why I didn’t join you years ago.”

He says nothing to that.

“I’m cold.”

Silence.

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