Surviving Tiger Lily by Mandy Nachampassack-Maloney

Did he want me, as he’d accused me of? There was so much skin there in that small hole we’d dug for ourselves, so much forced togetherness. “Anything,” Execro said, and I detected a touch of desperation in his voice. “Then I’ll tell you a story about treasure,” I said, “but I’ve only heard it from my father.” He took a deep breath as though he would begin. “Tell me a story or I’ll sing to fill this awful silence,” he warned. Despite my best efforts, it gave me no more room to think. “We are not children,” I replied, pushing my back against the wall of sand. “Tell me a story,” he said, not rising to the bait.

I just needed to put distance between us somehow. “Because you want me?” he asked, and in the dark I could feel his smile. “Sleep,” Execro said, talking into the tension. I could sense even the movement of his hair against me. I could feel his breath on my skin in this enclosed space. The strain in my shoulders and hands gave me away. We shared from a single waterskin to conserve our supply and sat so close together our knees and shoulders touched. Over our heads, stretched tight and anchored by arrows, went our shawls and blankets. That day, we carefully picked our way over first mammoth tree roots in the dense jungle, so shaded that I wrapped a buckskin shawl around my arms, then later stripped down to my hairpipe breastplate and wrapped my feet in reeds to protect from the imminent scorching desert sands as the vegetation became almost nonexistent.Īs day turned to night, Execro and I dug a hole between dunes, deep enough for the two of us to crouch together.

Surviving Tiger Lily by Mandy Nachampassack-Maloney