Free The Prophet's Daughter by Kilayla Pilon Page B

its way. The tents were not proper shelter for cold nights.
    “What is it you want to talk about?” His voice was a little louder, as if he knew I hadn’t heard him well before.
    “Can you come out?” I asked, biting my lip and staring at the tent entrance. I waited, crossing my arms as he remained silent, not a single word in rep ly. “Please, Isaac,” I pressed, watching as the tent zipped open the moment I finished saying his name. He climbed halfway out of the tent and glowered up at me, his face red and eyes swollen.
    “What do you want?” He grumbled, looking at Jumper, who attempt ed to leap towards Isaac.
    “We need to decide where we’re going next.” I clung onto Jumper, holding tight to him and shaking my head. He mewled in protest.
    “Why?” He snorted, shifting so that I could just make out his face through the tent.
    “Please look at me, Isaac,” I said, trying to hold back a sigh.
    “Just tell me why.” He didn’t move.
    “Because we can’t stay here, we won’t survive,” I said.
    “So? It’s not like our survival matters; we all die in the end.” His voice was gruff, and I sighed. Reaching forward s, I grabbed his shirt and tugged on him.
    “Look. At. Me,” I ordered, pressing my lips together.
    “Are you going to tell me why it matters?” he spat, his gaze locked on the ground – but at least he was facing me and I could make out most of his features, that was an improvement.
    “Look at me, Isaac,” I insisted, reaching towards him and tilting his head upwards. He glared at me, green gaze full of loathing. “Happy?”
    “Yes, I am. Now, you need to realize that your father didn’t just do everything he did in his life to keep you safe just for you to quit now that he’s gone. Tell me where you two were heading,” I demanded, crossing my arms.
    “We were heading north.” Isaac turned his gaze away, frowning.
    “Why up north? It’s warmer down south,” I questioned, raising an eyebrow.
    “There’s a salvation up there, a place where we’ll be safe,” he said.
    “Are you still going?” Jumper squirmed, trying to leap out of my arms towards Isaac.
    “I don’t see any reason not to; I mean my father is dead, what else do I have to lose?” Isaac snorted, reaching forwards to take Jumper from my arms. “Who’s this little guy?”
    “Then get ready, we’re leaving in twenty,” I ordered, turning away from him and heading towards my tent. “His name is Jumper, by the way. He decided to sleep with me last night and hasn’t left since.”
    “Alright, I’ll take it down. You just… Pack our stuff; make sure we’ll be able to carry it and uh...” Isaac said, walking up behind me and putting his arm across my chest to stop me in my path to the tent.
    “What do I do with him?”
    “Carry it?” I asked, looking at him and then over at the cart, which stood lopsided, half of its wheels sunk into the mud. “And I’ll carry him, don’t worry.”
    “We’re not bringing the cart. It’s too heavy and it will just slow us down,” He muttered. “Just go pack up.” I nodded, though I couldn’t quite say I agreed with him and headed over to the cart. There were so many valuable things to take, like water bottles filled with clean water and packages of food that we could take with us. I sighed and began sorting out our stuff, hoping Isaac would be fine with what I had chosen for us to take with us and what we would leave behind.
    By the time we had finished packing all of our things, or at least what we could carry with us, the su n had begun to peak out of the clouds and the ground was not as horrid to walk upon, no longer squelching beneath our footsteps. Our tents were covered in mud, but the plastic wrap was smeared with blood, so after a lot of debate, most of it involving me whining about the trade value of the tents, we settled on leaving them behind. We wouldn’t have much use for them anyway – we wouldn’t be doing a lot of sleeping until we got to