Free Mine to Tarnish by Janeal Falor Page B

over to him. Only to jump back as he lifts his head and vomits. He rolls to his side and groans again.
    “ What do you need?” I say, brushing my fingers against his arm.
    He grunts and puts his hand over his eyes, but otherwise doesn’t make a move. It would be easier if there was something I could do to help. Some way I could help him feel better. I want to get him a drink of water, but the only water is from the river and if it’s unclean it may only make him sicker. Remembering it took me a few minutes to feel well enough to do anything after coming to, I attempt to wait, eyes shifting between watching him breathe and searching upstream for signs of warlocks.
    His clothes are as wet and dirty as mine, though his were already wearing thin and now have several holes. Probably part of the reason he was so difficult to spot. If we aren't caught and punished or killed, perhaps I can find time to mend them. I take off my pack and open it. The movement helps warm me from the growing cold.
    Everything is soaked. The food doesn’t look edible. I pull out a mash of watery, paste-like bread, but set it aside anyway. Maybe we can salvage it. Using my good hand, I pull out my change of clothes and underthings and set them in the sun to dry along with my sewing kit. Hopefully it didn’t get wet enough to ruin anything.
    Several minutes later Charles sits up. “Let’s not do that again.”
    “ I concur.”
    He glances at the things laid flat to dry, and I feel myself warming when I realize this includes my underclothes. I hurry to distract him.
    “How are you feeling?”
    “ Like I almost drowned.” He sounds like he almost drowned too. “You?”
    “ Same. Only I’ve had more time to recover.”
    “ Your wrist?”
    The truth about its mind-tripping pain won’t help. I shrug.
    “That good, huh, Kat?” My heart gives a little flip at the shortening of my name. He presses the palms of his hands into his eyes. “How long have I been out?”
    “ Don’t know for certain. Perhaps half an hour since I first woke.” Feels as if it was longer, trying to find him and then wait for him to revive. Much, much longer.
    He grunts.
    While he’s not paying me any mind, I hurry to grab my wet things and put them back in my pack.
    He sits up and looks at the soggy food. As he wraps it up, he says, “It’s unfortunate this is all we have to eat. Should have been smarter and kept a pack close like you, though the food would still be wet. Might be able to find us some rabbits or squirrels.”
    “You can catch those?”
    “ And skin them and cook them. You have to be able to live off what you can find when you’re in hiding so much,” he says. “But we need to take care of the spell first. We’re still in danger as long as you are attached to your ribbon. If they get close enough, they’ll be able to find us, even if our tracks are hidden.
    Once again, I curse myself for not taking more time to pack. “Is there anything that can be done about it?”
    “I just don't know.”
    There's has to be something. Why do I have to be so attached to it? Wait— Why do I? “What if I was no longer attached to it? What if I broke the ownership it had over me? My attachment to the memories?”
    Hope sparks in his eyes. “That could do it, if you can manage it. ”
    I think of the navy ribbon, worn thin from years of worrying. “It feels impossible.”
    “It very well may be without time, but we don’t have time. We’ll have to try,” he says. “Where did you get it?”
    My mind instantly races back to all those years ago when I was a small girl. “I was very young, only three years old, just starting class. I hated class so much the memories are still too vivid. The other girls were rude, and the warlocks that came in were demanding. At home, things were more relaxed. Father was usually at the shop with mother while Tilda tended me. I cried to her often that first week.
    “One day after coming home from class in tears again, Tilda