Days dragged like pulling stones uphill. Cold ate at me. Real cold, the kind that gets inside your bones and sits there, heavy. My skin felt like old leather left out in the sun too long, cracking at the bends. Breathing hurt, like sucking on broken glass. That thirst? A raw hole in my throat, worse than any hunger pang. That measly scoop of greasy water each night? Like spitting on a wildfire. Didn't help much.
But underneath? A low, dirty warmth spread through me. Not 'cause I was happy. Nah. 'Cause it was working. Granite was cooking.
Started proper. Sweating buckets, even when he was just sitting by his fire, staring at the damn wall. Big dark patches bloomed on his shirt, back and pits. He'd wipe his forehead with the back of his hand, look at the sweat like he didn't know what it was. Face all confused. Yeah, you stupid rock. What's wrong? Feeling warm?
He drank like a fish gone mad. Gulped water straight from the ladle at the tank, throat working like a pump. Not just his nasty beer. Water. Lots of it. Still looked thirsty after. Belched like a pig. Good. Drink up. They're thirsty inside you.
Got twitchy, too. Snappy. That empty stare started cracking. Saw it when a scrawny chicken got under his feet. He didn't just shoo it. He kicked out, hard. Bird squawked, feathers flying. He just growled, low in his chest. Another time, I was slow bringing in the kindling – playing it up, dragging my feet – he didn't yell. Just grabbed my arm, fast and hard. Skin touch.
Heat poured off him. Unnatural heat. Like grabbing a stove. His fingers dug in, burning hot even through my rag of a sleeve. Felt that familiar zing deep in my gut. The hooks inside him humming. Digging deeper. Marking more of him as mine.
"Move it, slug!" he snarled, shaking me. His breath was hot and sour on my face. Flushed red, like he'd run up the mountain. Fever climbing. Good.
"Y-yes, Master! Sorry!" I whimpered, making my eyes go wide and watery. Inside? A cold little flame licked up. Burn, you bastard. Burn for us.
He shoved me away, muttering. "…always dry… feel like I'm roastin'… head aches…" He rubbed his thick neck, fingers pressing where the blood beat hard and fast. Could he feel it? His heart pounding like a drum? Thick blood pushing through his veins, carrying the little passengers setting up house? Probably not. Just felt wrong. Sick. Stupid rock couldn't figure it out.
That kid. Xiao Shi. Kept being a problem. A stupid, kind problem.
Caught him watching me again, later. I was scrubbing Granite's disgusting cooking pot in the freezing yard trough. Hands numb, water like ice. He was crouched behind a pile of firewood, eyes big and round.
I ignored him. Played weak. Shivered real good. Rubbed my raw hands like they hurt. (They did.)
He disappeared. Came back a minute later, quick as a rat. Darted to the edge of the trough. Plopped something in the dirty water near my hand. A small, wrinkled root. Looked like wild carrot. Barely anything.
"Ma says it's good," he whispered, darting glances back at his hut. "For… for feeling sick." He looked pointedly at my cracked hands, my thin arms.
Stupid. Kind. Dangerous. That root wouldn't fix what was wrong with me. But the gesture… it pinched somewhere deep. Annoying. Didn't need his pity. Didn't want anyone looking.
"Not sick," I mumbled, keeping my voice flat. "Just cold."
He frowned. "You look bad. Worse than before. Old Stone… he looks bad too. Sweaty." Kid saw too much. "Ma says maybe the snail-thing's poison."
My blood went colder than the trough water. Shit. Looked him dead in the eye. "Not poison," I hissed, low and sharp. "Just… different. You tell? He throws me out. Or worse." I jerked my chin towards Granite's hut. "Then no one gets the bad water." Sounded mean, but it was the truth. His ma's fear was a knife hanging over my head.
He blinked, swallowed hard. Nodded once, quick. "Secret," he whispered, then scampered off, leaving the stupid root floating in the grime.
Left me staring at it. That tiny act of dumb kindness. Like a pebble thrown into the filth of this place. Didn't make it clean. Just reminded you how dirty everything else was. Annoying. I flicked the root away.
Saw the Quiet Woman again. Hauling water. Always hauling water. Her man walked behind her, thin and mean as a whip, watching her like she might spill a drop. Her face… blank. Worse than before. Like someone had snuffed out the last little candle inside. Her shoulders slumped under the yoke, not even trying to stand straight anymore. Just… gone.
Our eyes met for a heartbeat. That deep, swallowed pain in hers. And something else. A flicker of… knowing? Seeing the sweat on Granite? Seeing me looking less starved, maybe? Or just seeing another ghost? She looked away first, shuffling forward, a dead thing walking.
A chill went through me that had nothing to do with the mountain air. That was what happened when you just took it. When you broke. I touched my belly, still flat under the rags. Not me. I wasn't breaking. He was.
Then it started. The real changes. In me.
First, the hunger. Not the thirst. A different ache. Lower down. A deep, gnawing emptiness that had nothing to do with food. Like my whole middle was a hollow cave. Craving. Needing to be filled. Soon, the hum inside me whispered. Get ready.
Then, the cool feeling spreading inside me. Not cold. Cool. Like smooth river stones under deep water. Starting low in my belly, spreading outwards. Felt… good. Calm. Powerful. My own little chill against the heat pouring off Granite. His sweat was my strength now.
One morning, washing my face in the pig basin (hated it, needed it), I felt it. Low on my belly, just below the belly button. A patch of skin. Hard. Not bone-hard. More like… tough leather. Smooth. Cooler than the rest of me. About the size of my thumb.
My heart thumped hard. Not fear. Excitement. Cold and sharp. Here it comes.
I pressed my fingers to it. Felt the faintest… ripple? Like something shifting deep underneath. Settling. Preparing the ground.
Looked over at Granite's hut. He was standing in the doorway, leaning heavy on the frame. Looked like crap. Pale under the sweat, eyes bloodshot and glassy. He was breathing hard, like he'd run a mile. Just standing there. He lifted a hand to wipe his brow, and it shook. Badly.
He saw me looking. His eyes, usually empty, held something new. Confusion, yeah. But underneath it… a flicker of fear. Like he finally felt something was really, really wrong inside his own body. His fortress. His stupid rock body.
He tried to scowl. Tried to look mean. "What you starin' at, freak? Get to work!" But his voice rasped, weak. No power behind it. Just a dry rattle.
I dropped my eyes fast. Played meek. "Yes, Master Granite." But inside, that cold flame roared. He feels it. He knows something's eating him. And he's scared.
Shuffled towards the pathetic potato patch, picking up the heavy pick. My steps felt lighter. That cool patch on my belly felt like armour. Like a promise.
He watched me go, sweat dripping off his chin. His hand went to his stomach, pressing like it hurt. Saw him wince.
Yeah, I thought, hefting the pick, feeling the strange new strength in my arms, the cool calm spreading through my core. It's starting to hurt, isn't it? Good. Get used to it. The hunger inside me gnawed, sharp and sweet. The eggs are coming. And your big, warm body? It's my precious nest.