Abigail Fredrickson

Tigress

I watch impassively as the boy’s expressions go from confusion to shock to fear to pain.

He leans against the dirt wall and puts a hand on his head, closing his eyes, “You’re…why?”

“Yes, I am in fact the one who gave you that,” I state dryly.

He glances at me weirdly, “You seem…disturbingly casual about that.”

I shrug loosely and fold my arms, looking away, “You’d be too if you had to do some of the stuff I have.  Just be glad you’re not dead.”

“Not…why am I not dead?” he questions, brow furrowing slightly before he winced.  Yeah, he has a concussion alright.

“Because I decided not to kill you obviously.”

“No I mean, why did you decide not to kill me?  I was sure you were about to.”

“‘About to’ being the key words in that sentence.”

The guy opens his mouth, then closes it, clearly unsure how to react.

I lean my head back, giving an exasperated sigh, “Alright, I need to know what to call you so what is your name?”

“Uh…” he closes his eyes again, “…Rowan.”

“Great,” I nod, grabbing the knapsack and pulling out a piece of dried fruit, then tossing it to him, “Eat that.”

Rowan picks it up and looks at it suspiciously.

“I’m not going to poison you after I went to all the trouble to keep you from dying, boy, now eat.”

Getting my point, he eats it slowly.  I suspect if he didn’t have a minor headache that he keeps aggravating by moving around (he really should just lie still for a few minutes until it subsides), then he’d be wolfing it down like a street rat.

Not that I’ve ever met one, but the samurai at Contra grumbled enough about them for me to get the idea that they were people who lived on the streets and did not have much to eat.  I’d quickly stamped out sparks of sympathy.

Speaking of, I’d better watch it with this guy.  I’ve already crossed my self-imposed line about what emotions I’m allowed to feel and which ones I’m not allowed to feel when I kept from killing him.  Not to mention saving his life.  I sigh, Why is life so complicated?  Can’t it just be easy to make rules for yourself and follow them…?

“You okay?”

I look at Rowan blankly, “What?”

“Are you okay?  You seem…off,” he looks at me intently.

And wow if I’m getting that easy to read then I need help.  Or something to vent on.  That would be nice.  I miss that dented wall in my room; wish I could’ve taken it with.

I start to reply, then pause, suddenly realizing that…no one has asked me that ever since I was a tiny child.

My expression falters, but I quickly turn my head to hide it, “Yes.”

The boy is literally radiating unbelief.  Like, seriously, could your doubt be any louder?

I roll my eyes, “For real, I’m good, I’d be more concerned about that concussion that you really should be resting up on.”

“Oh.  Is that why my head feels so weird…?” he mumbles, laying back down.

“Yes, it is.  Now I’m gonna go up the bank, but don’t worry, I’m not far.”

“Wait what are you-”  I ignore him and his sigh of annoyance, climbing up the muddy banks and stepping onto grass.  I go as far from the hollow as I dare, then turn to the nearest tree and punch it, gritting my teeth.

I don’t stop till I have bleeding knuckles and have made a fair sized dent in it.   Then I turn and lean my back against it, blowing out and closing my eyes.  Okay, steam blown off, check.  Next, bandage hand.

Standing up, I wipe the little bits of wood still sticking to my hands (and a little of the blood), on my leggings, then start back to the hollow.  I slide down easily and poke my head into the hollow.  Rowan’s asleep.  Good.  I grab the knapsack, pulling out the bandages, then take the waterskin and turn to the river, kneeling by it.  I wash off my hands and flick the water off, then wrap them up.

I look at them and flex them, testing to see if the bandage loosens or comes off.  It doesn’t.

I nod and pick up the waterskin, then refill it with the river water and duck back into the hollow.  This’ll be a long day.

=

About halfway through the day I start to hear samurai troops tramping through the forest (so I dig out the claws and put them on my hands again).  A couple go by a bit too close for comfort, considering the volume of the sounds and the vibrations in the earth, but thankfully no one notices the hollow hidden in the bank.  When those ones are passing, Rowan wakes up, his eyes looking much more focused than before.  He looks at me questioningly.  I just hold a finger to my mouth in response.  He gets the message and stays quiet till the synchronized footsteps are distant again.

Then he speaks, “What’s going on?”

“Samurai,” I explain in an undertone, in case of any stragglers, “They’re searching the forest for us.  Me at the least.”

“Why you?”

I don’t reply, waiting for another close troop to pass by.  Once they do, I still don’t reply directly, “You ask a lot of questions.”

“I-  Oh.  Sorry.”

I just shrug loosely, keeping my eyes focused on the exit.

=

It’s nearing evening, the samurai have been a lot more spaced out now as they continue their search farther away.  In the meantime I’d given Rowan another couple pieces of dried fruit and let him have some water.  As for myself, I ate some of the tougher meat.

Rowan is staring at the ceiling with half closed eyes.  I’m starting to wonder if he dozed off without meaning to when he suddenly speaks up, “What do we do?”

“We stay here for the night,” I reply easily.

“And?”

“And then we go farther away.  If we stay in one place for more than a day they’re bound to find us eventually,” I explain.

“And then?”

I pause.  Then I shrug, “I guess we just both go home.”

He raises his head to look at me, “I thought Contra was your home?”  I snort derisively in response.  “Oooookay I guess not.”

I was foolish to think that was the end of the conversation.

“Where’s your home then?”

I resist the overwhelming urge to sigh, opting instead to pinch the bridge of my nose, “Why do you ask?”

“Because we have literally nothing to do except talk to each other?” Rowan raises an eyebrow like it should be obvious.

“You could sleep.”

“I can’t, I already slept for…well, however long I was unconscious and then for most of today.  I am wide awake and not getting back to sleep anytime soon,” he shakes his head, “and anyway, wouldn’t it be a bit boring then?  I mean, I’m pretty sure you’re just sitting there staring out at the world all day.”

He isn’t wrong.

I shoot him a look, “Someone has to keep watch so we don’t get caught if any samurai get too close.”

“And what could you do against a troop of samurai?” he rolls his eyes.

I narrow my eyes at him, he’s getting dangerously close to igniting my temper, which I can already feel itching to be let out, “I think you’re forgetting who exactly gave you that wound that is most definitely going to scar and single handedly got both of us out of Contra without being caught.”

He’s quiet.  Point taken.

Satisfied that he’s done, I turn to look out the hollow again.  Again, I was wrong.  “You never answered my question.”

“Boy, for desert rain’s sake will you please stop asking me so many questions?!” I hiss, clenching my fist.  If the bandage from this morning didn’t cover my palm, my nails probably would make it bleed.

He holds up his hands, “Okay okay!  Yeesh…I do have a name you know…”  The last part is mumbled under his breath.  I purposefully ignore it.

After a total of five minutes: “Wait…do you…do you have a home?” Rowan asks, his tone uncertain if that was a wise choice or not.

“Yes, I do in fact have a home,” I look at him sideways, speaking through clenched teeth, “I just haven’t been there in a while.”  Years.

“Oh, okay,”  for some reason he looks relieved at the news.  I pray that’s the end of the questions and revel in the blessed silence while it lasts.  But of course it doesn’t for long, “Why were you at Contra if it wasn’t your home?”

I clench my eyes shut, trying to not explode, “Because, genius, I was kidnapped and taken there like every other human who ends up in Saber’s arena.”  Quiet.  Thank the heave-

“You were kidnapped?”

I blow out sharply and snap my head around to glare at him, pouring every ounce of irritation in my body into said glare.  He flinches, “Oh, okay, yeah, got it, won’t ask again.”  I avert my glare to the wall.  For a brief second it almost seems like the dirt itself is leaning back from me.  That only intensifies my scowl.

“You look kind of tense…and angry,” Rowan observes.

I slowly turn my head and raise my eyebrows, otherwise not changing my expression.

He coughs, “Ah, right.  You are.”

I roll my eyes and face back to the wall.  This time I just wait for the next question.

“…what’s your favorite color?”

We’re lucky there were no samurai nearby at that moment ‘cause: “DESERT SANDS, PERSON, I DON’T HAVE A FAVORITE COLOR!!!!”