Daughter of Ice and Fire

Eighteen

Lihleih wasn't sure how long she was going to last under the wagon. When she passed through the gate, hearing it slam shut as the wagon made its way slowly down the road, she felt like the weight of a hundred stone had dropped off her. The axle and center beam was nothing more than a minor annoyance and she clung easily to the underside.

But as the hours passed, what started as slightly uncomfortable rapidly became painful. The center pole didn't provide enough support for her to let go of the boards above her and it dug into her back, causing her to shift constantly. Pain shot through her entire body every time the wagon lurched and several times, she almost lost her grip.

That grip was becoming harder and harder to maintain. Her fingers had long since passed the cramping stage and were now locked tight, the knuckles white and most of the feeling gone. Her legs, which had been braced between the support beams, had also cramped and now lay wrapped around the center one. She bit the inside of her cheek constantly to keep from moaning and she could taste the blood as it filled her mouth. She didn't dare spit it out, afraid someone would hear, so she was forced to swallow it, which soon made her nauseous.

In addition, it stunk. The stench of sweat, urine, and blood had soaked into the wood above her and with the brutal heat, the boards were releasing that smell, causing it to continuously waft over her. Turning her head did nothing and she did her best to ignore it, with no success. Periodically, the horses would relieve themselves, adding to the miasma as the wagon passed over the dung and causing her to swallow the gag that threatened each time. She had forgotten what clean air smelled like and concluded even the cells in Harrowvale smelled better than this.

There were a host of other things she had failed to consider as well. Things that were much more important than her discomfort. She had neglected to remember food or water and mentally kicked herself for not grabbing at least a few pieces of fruit. Not that she could have eaten them, at least not without making any noise. But she could have sucked on them, extracting what moisture she could. She was beginning to realize that despite her careful planning, she hadn't thought everything through. If she didn't figure out how to get her hands on food and water AND find a way to consume it without being discovered, she would die. Westhyl was at least a week from Harrowvale, possibly more given the plodding gait of the horses, and there was no way she could survive that long without sustenance.

She had also not considered her personal needs. Attending to them was going to be even more problematic and her mind turned the problem over and over without finding any solution. She began to wonder if she had made a mistake and quickly suppressed the thought. What's done is done and now she had to figure out how she was going to get back to Westhyl in one piece.

The hours ground on and her world rapidly shrunk to nothing more than the fight to remain where she was. She couldn't sleep, couldn't relax, and for the last hour or so, the need to pee was the overriding thought in her head. If she wasn't so worried about the smell, she probably would have given up and let her bladder go. But she was extremely worried that the smell of fresh urine would attract notice, so she clenched both her teeth and her abdominal muscles and prayed the wagon stopped soon.

Unfortunately, her perch didn't allow her to see much. The overhanging boards limited her vision, reducing her view to the bottom of the wagon, the overhanging sideboards, and, if she was careful, a glimpse of the passing road underneath. At first, she caught glimpses of the chasms that bordered it, when the road either narrowed or the horses strayed too close to the edge. Eventually, that ceased, and she began to see dirt and scraggly weeds. The thought cheered her, helping take her mind off her extreme discomfort because it meant the wagon had descended out of the mountains.

She first found that thought surprising. She had believed Harrowvale was situated much deeper in the Irosar Mountains. She soon realized there was no need to situate it so far. The prison was positioned in such a way it was both impenetrable and escape-proof. Well, almost escape-proof. She had just proven a person could escape if they tried hard enough. Although she hadn't completely survived just yet. But she had gotten out, which was more than she had heard had ever happened before.