Six Of Foxes (Six Foxes)

Silva

Smells smelling. Silva waded through the snow, clenching his hair and clothes, trying not to vomit.  Bodies scattered continue to shadow him, he felt like covered with ashes. As a result, he could not take a deep breath.

    Because of the daily interaction with Reader, it is easy for Silva to forget who the young man really is, what Reader really thinks of him. Just this morning Silva again reshuffled the face of Reader, must be patient to bear the plot and grunts of the young man. Not to bear, but to enjoy it, to be grateful for having the opportunity to approach it, is amazingly happy whenever he almost laughs. For the sake of the Holy People, what do I care? Why does one smile from Van Reader feel like 50 smiles from someone else? Silva felt Reader's heart thump as she tilted Dushenka's head back to beautify the young man's eyes. Silva considered kissing the young man. He wanted to kiss Reader and he was convinced that Reader was like-minded. Or he's considering strangling me again.

    Silva had not forgotten what Reader had said on the septicaye, when he asked what Silva wanted to do with Erikson, whether Silva really intended to hand the scientist over to Kalterville. If Silva destroys Ken's mission, will Reader lose his forgiveness letter? Silva can't do that. No matter who he was, Silva owed the young man his freedom.

    Three weeks he and Reader left the shipwreck. They don't have a compass, they don't know where to go. They don't even know where they're stranded on the north coast. They spend long nights wading through the snow, hanging out in their alakadar or in abandoned huts in whaling camps when they are lucky. They eat roasted seaweed and tubers or whatever they find to eat. When they found a stash of reindeer jerky at the bottom of a supply bag in one of the camps, the effect was like a miracle. They gnawed at the jerky while silent, as if intoxicated by its taste.

    After the first night, they slept in dry clothes and blankets, but lay on the other side. If they had no firewood, they were curled up on their backs, barely touching, but when morning came, they were stuck, breathing in harmony, lulled up, like a single crescent.

    Every morning the young man complained that Silva was hard to wake up.

    "It's like waking up a corpse."

    "Hopefully calm down, ask for another five minutes" Silva said, burying his head in the feathers.

    The reader then paced back and forth, packing their little things while grumbling to himself. "Lazy, silly, selfish." Until Silva wakes up alone and gets ready for the day.

    "What are you going to do first after you go home?" silva asked one day while walking in the snow, hoping to find signs of civilization.

    "Sleep" Said Reader. "Mandy. Pray for my lost friends."

    "Ah, yes, the thugs and the other killers. By the way, how was the story until you became Dushenka?"

    "Your friends the Knoulbar raided and wiped out my family" Reader said coldly. "Nisius sustained me and gave me a goal worth fighting for."

    Silva doesn't want to believe it, but he knows it's likely to happen. Fighting breaks out, innocent people lose their lives in the middle of shooting. What was alarming was imagining Nisius the monster as some sort of father figure.

    Refuting or apologizing seems inappropriate, then Silva said the first thing that came to his mind. "Byl jsem stvoer abych vas ochranil. Pouze smrt mi bran v naplinen tohoto slibu." I was created to protect you. Only death prevents me from fulfilling this oath.

    Reader looked at Silva while dumbfounded. "That's Dushenka's oath to Barchen. How do you know those words?"

    "I'm trying to learn as much as I can about Barchen."

    "Why?"

    Silva worried, then said, "So that I don't fear you."

    "You don't seem afraid."

    "Are you afraid of me?" ask Silva.

    "No" Reader said, and he sounded almost surprised. He has already claimed that he is not afraid of Silva. This time he believed. Silva tried to remind himself that it was not a good thing.

    They walked on for a while and then, Reader asked, "What are you going to do first?"

    "Eat."

    "Eat what?"

    "Everything. Fill cabbage, steamed potatoes, berry cake. I can't wait to see Lita's face as I wiggle into the palace."

    "Lita Awkalin?"

    Silva stopped stepping. "Do you know him?"

    "We all know her, she's a mighty witch."

    That's when Silva woke up. To Dushenka, Lita was somewhat similar to Dionysius Rochziskiy-cruel, inhuman, a creature that awaited in the darkness while carrying death in his hands. Lita is a monster to this young man. Thinking of that, Silva became unwell.

    "How do you get out?"

    Silva blinked his eyes. "What?"

    "On board, you're tied up and locked up."

    "Cup. The handle was broken and the lips underneath were jagged. We use it to slice the strap. As soon as our hands are free...." Silva's voice glimmered in awkwardness.

    Reader furrowed brows. "You're planning to attack us."

    "We'll move that night."

    "But then the storm hit."

    "true."

    A storm caller and Fabricator had broken through the deck and then swam to free themselves. However, is there one of them who survived the icy water? Did they get to land? Silva shivers.

    "Dushenka eat what?" silva asked as he quickened his pace. "After Knoulbar's baby?"

    "We don't eat babies!"

    "Dolphin fat? Reindeer's toenails?"

    "We eat a lot of fish. Herring, salted cod, wildebeest too, no nails."

    "How's kue?"

    "How's what?"

    "I really like cake. I wonder if we can find an equation."

    The young man shrugged his shoulders.

    "Oh come on, Dushenka" said Silva. They still had not exchanged names and he was not sure if it should be.

    "I love cake, but we can't eat sweet."

    "Everyone? or just Dushenka?"

    "Dushenka. Sweet dishes include prohibition. Just like alcohol or--"

    "Women?"

    Reader's cheeks flushed and she kept scratching. It's easy to make it wrong.

    "If you don't consume sugar or alcohol, you may be very fond of pomdrakon."

    The young man was not at first provoked, merely continued to walk, but finally could no longer bear the silence. "What is pomdrakon?"

    "That means a dragon bowl" Silva said enthusiastically. "First we soak the raisins into the brandy, then we turn off the lamp and we embroider the bowl with fire."

    "Why?"

    "Let's have a hard time getting it."

    "After being taken?"

    "Of."

    "Didn't your tongue burn?"

    "Then, why you-"

    "Because fun, stupid. You know 'fun'? Since the language of the word is in the language of Barchen, you must know the term."

    "I have a lot of fun."

    "Well, what are you doing for fun?"

    And so their journey, enlivened by the act of mutual insinuation, was just like the first night in the water, to heat up with each other to stay alive, refusing to acknowledge that they are getting weaker, that if they do not find permanent settlements soon, they will not survive much longer. On certain days, the hunger and the blinding sunlight of the northern ice made them go round and round, stepping, turning, but they never talked about it, never say a word of straying, as if both of them knew that saying so was tantamount to admitting defeat.

    "Why are women not allowed to fight?" silva asked one night as they hovered under the roof of his alakadar protection, the cold piercing the skin where they lay on the ground.

    "They don't want to."

    "Where do you know? Have you ever asked directly?"

    "Women of Barchen should be initiated, protected."

    "The wise principle."

    "Times?"

    "Think of how shameful you were when you were beaten by the Barchen girl."

    Reader grunting.

    "I would love to see you defeated by women" Silva said cheerfully.

    "This life will not."

    "Well, seeing it probably won't. I'll just enjoy the moments when I knock you down."

    This time Reader laughed, flickered until it felt on Silva's back.

    "By the Saints, the Barchens, I didn't know you could laugh. Just slow down."

    "I enjoy your arrogance, you ll."

    Now Silva is laughing. "That's probably the ugliest compliment I've ever received."

    "Have you ever doubted yourself?"

    "Always," Silva said, nodding. "I just didn't show it."

    The next morning, they split open an ice field that almost enveloped them. And to counter the sleeping habits of Silva.

    "How can you call yourself a soldier? You'll sleep until noon if I let you."

    "Why indeed?"

    "A soldier must be disciplined. Running routine. Does everything mean nothing to you? Yes Syel, I can't wait to sleep on my own bed."

    "Yes," Silva said. "I can feel how much you hate sleeping next to me."

    Reasonable reader red out. "Why do you have to speak like that?"

    "Because I like to see your face flushed."

    "disgusting. You don't have to make everything seem obscene."

    "Why can't you relax sa---"

    "I don't want to relax."

    "Why? What are you afraid will happen? Afraid you might start liking me?"

    Silent reader a thousand languages.

    Despite his exhaustion, Silva walked ahead of Reader.

    "That, huh? You don't want to like Knoulbar. You're afraid that you're starting to think I'm human. Just keep that up, okay?"

    "I like you."

    "What did you say?"

    "I already like you" said the beaver Reader.

    Silva beamed, feeling the excitement bubbling in his heart. "Well, time just can't?"

    "Indeed!" raung Reader's.

    "Why?"

    "Because you're bad. You're noisy and lewd and sneaky. Nisius warned us that Knoulbar was sometimes good at spreading charm."

    "Oh, so. I am Knoulbar the evil teaser. I have lured you with my senses!"

    The young man's chest.

    "Stop."

    "No, I want to lure you."

    "Effort."

    Silva danced around Reader in the snow, pounding his chest, his waist. "Geez! It's so dense of you. This job is exhausting." Reader started laughing. "Gee, succeeded! You've been captivated. The Bearchen has fallen. You have no power against me. You--"

    Silva's voice became a scream as the ice collapsed under his feet. He stretched out his hand automatically, to reach for anything that could hinder his fall, his nails scratching at the ice and rocks.

    The Bearchen grabbed Silva's arm which was squealing because his arm seemed to be about to be dislodged from the joint.

    Silva was hanging on the spot, writhing on the empty air, just the grip of Dushenka's fingers. Immediately, as he looked at the young man's eyes, Silva was confident Reader would let go of the handle.

    "Please," said Silva, tears rolled down his cheeks.

    The young man pulled him from the edge and slowly, they crawled onto the denser ground. They lie down, shivering.

    "I'm afraid I'm afraid you'll let me go" Silva said.

    After a prolonged silence, the young man said, "I had time to consider it, just for a second."

    Silva let out a small, broken laugh. "It's okay" he finally said. "I'd think so too, if it were you."

    The Dushenka got up and stretched out her hand. "I'm Reader."

    "Silva" he said, reaching the young man's hand. "It's nice to meet you."

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