Listen to the Birds ( The Melt Trilogy Book 3) by K.E. Lanning

Author:K.E. Lanning [Lanning, K.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: amazon.com
Published: 2019-04-03T22:00:00+00:00

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When he woke the next morning, Noelle was asleep, her breath rising and falling evenly, and her skin as warm as his.

John crawled out of the sleeping bag, gasping as the icy wind seared his nude body. He threw on his clothes, drew the Insta-Hot cup from the pack and scooped snow into it. With a twist of the cap, he crawled on top of the rock ledge and sat in the anemic sun. He sipped the hot liquid and rubbed his bruised ribs, throbbing in pain from pulling Noelle from the water.

He listened to the muffled sound of the river battling its way out of winter. It had nearly taken both their lives. Mother Nature is neutral to the individual—a death in one place springs into a life elsewhere.

John scanned the horizon across the far bank and breathed a sigh of relief. The sun was shining and we survived the crossing.

He staggered up, his legs trembling. The ordeal of the ice had used up his energy reserves—he had to get something to eat. He unsnapped the sheath of his knife and moved quietly through the trees. His hunger made his mind sharp. He heard a chirping sound, and froze, searching the forest floor around him. A flock of ptarmigans nested under a nearby spruce.

John spied an outcrop of rocks. He eased to it, gathered a handful of stones, and moved toward the birds. He would have one chance for a kill. He knelt. They picked at seeds laying in the snow. He drew his arm back and flung the stones at them.

The birds exploded into flight, except two. One lay still in the snow. The other ran, dragging a wing. He dove at the bird as it struggled into the air, seized a wing and pulled it to the ground. It screeched, pecking his hand viciously. He gripped its head with his other hand and snapped its neck with a brutal twist. The bird went limp.

John struggled to catch his breath, watching the blood stain the white snow. He had never been a hunter, but now he was.

He brought the birds back to where Noelle slept. He opened his pack and got out the fire kit and a cooking pot. Now that they were out of Zoric’s land, they could finally light a fire. He set up three stones to hold the pot, broke open the fire chips and arranged them in the center of the fire pit. Exposed to the air, the chips started blazing, and he scooped snow into the pot and placed it over the flames. He skinned the birds and threw them in the boiling water. His stomach rumbling, he cooked them for as long as he could stand, and then pulled them out.

He nudged Noelle awake.

“Ptarmigan,” he whispered, wafting the cooked meat under her nose.

She mumbled, “No thanks, I’m a vegetarian.”

John blinked, then shook his head, and slowly dragged the sleeping bag out from under the ledge. He pulled her into a sitting position.

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