Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
When I look back at Eros, I find him staring at me. “What?”
He shrugs. “That’s twice now.”
“Twice?”
“Two times you have changed your appearance today. And each was a very different you.”
“Well”—I wiggle my toes at him—“I’m not complaining. I did get my paws back.”
“I’m not complaining either.” But he doesn’t laugh. Or wink. Or even smile. Which seems both familiar and out of sorts.
So I just shut up and take a seat on the ground. It’s a soft kind of dirt. The ground is hard, but there’s a cushioning layer of powdery brown dust that covers everything and feels good between my toes.
Meanwhile, Eros has removed several packages from the saddlebags and walks over to me, taking a seat on a boulder just to my left. I watch him carefully open the mousseline wrapping. He holds up a small block of cheese, then tosses it to me.
I catch it, then reach up and catch something else coming my way. When I open my palm, I find a thick strip of dried meat.
“It’s weird.”
He actually laughs. “Which part?”
I smile, then I chuckle too. “All of it. But… how did it pack food for us?”
“It?”
“The magic in charge of this place.”
“It didn’t, Callistina. We… hopped into the bodies of other people.”
“Other people who are me and you?” I slip the little block of cheese past my chain veil and take a bite. For something of questionable age wrapped in dubious cloth inside a saddlebag being carried by a pegásius, it’s surprisingly good. Mild and a little bit sweet.
“I guess,” Eros says.
“Then what happened to them? Where are they now? Do they know we’ve possessed them?”
Eros shrugs, taking a bite of the meat. He chews slowly, like he’s thinking about the taste. Then he says, “It’s rabbit.”
“Good fat rabbit? Or old, grizzly rabbit?”
“Good and fat.” Then he smiles again.
Which allows me to offer one back. “You’ve been pretty tense today.”
“In my defense,” Eros says, still chewing, “we are soul-riding a couple of people who look like us but live in a whole other world.”
“What makes you think it’s a new world?”
“What else could it be?”
“Couldn’t it be a ‘when’ and not a ‘where?’”
Eros chews his meat, considering my question thoughtfully. “I suppose. I mean, we’ve all done our share of time travel. So it’s fifty-fifty, I guess.”
“I haven’t time-traveled. I mean, I have been taken out of my time and place, but this is the first time I chose to do that.”
“Is it exciting?”
I can’t tell if he’s teasing me, making fun of me, or really asking this question. I decide to take him seriously. “Yes. It is.”
He nods. “I can tell.”
“What do you mean?”
“While I’ve been uptight and tense, you’ve been relaxed and lazy.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t mean to rest my head against your shoulder. I was just tired.”
“I know. That’s why we stopped.”
Again, I’m not sure how to take this. He was concerned? Or annoyed?
Whatever. I ignore his statement and just nibble at my cheese. Then I remember that we’ve got a beast with us and it doesn’t eat cheese and meat. But my concern is unfounded when I look over and find the pegásius browsing the foliage of sparse-leafed trees. “It needs a name.”
“It has one,” Eros replies.
“How do you know?”
“There’s a brass nameplate on the top of his bridle. He’s called Ire.”
“How do you spell that?” I ask. For some reason Eros bursts out laughing. “What’s so funny?”
“How do I spell it?”
“Yes. Spelling is important. Is it spelled I-r-i-e? Or E-r-i-e? Or E-e-r-i-e? Or I-r-e? Because you said it like E-r-i-e.”
“I-r-e.”
“Hmm. That’s pretty.”
“It means ‘anger’ in ancient wood nymph.”
“No. Then it’s pronounced ‘Ire.’ Long I, silent E. Not long E, long E.”
“Wow. I never expected you to be a grammar witch.”
I blow out a breath with my laugh. “Sorry. I just want to call him by his right name.”
Eros stares at me for a moment. Then looks over at the beast. “Huh. Well, shit. Now we’ll never know because pegási don’t speak.”
“I think we should say it the way you said it first. That actually means ‘flower’ in gryphon.”
“Hmm.” He’s staring at me again. “Irie it is.” Then he gets up, grabs the bridle, pulls a knife out of his boot, and carves something into the brass. He brings it over to me and holds it out so I can read the name. He’s added an I between the R and the E. “Now, in the future, there will be less of a debate on the pronunciation.”
He takes the bridle back and hangs it on a tree branch, then goes over to the beast and untacks him. The fur saddle blanket is unfolded and laid out on the soft dirt. He then props the bags up against a tree trunk, sits down on the blanket, and takes off his boots. When he’s done, he pats the fur. “Come on, Callistina. We’re gonna share.”