Word Count: 102,001
Summary of Events:
Nadia tried standing up to her father on Horea's advice, but things didn't go well; in fact, her father threatened to kill her if she tried standing up to him again. Borden carried Honour on his back as he walked — mostly because he could travel faster at his stride length than hers — and asked her a little bit about the men who had captured her before they had to cross a creek . . .
Excerpt of the Day:
He led the way forward and stepped into the water. Honour startled and pulled her foot out.
“It’s cold,” she said.
“We’re at the wrong part of the province for the hot springs,” Borden replied. “Besides, this is probably freshly-melted snow from one of those mountains we just crossed.”
Honour seemed to steel herself before stepping in again. The water came nearly to her knees. She gripped Borden’s hand tightly while Borden started forward, not transferring weight onto a foot until he was sure that it wasn’t going to slide out of place and cause him to fall into the water.
Once they’d crossed the creek Borden sat down, removed his backpack, and then pulled off his sweater and his t-shirt, using the latter to dry his feet before he slid them back into his socks and boots. He offered his shirt to Honour, who seemed to be distracted by his bare chest.
“Are you really a good guy?” Honour asked, looking him critically in the eye.
“Yeah,” Borden replied, confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You have pictures like the bad guys,” Honour replied.
Borden looked down at his chest and arms, then back up at Honour. “Which ones?”
“No, they don’t look the same, they look like nice pictures, but they’re still pictures, which is what the bad guys have,” Honour replied.
“Well pictures aren’t just for bad guys,” Borden replied. “And you said they’re nice pictures, shouldn’t that prove I’m a good guy?”
“But why do you have them?” Honour asked.
That was actually a good question. Why did he have them?
“Um, well, because I wanted them,” Borden replied, feeling slightly self-conscious about them.
“But Mama says that they poke you to put them in,” Honour said.
“Yeah, they do,” Borden replied.
“That hurts,” Honour said.
“It really does,” Borden said.
“But why would you hurt yourself if you’re a good guy?” Honour asked.
“To not have the same old plain skin of everyone else,” Borden suggested.
“Why?” Honour insisted.
“I don’t really know, actually,” Borden replied. “I just got them. I never really thought about why.”
“I don’t want them,” Honour said.
“If you don’t want to you don’t have to, nobody’ll ever force you,” Borden said. “At this point you’re too young anyways.”
“What is that one?” Honour pointed toward Borden’s side.
“This?” Borden pointed at his bruise.
“Yeah,” Honour replied.
“That’s a bruise,” Borden replied. “That one will go away.”
“Is that from when you fell down?” Honour asked.
“Yes,” Borden replied.
“Oh,” Honour said.
Borden put his boots and socks back on and then slid his sweater over his head, put his backpack over his chest, and made sure Honour was settled comfortably on his back.
He stuffed one sleeve and shoulder of his t-shirt into his front pocket so that the shirt could dry as he walked and started off again, continuing through the trees.
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