Eight

The weather started to match my mood. The gray sky combined with the lowering temperatures began to freeze the hope I had gathered. With the dislocated shoulder, I needed a sling, so making one out of his bed sheets seemed reasonable. The trick was getting something sharp enough to cut it and finding a way that I could hold the thing. In the end, it was awful, but it kept my arm immobilized.

That first-aid course had been a good choice. That and survival instincts were a good match; the only thing I lacked was common sense.

"Rise and shine."

Here we go again. Her whole ensemble looked like something out of a magazine spread. She looked like a million-dollar sugar baby, while I looked like someone had dragged me through the mud. Which they had.

"Here we go, oats and fruit." She was being far too amicable. "We need to get some food into you so you can get better. I spoke with Dalio, and he said he was sorry and that he wouldn’t be doing that again."

Her saccharine smile was terrifying.

"