Chapter Nineteen
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One by one, the villagers creep from their homes, still fearful that danger may be present. What must it look like from their perspective? I am locked in Ewar's embrace, trembling. An enormous cave lion lies unmoving at our feet. Death came much too close. If Ewar had not shown up when he did, I would not be standing here right now.
As brave as Ewar is, not even he can save me from Alie. She yanks me away from his protection and gives the verbal tongue-lashing of a lifetime. I confronted the lion on my own, which I guess is a big no-no around here. But her anger is a fleeting thing. Now that she has blown off some steam, she does a complete 180. She starts hugging me like there's no tomorrow, more than ready to be my dear friend again.
A crowd has formed around us. Ehmay elbows her way through. For a moment, she rests the palm of her hand against my cheek. Her wise gaze searches for injuries both physical and mental. She does the same for Ewar. It's such a sweet, tender gesture. I get choked up.
The villagers begin pelting us with questions. Ewar waves his hands to quiet them down before explaining what happened. I sort of follow along with what he is saying.
Cave lion. Ichel. Dead.
Essa lets out a sharp wail and collapses into the arms of her younger sister. Although Essa has been nothing but a pain in my ass since day one, I can sympathize with her in this moment. Her husband's life was snubbed out like a candle's flame. They hadn't even celebrated six months together yet. What a tragedy. Essa is much too young to be left a grieving widow.
The community rallies around her, murmuring their condolences. She hears none of it over her cries. Her family escorts her home where she can mourn in peace.
Essa is gone from the vicinity. A large portion of villagers take on another task, one I never would have foreseen. Circling the lion like vultures, they begin sawing away at the carcass.
Not even a prehistoric predator can escape the butcher's blade.
The hide is peeled from the body, revealing layers of fat and muscle. I can't look for more than a few seconds at a time without feeling ill. So when Ewar motions for me to follow him elsewhere, I am pleased to oblige.
We are not alone. Several people accompany us on a short trek outside of the village. Not too far away from the entrance, we find Ichel sprawled on the ground. His face is bloodied, and his head is tilted at an unnatural angle.
Ewar places his hand on my shoulder. His expression looks almost hopeful. "Heal touch?"
Releasing a shuttering breath, I shake my head. CPR may work wonders, but it can't bring back to life someone with Ichel's injuries.
My diagnosis comes as no great surprise to Ewar. He nods in understanding before walking away. It's time to organize the recovery of the body. Ichel is rolled onto a blanket and carried back to his home. They place him on his bed, treating him as though he were merely asleep. Essa's cries intensify now that her object of mourning is within sight. While she weeps, two women begin the grim process of cleaning the body. One of them finally closes Ichel's lifeless eyes.
Was it only this morning he was bugging the hell out of me? Sure, he was annoying to the third degree sometimes - but he didn't deserve to die.
The sight of death is too much for me right now. I escape outside for some fresh air. The mood in the village is somber, and rightfully so. A member of their tight-knit community has passed away. Ewar and the elders are gathered in a tight circle to talk matters over. He has even more responsibilities piled on him now that Ichel isn't here. He has an entire village to protect and care for. Bannar volunteers to help, but he can't do as much as a young man.
Ewar will be crazy busy until Arl and the rest of the men return from the hunt.
Alie and I find our way to Ehmay's house. It is nice and warm inside, unlike Ichel's place. The fire in his home was extinguished. I'm unsure if it's to keep his body cool or if there is some deeper spiritual meaning behind it. Regardless of the reason, Ehmay doesn't allow us to dwell on the grisly happenings of today. Alie and I are put to work preparing dinner. I've become an expert at shelling pine nuts and grinding them into a paste. It is hard but well worth the effort. Once the paste is ready, Ehmay adds some melted animal fat and herbs. The dish reminds me of hummus without the garlic. Overall, it's pretty good. We use it as a dipping sauce for the dried meat we eat nearly every day. Sadly, I don't have much of an appetite. I only eat a few bites.
After dinner, I bid Alie and Ehmay good night. Ehmay sends me off with a bowl of leftovers in case my appetite returns. I thank her and head over to Ewar's house. It is empty. He must be pulling an all-nighter, on guard duty again. Did he even come home to rest before starting the shift? It doesn't look like it.
This is unacceptable.
I load up a basket with some essentials, put on extra clothes, and grab a blanket before walking out the door. It's going to get cold outside tonight, so it's best to be prepared. Ewar is exactly where I expected, at the village entrance. He is sitting instead of standing. A weapon is at his side. A small fire blazes in front of him.
The crunching of rocks under my feet alerts him to my presence. I take a seat nearby. He doesn't breathe a word as I slide the basket toward him.
"I brought you food. Hungry?"
He stares a few beats, as though I am a puzzle to be solved. Leaning forward, he takes a glance inside the basket. The bowl of that hummus knockoff plus some deer jerky awaits him. He dips a finger in and gives it a tentative taste. It must have met his approval. He proceeds to devour everything I gave him.
Clean-up is a breeze. I place the empty bowl back into the basket and offer him some warm tea to finish things off. He takes a long sip and licks at his lips. His gaze meets mine again.
"Why..." His voice trails off. He waves a hand at my basket, the night sky, then shrugs at me.
It takes a good minute for me to figure out what he is asking.
"You want to know why am I still here? Why I'm not in bed?"
He nods.
The way he keeps staring gets me nervous. I owe him the truth, but reminding him of my weakness out loud is difficult.
"I don't think I can be alone tonight. What happened to Ichel was... And for a while, I thought you..." I let out a sigh. "Besides, I don't want to bother Alie and Ehmay. They need their sleep. So, I hoped that maybe you wouldn't mind if I joined you out here. I thought we could keep guard, and not sleep... together."
His forehead lowers in concentration. Slowly, he pieces together the jigsaw puzzle of clues I left. A knowing look crosses his face.
"Nightmare," he whispers.
I give a quick nod, tears filling my eyes. "Stupid, isn't it? We almost died today. I fought a fucking lion, for Christ's sake. Yet here I am worried about living today all over again in a nightmare." A bitter laugh leaves my throat. "God, I'm pathetic."
He makes a face. Then, he pats the spot next to him. "Come. Sit."
I'm quick to move where he suggested. Our legs stretch out in front of us while our backs lean against the stone wall. We settle into an easy silence. My tears eventually dry up. Minutes pass without either of us speaking.
He turns in my direction, eyebrows lifting. "Lion... is sandas?"
A slow smile spreads across my face. I know what he's doing. He's trying to get my mind off unpleasant things by resuming our English lessons. Well, I guess he has a point. If we're going to be up all night, we might as well make the most of it.
"Yes, Ewar. Lion means sandas."
We talk deep into the night. Along the way, Ewar teaches me a few words of his language too. There's a tricky way of pronouncing some of them. You have to vibrate your tongue just right or else the meaning of the word becomes different than intended. Through trial and error, we find that the best way to pronounce the words correctly is for me to pay special attention to his mouth as he speaks.
This strategy - while helpful in many ways - also introduces complications.
I get distracted... a lot.
Watching a tongue and a pair of lips so closely is bound to get you thinking about their sinful possibilities. I don't have a lengthy sexual history, nor am I a deviant - but come on! It's been months since I've been with anyone. I can't help it.
Looking elsewhere on his face doesn't help much either.
When he smiles, three little lines form at the corners of his eyes. I think I may like them more than I should. It becomes a secret game of mine to get them to reappear. Sometimes I mispronounce a word on purpose just so he will laugh.
This can't be healthy.
At some point in the night, I run out of energy. The vocabulary lesson comes to a close. The fire, the blanket wrapped around us, and Ewar himself provide enough warmth to keep out the worst of the winter chill. His voice lowers to a murmur. He recites in his language a story about the Great Spirits. It's likely been passed down for generations. I don't understand half of what's going on in the tale, but the calming way he speaks makes it worth a listen.
"Bella," he breathes into my ear. "Wake up."
I stretch like a cat and open my eyes. That's when a few things of interest come to my attention. First off, it's morning now. Where did the night go? I cannot believe I fell asleep and didn't realize it. And no nightmares? It's almost too good to be true.
Second thing I notice: Ewar himself. He needs a shave, there are bags underneath his eyes from lack of sleep, and his hair looks like someone yanked at it all night long. But, still, he looks great. This is seriously unfair. I probably look like a troll in comparison.
One last thing about this morning jumps out at me. It's an unusual situation to say the least.
A large group of men are staring at the two of us.
Oh. And did I mention that sometime during the night my head ended up on Ewar's lap? He's been my pillow this whole time. I know this for a fact because there are drool stains on his trousers' leg.
Yeah. That's not awkward, whatsoever.
I roll off him approximately two seconds after I become self-aware. Ewar hops up to greet Arl. The men have returned from the hunt, and it appears to have been successful. They are loaded down with meat, bones, and antlers. Jas and several others are trying not to smile at how hard I'm blushing. Mett, however, doesn't bother concealing his amusement. He chuckles like I'm the funniest thing he's ever seen.
The moment Ewar breaks the news about Ichel's death changes their jolly mood.
Most of the men rush off to check on their families. For danger to have come so close to home is enough to make even Mett forget he was laughing only minutes earlier. Arl and Jas maintain enough composure to follow Ewar to Ichel's hut. Arl inspects the body briefly before stepping back outside. His grief-stricken expression speaks volumes. Although he is a village healer who has likely been exposed to lifeless bodies countless times, seeing death first-hand still does not come easy for him.
Arl visits Essa at her parents' hut. She is staying there temporarily. Burial plans are discussed and put into effect. The entire village pitches in some way to help.
Several days later, the time comes.
Mourners gather outside Ichel's hut. The cold weather has kept the body well-preserved. Ichel is carried from his home and placed on a sledge lined with plush furs. For some reason I don't quite understand, they dressed him for spring rather than winter. A loincloth is the only item of clothing he wears. His exposed torso has been dusted in red powder. Squiggly designs have been drawn through the dust. As a finishing touch, a string of ivory beads adorns his neck.
If it wasn't for the deep puncture wounds raked across his pale face, you would almost believe he was alive.
Essa is at the center of it all, weeping the loudest. The funeral procession exits the village and turns in a direction I have never taken. The snow and ice, which had previously blocked this area, were removed in the days leading up to the burial. We walk deeper into the gorge, weaving through narrow passageways and maze-like corridors. Alie and Ewar keep me sandwiched between them at all times, as though they fear I'll get lost if I were to leave their sight for even a fraction of a second.
Ok, I admit that isn't beyond the realm of possibility.
The tight space we've been walking through suddenly opens up into a natural amphitheater. The stone walls in this section of the gorge are even higher than the ones surrounding the village. One outcrop of rock rises into the sky like a castle's tower. And on the ground, stones are arranged into neat, small piles.
Each pile represents a grave.
The topsoil is frozen at the moment, making it impossible to dig. Thanks to advanced planning, several holes were dug during previous warm seasons. The one intended for Ichel lies directly underneath the tower of rock. Mett, the strongest among us, lifts the body from the sledge. Ichel is lowered inside the grave and arranged in the fetal position.
Is it to symbolize rebirth? Or, is it simply thought to be a comfortable position to be in when you are slipping into eternal sleep?
No flowers are available this time of year. In their stead, the inside of Ichel's resting place is decorated with the greenery of mistletoe and pine boughs. A bowl of nuts and a hunk of meat are set next to him. He is also given some of his worldly goods, such as his favorite blanket and a pair of shoes.
Lastly, at his feet, they place the decapitated head of the cave lion he confronted. It is Ichel's trophy to take with him into the afterlife, undeniable proof of his bravery.
A humming song starts up. People sway along. Arl speaks over the grave, uttering many words I am unfamiliar with. Ewar leans into my ear.
"Arl call Great Spirits," he whispers. He scrunches his brow as he continues interpreting the eulogy. "They take Ichel. Good hunt place."
I give a subtle nod. Did every culture in human history develop its own interpretation of the afterlife?
The time comes to seal the grave. Several logs are wedged into the hole, leaving a hollow space underneath for Ichel and his possessions. Essa screeches one last time as Ichel is hidden from view forevermore. A mixture of dirt and pebbles is thrown in, filling the cracks between the logs. Small stones are stacked in a heap on top. They mark the grave and will also help keep out scavengers.
With the burial ceremony complete, the mourners disband to do whatever they please. Many stick around to chat amongst themselves or to visit the graves of lost loved ones. Essa has no desire to stay. Her sister Len and their parents escort her home.
Mett, Oza, and their children break away from the crowd and walk to the tiniest jumble of stones. Oza crouches down. The way she caresses the stones is oddly gentle.
"Ewar...?" I tip my head in their direction, silently asking if he knows what's going on.
He cradles his empty arms and does a rocking motion. "Hāssas."
A pang echoes through my chest. "Baby... Hāssas. That's the grave of their child."
He confirms my assumption with a single nod of his head.
I continue watching Oza and Mett from a distance. Ewar takes me by the elbow, encouraging me to follow him instead. At first, I assume he wants us to give the grieving family some privacy.
But, no. Ewar has something else in mind.
In one particular area, an indentation runs along the base of the gorge. It must have been carved out a millennia ago by either wind or fast-moving water. Although there is a good-sized overhang, I wouldn't exactly call the indentation a cave. It doesn't go in deep enough, nor would it protect you much from the elements. Ewar and I must stoop to keep our heads from banging against the low-hanging rock. Approximately two steps is all it takes to reach the farthest wall of the wannabe cave. The current angle of the sun provides the perfect amount of light to see by.
The wall is decorated with a multitude of pictographs.
Horses, bears, and even a couple of birds are among the many animals and objects depicted. Colors are made from things available from nature. The black pigment is from ground charcoal. The yellow, red, and white are from various rocks. It is a limited palette, but it doesn't need to be. The paintings are breathtaking as they are.
We are not alone. Jas is hunched over nearby, in an area that was previously bare. I say "previously" because Jas is busy painting as we speak. His art supplies are few. A twig serves as a paintbrush, used mainly to draw outlines. His paint-smeared fingertips fill in large sections more efficiently. A feather blends in the colors when necessary. As I watch, a herd of animals comes into being. There are wild bovines, elk, and something vaguely goat-like. Surrounding the herd are rudimentary figures drawn without detail. They are merely humanoid bodies with lines representing arms and legs.
Ewar borrows a bowl of paint and begins a mural of his own next to the one Jas is creating. He draws the silhouette of a large four-legged creature. A long, tasseled tail and pointed ears are added. The art style may be somewhat inaccurate to life, but the size and shape of the animal leave no room for doubt.
It is a cave lion.
Ewar's brows are lowered in concentration as he paints. A few brush strokes and several minutes later, two humanoid figures join the lion on the wall. One has stick arms raised above their oval head. The other figure plunges a black line into the lion's rear. A spear, if I had to guess.
I gape in wonder at the all-too-familiar scene.
"This is us," I whisper.
My gaze flicks back and forth between the two murals being made today. They aren't painting just for the fun of it. This artwork is for the benefit of future generations. One wall, one story - but two points of view.
Jas and Ewar are telling the story of how the lion attacked the village while the men were away hunting.
Jas finishes his section and leaves to meet up with Alie. Ewar acknowledges Jas's exit with a quick grunt, his eyes never leaving the stone canvas in front of him. He puts in extra details, giving the lion's fur texture and color by using a clump of moss as a sponge. At seemingly random places on the wall, he draws spirals, dots, and half circles.
The red pigment is running low. He stops to make more. A hunk of ochre is ground into fine powder and mixed with fat and water. Once it is to the correct consistency, he finally takes a break. His head cocks to the side, gazing in my direction. Up until now, I had begun to think Ewar had forgotten I existed.
Seconds tick by.
Quick as a rattlesnake, he snatches my hand and pulls me close, almost onto his lap. I lose my breath, dizzy with conflicting emotions.
What's going on? What's he doing? What he will do next?
And, most importantly, does my breath smell all right?
While my mind is aflutter, he slaps the palm of my left hand flat against the wall, right next to the cave lion mural. Great care is taken in spreading my fingers wide apart.
This was not at all what I had anticipated when he stole my hand.
"Stay," he says.
Once he receives confirmation that I understand, he lets go of me. He rummages through the art supplies until he locates a small, hollow bone. The end is dipped into the red paint he made. Interesting. Will he be using it like a paintbrush?
Nope.
He leaned over that paint bowl and sucked the bone like a straw!
My mouth opens and closes like a fish. What the fuck. Have the paint fumes fried Ewar's brain?
He doesn't seem to notice how I am questioning his mental health when he returns to my side. The bone dangles from his lips like an unlit cigarette. He proceeds to look things over with a critical eye. After ensuring my hand is exactly where he left it, he does the unexpected.
He takes a breath and blows the bone like a trumpet.
Globs of cold wetness sprays out in a mist. It strikes the back of my hand and the wall, making a huge mess.
Yuck! I didn't anticipate being hosed down in spit-paint today.
Instinct compels me to escape the splash zone. But Ewar must be the Nostradamus of the Ice Age. He is already there holding me in place.
"Stay," he says once again. This command is accompanied by a finger-stroke across my belly. It's a helpful reminder that he has previously mapped out all my weak points. His threat, as assholish as it may be, must be taken seriously.
If I move, he will retaliate with tickles.
I remain rigid until he's finished blowing from his little bone. He ignores my scowling as he finally gets around to releasing me from captivity. He even wipes the junk off the back of my hand with a rag. It's the very least he can do considering he's the one who made the mess. But honestly, he's being way too casual about what happened. He assaulted me with his bodily fluids for crying out loud!
He tips his head toward the wall. "Look."
I plan on giving a single glance to whatever he's staring at. It doesn't work out that way in the end. My gaze remains firmly transfixed.
He made a print of my hand on the wall.
A halo of rusty red surrounds my handprint. There is an airbrushed effect to it, all thanks to the special tool Ewar used. I'm so spellbound by the sight, I don't pay much attention to what he's doing until I hear the grinding of rock. He is at work making another color. This time it is more of a burnt orange.
Again, he sticks the hollow bone into the bowl. However, he deviates somewhat from the events from before.
He thrusts the bowl of paint into my care.
I accept the bowl but am clueless as to why I need it. The only hint I receive is when Ewar flattens his hand against the wall, right next to my print.
He turns a little in order to make eye contact. His gaze darts to the bowl in my hand and back several times. "You."
I point at myself. "Me?"
"Yes."
"Me, what?"
He puffs his cheeks and blows.
I gasp. "You want me to blow paint on you?"
"Yes."
Briefly hesitating, I scrunch my face while putting the bone up to my lips. Ewar had his mouth on this too, and I doubt he disinfected it before giving it to me (especially since he wouldn't know anything about germs). But that's not what is concerning me. I am far more worried about the paint ending up in my mouth. What if there's lead or something equally hazardous in it? I'd rather not lose any more brain cells, thank you very much. I decide to play it safe and allow only a small amount of the paint inside.
Immediately after sucking at the bone, I aim the opposite end at Ewar's hand and blow.
It works!
I get into a rhythm. Blow paint. Refill bone. Blow again. It's not difficult. Minutes later, he speaks.
"Stop."
I do as he said. He removes his hand from the wall and inspects the finished product. Our prints are side by side. No surprise, his is much larger. But that red color makes mine stand out more - not that it matters.
I remain absolutely still, barely breathing. There's something strangely unsettling about what I am seeing.
It feels as though our handprints belong on this wall.
I suppose it must be instinctual. Be it on wet cement or ancient canyon wall, aren't people thousands of years later still tempted to leave behind their mark? They usually sign their name, or they add something sentimental, like "Trevor loves Jenny" in neon spray paint. But in an era without written language, your handprint is your signature. The human hand decorates caves the world over. Sometimes dozens of prints overlap. Was it the "artists" way of signing their work? Or, did these ancient people simply want to be remembered long after they were gone?
Another sobering thought crosses my mind. When the world one day thaws and humankind goes searching for clues to our prehistoric past, will someone find these prints and wonder who made them and why?
Ewar glances away from the wall. His smile is luminescent. "Beautiful, yes?"
I return the smile. "Yes. Very beautiful."
00000000000000000000
After Ichel's burial, life goes on. Weeks fly by quicker than expected. Daylight lasts longer. The air gets warmer. Snow starts melting for real this time. Dormant plants revive; hibernating animals awaken. The forest, which had looked half-dead for six months straight, begins the process of coming back to life.
And instead of snow storms, we get rain.
Lots and lots of rain.
The adage "April showers brings May flowers" has proven to be an understatement. The deluge lasts for days, pounding the roof of every hut in the village. Leaks become a common nuisance. It's almost impossible to build a fire when there's rain in your house trying to douse it out.
As soon as the storm leaves the area, Ewar climbs up on the thatched roof to check the damage. The wind blew away the grass in a couple of sections. It will need to be replaced. Luckily, the village has some dried grass stored away for occasions like this. He and I lug a few armfuls to the hut. Once again, he hoists himself up to the roof and starts patching the holes. I supervise the repair from down below.
Well, I suppose that's not the complete truth. It's more like he didn't want me up there with him, so I was stuck standing around doing nothing at all. I bitched about misogyny and how women should receive an equal workload. He was unmoved by my argument... mainly because he didn't know what any of it meant.
As maddening as he may be at times, he is gracious enough to let me help with the chores on the ground. The rain washed away some of the clay and dried grass between the stonework of the hut. Daylight seeps through the cracks. This is not good. The mixture acts as mortar and insulation. Several other families are in a similar predicament. Grass is easy to come by now that spring has arrived. The other ingredient isn't as simple to obtain.
It is decided that an expedition for clay should be undertaken.
We gather together all of our available baskets and set out on the mission at dawn. A little more than a dozen people are going. Ehmay, Alie, and Jas are among them. Alie hooks her arm through mine and points out the changes taking place along the path we are taking. Hardwood trees are pushing out bright green leaves. Birds hop among the branches, chirping happy songs. New shoots spring forth from the ground. The only snow left is the clumps hiding in the shadows. In a few days, all of the white stuff will be gone... at least until next winter.
Ewar suddenly pulls me off to the side and motions for Alie to keep moving. She lifts a curious eyebrow but doesn't comment. He waits until we are alone before explaining himself.
He directs my attention to a certain bush. "Alil." He pauses, his eyes squinting in thought. After a moment's hesitation, he bunches his fingers together and slowly spreads them apart. "Alil." He does the gesture again, this time pretending to sniff his fingers. "Alil. Smell beautiful."
"Is that supposed to be a flower?" I mimic the gesture. "Alil... flower?"
"Yes. Flower." He puts stress on his next words. "Damara flower."
My thoughts jump back to Alistair. He said the wild rose was considered sacred to Damara. So this must be a wild rose bush! When the roses are in full bloom, Alistair said Damara's festival will soon take place. And the day after the festival, Ewar will deliver me back to the Cave of Life, leaving me in Alistair's care. Ewar will go back to his village a single man, but I doubt he will stay that way for long - especially since his "infertility treatments" have been the talk of the village for months now. As for myself, Alistair and Onya will escort me north to the Lake District. A date with a time machine waits for me there.
New leaves and tiny buds are emerging on this rose bush. It will be dripping with flowers within a couple of months.
My time here is drawing to a close.
I'll soon be back in another world. I'll no longer have to bust my butt grinding nuts or fetching water from a distant stream just to survive. I'll have access to all my favorite things again. Books, junk food, flushing toilets. I should be thrilled, tap dancing with joy...
So, why am I hollow inside?
"Bella? Come."
Ewar tugs at my elbow, reminding me that we should get back on the trail. He and I jog until we catch up with our companions. After a bit more walking, we arrive at a large, muddy trench in the earth. The length is at least a quarter the size of a football field.
The gently sloping hillside isn't too difficult to navigate. I climb down without tripping or sliding. People pair off to locate layers of clay from within the tons of dirt. Ewar won't accept any old clay. It has to be "perfect." He scours the place from one end to the other. Finally, he stops at a spot well away from everyone else, scoops up a sample, and rolls it into a little ball. It holds together, unlike the other samples he had taken previously.
He nods and immediately starts digging.
I mimic his actions. Digging by hand ends up being more fun than I imagined. The recent rains have loosened the soil. Pulling out the clay is as easy as pie. It squishes and oozes between my fingers, reminding me of how much I loved playing with the stuff when I was a kid. This doesn't even feel like work!
We fill up a basket. And then another. We are on our third and final basket when I hear a sound. It's a high-pitched buzzing, annoying and familiar at the same time. I turn this way and that way to locate the source.
Then, just as suddenly, all goes quiet.
I glance in Ewar's direction, a question on the tip of my tongue. It doesn't make it out of my mouth. Why?
Because I am staring at the biggest fucking mosquito I have EVER seen.
The insect is on the bridge of Ewar's nose doing its thing. How Ewar can't feel the bastard happily slurping his blood away is a mystery. It's going to leave a nasty, itchy welt mark if it's there for much longer.
"Ewar, don't move."
He stops digging and turns to look at me. Didn't I tell him not to move? He's going to scare it away before I can kill it!
My hand goes into swat-mode. The mosquito doesn't notice the Grim Reaper coming until it's too late. I check my palm after the hit job.
"A-ha! Got you, you greedy little bloodsucker! Look at the size of this thing, Ewar. It's almost as big as..."
What I had wanted to say trails off, never to be uttered. I am currently staring at Ewar instead of the squished insect. He doesn't appear happy... at all. And I guess I understand why. I got so caught up in killing that mosquito, I sort of forgot how I've been sifting through dirt and muck for the last hour.
Naturally, there's a muddy handprint across Ewar's face.
My muddy handprint.
Brown gunk slides down his nose and cheeks. It looks like someone slung a bowl of chocolate pudding at him. His eyes are narrowed; his lips set into a thin line. He's never looked more dangerous... or funny. Seriously, this isn't something you come across every day.
"Oh gosh, Ewar." I choke back a laugh before attempting to hide all vestiges of amusement. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to-"
A blob of flying mud disrupts my apology. It hits me right between the eyes.
Sputtering, I wipe away what I can of the mess smeared across half of my face. The person responsible doesn't seem regretful in the slightest. In actuality, he appears quite pleased. Both our faces are now caked in mud.
This began with a pesky mosquito bite and an accidental mud slap. A certain someone took my good intentions, misinterpreted it completely, and crossed a line.
Scooping up a handful of dirt, I aim a glare at my new adversary.
"All right, Ewar. If that's how you want it. It's on!"
I lunge at him. He falls backwards. I follow in pursuit, hovering above him on my haunches. His eyes stretch open, momentarily stunned at how quickly the tables have turned. It's the perfect opportunity for me to dump the mud I gathered on top of his head.
This snaps him out of that spell.
Gritting his teeth and covered in even more dirt, he rolls us over and pins me down. Struggling is useless. He is in command now and very proud of himself. He starts rubbing his dirty fingers through my hair - coating every strand - all the way to my scalp. He derives perverse glee every time I let out squeals of frustration.
It's infuriating!
But the task he is engaged in distracts him. With my free hand, I reach for a weapon. It comes in the form of a wet lump of silt. It's got everything: sand, clay, mud, yucky old leaves. Once it is securely in my possession, I weigh my options for attack. He would expect a blow to the face and would most likely deflect it. What I need is something truly unpredictable.
As I strain my brain, my father's voice echoes from the mists - like Obi-Wan communicating with Luke via the Force.
Go for the privates, Bella.
Of course! Charlie was a respected police chief and an overprotective father. He insisted that going for the groin was the best at convincing boys to back off if they were getting too handsy. But I won't be kneeing Ewar in the groin today. I'm changing the formula of attack to suit the occasion.
Inhaling a breath of courage, I shove my hand down Ewar's pants and release the payload of moist silt.
"Ahrg!"
Ewar gets off me in a New York minute. He starts doing a bouncy dance to shake loose the silt from his manhood area. But it must be stubborn down there. He reverts to digging out the cold mess manually, all while hissing the caveman version of curse words under his breath.
The way he's acting is so silly. I lean forward to giggle at his expense. The movement causes a dirty clump of my hair to fall over my eyes. I'm brushing it out of the way when vengeance materializes in front of me.
Without uttering a sound, Ewar grabs a fistful of my tunic and drops a heap of mud through the neck hole.
I let out a shriek. My boobs are freezing and covered in nasty gunk! It's like glue. No matter how much I jump and thrash around, the vast majority of it refuses to fall off!
Ewar throws his head back and laughs. Evidently, he thinks my dilemma is fucking hilarious. And he would be correct. It is funny. So when I throw a retaliatory mud ball at him, he doesn't bitch or get angry. He gets into the spirit of things and tosses one right back.
The game is on.
It becomes a competition to see who will get hit the most. Although he moves fast, he can't outrun all of my throws. And even I manage to dodge many of his mud balls. Every so often, one or the other of us takes a direct hit. We may yelp but it doesn't hurt anything except our egos.
At some point in our game, he sneaks up behind me. One arm locks around my waist, effectively capturing me. The other arm is loaded with a handful of mud. It's heading straight to my face, slow but menacing.
I latch on to his wrist to hold off the attack for as long as I can. "Don't do it!"
He chuckles in a teasing way. "Do it?"
"No! Do not. Please!"
"What is 'do not'?"
"You fucking know what it means. Quit playing dumb!"
The cocky bastard only chuckles more.
"Ewar! Bella!"
That scolding voice stops our game cold.
Ewar releases me immediately. I resume a more dignified stance. But honestly, neither one of us has much "dignity" at the moment. He and I are covered from head to toe with filth. We look like Swamp Monsters from a B horror movie. And on top of that, a small crowd gathered around us at some point and we failed to notice until this very second. Most are in various stages of confused disbelief. Ehmay, the person who broke up our play fight using only her voice, could not look more appalled by our behavior.
Alie, however, has a different take on things. She lets out a girlish giggle. It rises in volume and intensity the more she studies our ridiculous appearance. Before long, she's doubled over, laughing so hard she has difficulty breathing. She has to depend on Jas to keep from falling on the ground in a fit of hilarity.
Her attitude rubs off on the others. Faces break out into wide grins. Laughter is the only sound to be heard. Even Ehmay lightens up. Although she's still shaking her head at our childish antics, I catch her unsuccessfully hiding a smile.
Amid the howls of amusement, Ewar's hand finds its way into mine. I hold it like it's my lifeline. Together, we climb out of the clay pit to escape the embarrassing scene.
It's time to get clean again.
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A/N-
And that's how mud wrestling was invented, kids!
Ok, it wasn't, but it doesn't hurt to pretend, right?
It took an awful long time for me to get this chapter up to par (especially since a majority of it is silly in nature). I apologize. To make it up to you, Ewar saved cave handprint spots for everyone.
Thanks for reading. :-)