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I lie down on the bed, too depressed to even consider what the next few weeks—or hell, months! years!—of my life will be like. I pull the blankets over my head and roll over to face the wall.
"What are you doing?" Aron snaps, rustling the map. "We are discussing strategy. Stop this foolishness."
"Go fuck yourself," I tell him and ignore him. If he wants to be an asshole, I can be one, too.
I ignore Aron for the rest of the day, no matter his attempts to get my attention. After a while, he gets surly and leaves to go prepare for our journey. From my half-assed listening, he chided Omos that the monk had no weapons at his house, and has spent most of the afternoon creating his own. He's whittled wood, broken pottery, and used the shards to craft some deadly-looking objects. Omos has fluttered around the little library itself, sometimes scratching notes into one of his books, sometimes packing up more food.
I ate. And slept. And ate some more. No one seems to think I can help out. I'm not talking to Aron and Omos just shoos me away when I try to help, so I keep busy with making clothes for myself and washing what I do have. Omos donated one of his gray robes, but it hangs on me like a potato sack and chafes against my skin, so I've done my best to modify it and make it less bulky. I ripped up the seams under the arms and took out a large chunk of fabric, then knotted the sides so they fit tighter. I tore off the hem of the robe and made myself a long wrap-around skirt that's easier to walk in. The remnants of my filmy dress from the Citadel have been scrapped and torn to pieces and now serve as a belt and scarf to keep the worst of the sand and dirt out of my hair.
I made a bra band out of it, too, because everyone seems to think a girl should jiggle but me. Screw that. They might not believe in bras in this world, but I can stage a one-woman revolution if it means I can run unhindered. I work on shoes, too. Omos gave me a pair of sandals that were far too big for my feet and seem to be nothing but straps attached to a wedge of thick hide. I do my best to work those down and resize them, too, because I suspect I'm going to be doing a lot of walking in the near future.
I'm still mad at Aron, of course. I carry that irritation with me throughout the day, though it fades as Omos makes a warm vegetable stew for di
I could have ended up with the lust Aspect of his personality.
I ignore the way certain parts of me tingle at that thought. I also ignore the fact that my mind goes back to the log he was packing under his kilt and the way I rubbed up against him and how good he felt.
Ignore, ignore, ignore.