A horrid stench filled her nostrils. She couldn't escape it. It was so pungent and pervasive that she fancied she might even taste it in the back of her throat. Or was that the remnant of the bile she'd gagged on not too long ago? Her eyes didn't want to open. She didn't want to think about the betrayal of her fevered body, and the mess that had been left at the other end of the bed. Too weak and delirious to do anything about it, she had merely crawled to a cooler, cleaner spot, and curled into a ball again.
But now, the terrible heat didn't seem to burn quite so cruelly beneath her pallid skin. She wasn't drenched in sweat as she had been some hours before, though she could smell the sour remains of her own perspiration. She longed for the soft, black embrace of unconsciousness again, and the escape it provided from the smells, the aches, and the terrible thirst that suddenly clamored behind her cracked lips.
"...are you there?" she heard herself slurring, and felt a quick flush of anxiety. Who was she speaking to? Bleary eyes struggled to open, and the dim confines of the abandoned shack slowly came into focus. There was no one there. A lingering dream, perhaps.
The deathly cold that had nearly frozen her solid some days before was long forgotten. It had been replaced by the loathsome inferno of fever, and even the chilled, winter air could not bring relief as she shivered and coiled upon the filthy mattress. Her mind remained a haze of confusion and delirium, often conjuring voices and faces of those she had not seen for many days. There was nothing to do but wait. There was no help to be had. She would either perish, or she would live.
A low, pitiful groaning filled the room. She wormed her way out from beneath the blanket, groping for the dust-covered floorboards. All at once, gravity took hold, and her naked body slid down, piling onto the floor with a clumsy thud. Tremulous pantings filled her lungs, and little by little, she pushed and pulled her way to her feet. Clinging to the bed post for balance, she turned her sea-blue eyes to the window. The wood beyond the grimy pane was much as it had been when she arrived; an endless parade of brown, bare trees.
Her slender shoulders lifted and fell as she drew deeper breaths. Her fingers released the bed post, and tottering feet carried her slowly across the short space between her resting place and the window. She leaned her nose against the glass, looking as far to each side as she could manage. And then, a sight that made her gasp weakly with hope. Just beyond the southern corner of the cottage. A well.
Wobbly feet brought her back to the bed, where she snagged the corner of the blanket and drew it around her shoulders like a cloak. There was hardly any reason to worry about being seen, and she was too frantically impatient to stop, sit down, and try to dress herself properly. She stumbled through the gap of the broken, sagging door and down the porch steps. Dead leaves crunched beneath her bare heels, and somewhere in the distance, a raven gave a shrill cry.
She could not clutch the blanket and work the bucket and rope at the same time. Unwilling to give up her only bit of warmth, she crammed a section of the makeshift garment between her thighs and held it there. The sight of her pale, bony fingers in the grey daylight was startling. Food would be desperately needed soon enough, but for this moment, water was most crucial.
The struggle to lower the bucket without losing her grip on the rope was real enough. But once she heard the plunk of it hitting the water below, its weight increased tenfold, and it was all her weakened arms could do to hoist it back up again. Several times, she had to stop and simply hold on, gasping for air, waiting for her muscles to stop quaking so violently, before continuing to pull and tug.
No water had ever tasted so sweet before. As soon as the bucket was securely sitting on the side of the well, she thrust her face into it, the icy liquid embracing her cheeks like a cruel, aloof lover who could both give and take without a thought. She drew deeply at first, nearly choking herself with her desperate impulse to sate her thirst.
Pausing to pant for breath, she rested her brow against the rim of the bucket, clutching it with both arms. Several, more measured draughts were savored, and at last she felt the strength to straighten up and take it by the handle.
As she made a careful return across the leaf-scattered yard, stopping to set the bucket down every few steps, a subtle light began to burn behind her turquoise eyes, like a dim candle striving to remain alight beneath a buffeting wind.
