Now We Wait VI
Farrin pulled himself up with one hand, yanked the other free and slapped Horil. Her head rocked back and a face of rage returned in its place.
“Have you lost your mind?” she said, spittle flying in addition to the blood, “I ought to just drop y–” The thought died on her lips.
Farrin’s gaze dared her to find a flaw in his action. She could not.
“No one gets a free slap,” she said, “You’ll get yours later. Now climb up here you heavy jackass.”
He did, hanging on to one end of the bar as she skinned the cat to invert herself. Face to face they hung, four hands holding a single rod of hope.
“Shall we begin again?” he asked, “I find this positioning more suitable. Half the weight and plenty to grab on to if there’s a slip.”
Horil glanced away, still swallowing the anger that thrummed in her cheek. “Sorry about your tenders,” she said, glancing back at him.
“Mm, yes. Well what’s done is done,” he replied, “Perhaps you’ll get a chance to make it up to them on solid ground.”
Farrin had them falling again before she could grouse further. The adrenaline crashes were tempered with the civil rhythms of the waits in-between. They were both wearing thin and delayed no more than necessary. The ground rushed toward them in astonishing leaps, but five jumps later they ran afoul.
“That was only twenty,” Horil said, “I thought you said there were twenty-five charges.” She wrestled with the rage and panic, each striving for dominant control. The balance seemed to be serving her muscles well, but the treetops were still too far below them.
“I was wrong,” Farrin replied.
“Excuse me?” she asked, more out of hearing him admit error than actual concern, “What do you mean, you were wrong?”
“Or more precisely, the previous owner of the rod lied.” His tone demanded silence on the subject. His eyes roved the skies.
“Well what do we do now?” she asked.
“Now we wait.”