"If the cold doesn't kill you, the wolves will."
NOT A WEREWOLF STORY
Book 1 of 2.
In which an 18-year-old girl flees to Alaska to escape being accused of murder & to uncover what happened to her uncle. Involves two gentle giants.
Completed. :)
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Chapter 25 | GOING FOR A WALK
I set down the bow against the side of the cabin on the front porch, walking in to warm up for the third time since I started shooting. Hours have passed by, and it's probably sometime late into the afternoon.
Not really sure what the exact time is, though.
I'm hungry, as I haven't had anything to eat yet today, and my arms are feeling quite sore already, as I've basically been shooting all day.
Eventually, from where I was standing, I got consistent with my shots and hit the middle. I had cheered, 'Yes!' a bit too loud, causing Vaughn to appear literally out of nowhere from behind the cabin, holding some chunks of wood. He glanced at me, the upheld bow, and then to the arrow at the very center of the target. And, as he turned away, I swear I saw the tiniest upturn of a smirk.
But maybe that was just my pride and imagination coming together...who knows?
Walking into the warm room, I leave on all of my winter clothes except for my choppers and boots.
Vaughn's standing in the kitchen area at the counter, appearing to be making something.
Standing in front of the woodstove, I ask, "Whatchya making?"
He glances up from the meat he's cutting. "Food."
"Okay, but what are you making specifically?"
"Venison, fried apples, and white rice."
I nod. I wonder how that'll taste. "When was the last time you went to town?"
He hesitates before answering, "About five months ago."
Quickly marking off the months with my fingers, I calculate when he would've went to the village. "The last time you saw other people besides me was in June??"
"Yes."
"Wow, so is the food safe to eat, or...?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Apples can last up to six months in the right conditions, and white rice has basically an indefinite shelf life if it's kept dry."
"Oh, okay."
"There's a reason why I'm cooking."
Ignoring the comment, I absentmindedly reply with: "Yeah."
As soon as I reply with that one word, however, I instantly cringe.
