Death By Irony

People thought Cass was defeatist, but obviously they'd never met an angel. And he'd had the gall to tell her not to be so negative! Just because he was at peace with his imminent death didn't make it any more positive. Chosen the best course long before she understood the situation? Cass' hands curled into fists. Right. They'd just see about that. "The first thing to do is start a fire," she said, breathing in long, slow measures to control her burgeoning rage. "If you don't know how, I can give it a go. I'll collect tinder and firewood, but I haven't built a campfire since I was a Girl Scout." A portion of her life she'd prefer not to remember, thanks mom. "If we're stuck here for the night, we'll need a fire. Not just for the heat; for the light, too, and to scare off monsters. Otherwise we're dead anyway."

It was here that Cass began to learn how to hide some of her thoughts. Not intentions; he'd know she hadn't given up on saving him, but he wouldn't know what she was planning unless he deliberately probed her mind, an action he had so far avoided. Now, though, she allowed herself the luxury of showing some of her fury. "I'm going outside again because I do not need your permission, assclown. Right now I'm stronger than you, so I don't think you could stop me if you tried. I don't need a guardian angel, Fordren, I need somebody who'll work with me. Can you do that?"

The fury was expanding, rising into outrage. She couldn't believe that she was being treated like this; like a misguided schoolgirl instead of an equal, or even something close to an equal. Having everything she said dismissed, belittled - including her power, which was one thing Fordren could not better her at. The hail was beginning to die down - hailstorms were always quite brief - but the snow itself would continue. She would survive if she stayed, true, but he wouldn't, and he seemed to think that her opinion on that matter was baseless. Short of another way to express herself, Cass pulled the useless strips of sodden bandage off her arm and threw it at the man, showing only contempt. "Don't you dare. You have no idea how you sound, do you? There's nothing human about you. You've given up. And you think you can control me into doing the same."

It was her choice; to build a fire, to hunt an animal, to cook food, to risk her life. Cass only took orders when they made sense to her, and this one sure as hell didn't. She only followed leaders who treated her with respect, with co-operation. Instead of suggesting ways to minimise results from exposing herself to the storm, he thought he had the right - the power - to simply restrain her. The presumption, the superiority made her stomach turn over. "I'll do what I want. I don't recommend you try and stop me." Her voice was icy with barely-controlled rage.

It was eerie - no, eerie was a weak and fairly stupid word. It was downright surreal when Fordren stared at her, moving closer as she moved back until her head was actually touching the tree. She'd been right; he was inhuman, and only part of it was to do with the bizarre gaze. Most of it was his incomprehension of personal space. Cass wouldn't take his words lightly, either; she wasn't yet pissed off enough to let her emotions obliterate her comprehension. She did remain angry, though; he was dictating her status to her, telling her about her powers - one of which he'd only found out about a few minutes ago. While it was true that Cass used her telepathy as little as possible, she had been to Starlight Academy's library to study the subject. The prophetic dream earlier had shown that the energy absorbed from Leon and Joe were fuelling her abilities, and she was prepared to trust that her telepathic power had some juice left.

"Pain isn't so bad," she murmured, turning her face to the side a little to avoid his. "Injuries heal." The wound from letting him have his way - and waking up to his corpse - was a harder price to pay, and she didn't intend to. She tried to articulate this to him. "I got that premonition so I could save you. If we do things your way, it comes true; you die. I'm not willing to take that risk." That wasn't to say that she liked him; Cass had begun to suspect that she might actually hate him. But he was a person, if not technically a human, and had done good things with a mission to do more. She wouldn't let personal enmity blind her. "Dig a pit outside the hollow; a few feet long, few inches deep. I'll be back soon."

The hail had ceased; she watched the falling snow, thought some more about where they were, and left the shelter.

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She could hardly believe how thick the snowfall was; even in the midst of the trees the flakes fell fast and furious. It was easy to find medium, mossy branches to line the pit with; she brought them back to the hollow and left them outside. She was using the piece of bark to hold her scavenged pieces in, to help her shift snow off the ground, and generally finding it quite versatile. The tips of her ears, her nose, and her fingers all tingled painfully, but she could see they were still red, and refused to start panicking unless they turned blue. For tinder, she rooted under the thick, scratchy branches of a pine tree to gather dry moss, and dry brown pine needles themselves. It wasn't as hard as she'd feared to find dry materials - the snow filtered in through the treetops in a set pattern, and she could spot the clearer areas easily.

The kindling was next, large twigs, small branches, all dry and brittle. But the final piece, the thick branches and logs used for fuel, was useless; they simply weren't dry. She collected several anyway, shivering so hard she almost dropped them. They could set them around the fire to dry out. A quick check of her compass later, Cass was heading back towards the hollow, needing just two other items. The tree plank she was using would be fine, it was soft wood, but she needed a hardwood stick and a very sharp rock. Leaving the makeshift tray by the hollow again, Cass paused to shove her hands into her pockets, head bowed to hide her face from the snow, huffing out deep breaths to warm her nose. Teeth chattering, she set off again. Given all the rocks she'd tripped over or walked into, it wasn't surprising that she quickly found one the size of her palm with a wickedly sharp edge. The search for the stick took her further, though, and she kicked at bracken and hanging ivy, trying to identify trees on knowledge she'd learned years ago and mostly forgotten. She found an oak tree that she'd bumped into earlier, and spent even more time trying to hack off one of its smaller, lower branches. But eventually she managed to get the sodding stick, and she finally headed back to the hollow for the last time.

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Her feet and hands were numb - so numb that she lurched rather than walked, and dropped the stick a few times. Each time it was harder to pick up; her fingers didn't want to close. By the time she made it back to their shelter, she was dusted with snow, rather spaced out, and absolutely exhausted. She knew she needed to get food, but it was pointless without getting the fire going first, and she wasn't going to catch anything if she keeled over with the drowsiness the cold was inflicting on her. Shaking head to toe, she dropped the oak stick by the hollow and crawled inside, curling up sluggishly and, at last, acknowledging the possibility that she might turn blue and have bits drop off. There was no way she could talk with her teeth clacking like this, and she'd rather save her energy.

Look in my mind. God, if only there were another way. You need to start building it. My hands aren't working yet. There's a memory of a camping trip with the Girl Scouts when I was eleven. As she communicated, she brought up the memory, doing all but waving it in front of Fordren's face. I need to rest and warm up. Once there's a fire, I'll get food.

It took a while to build the fire, and Cass closed her eyes and rested her chin on her knees. Her wet clothes were making her colder than the air would have, but she drew the line at stripping. Soon she fell into a light doze, regularly waking up and registering the sound of the plank drill as Fordren worked, then slipping once more into a grey space. When she woke up again, though, there was a crackling, spitting fire, the pit lined by wet green branches to contain the coals and sparks, and Cass already felt much warmer. She unfolded, joints cracking from the cold-induced stiffness, and barely managed to pitch to the side in time to break Fordren's fall. He landed on her torso, hurting the scratches made by the chimera, and Cass lowered him the rest of the way. It wouldn't do to have him keel over and split his skull open; he was close to death enough as it was.

Rather than trying to wake him, she propped him up slightly against the back of the hollow and moved his feet so that they wouldn't catch a stray spark from the fire. At least he was conserving energy, and wouldn't whine about her going out again. Picking up the sharp flint rock they'd been using to build the fire, Cass set out again. It would have been easier with Fordren beside her to help, using whatever abilities or knowledge he had, but she'd manage. There was no alternative. Her empty stomach was another issue to deal with beyond the warm circle of the fire, a lack of energy that made her move a little sluggishly, but overall she felt better for the rest and the heat. Now, she put effort into moving quietly, caring less about where she was going and more about what was around her. When she heard a distant sound, like a large animal moving through branches, she altered her course to intercept it.

The stag - or was it a buck? Cass never remembered the difference - saw her before she saw it, and she stood rooted to the spot, distant moonlight shining off the snow and illuminating the area. Instead of displaying aggression, which with those antlers could have been terminal, the deer turned to leave with remarkable calm. Hand tightening around the rock, Cass closed her eyes and let the energy build up. She didn't want to hurt the majestic, serene animal, but that couldn't matter right now. As with Joe and Leon, the pressure in her head grew to become unbearable, until she eventually let it loose, the blast hitting the stag's mind and killing it quickly.

Feeling ill, she moved to the body and knelt down, heedless of the snow. Her grandfather had been an avid hunter, much to her mother's horror, and had told her a few things - but she'd never been allowed to watch him hunt or field dress a kill, something she now regretted. Still, she had a rough idea of what to do, and a very sharp stone. Face contorting with revulsion, Cass drew the stone horizontally across the animal's stomach and got to work.

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The carcass kept her warm, at least, and if she threw up again, nobody but Cass would ever know. She was drenched in blood by the time she'd finished gutting it, trying to rinse her arms off using pure snow, only to hold them over the cavity to try and warm them again. There wasn't a hope in hell of skinning it, something she was secretly grateful for, not with her hands and a piece of flint. But the tenderloins were easy to extract, and she packed ice into the cavity to help cool the meat and flush out the blood. Leaving the squishy innerbits - there was enough meat that they didn't need the offal, and besides, she had no clue which blobby organ was which - where they were, she began the incredibly laborious task of dragging the buck back to their hovel by the hind legs. It would probably attract predators, but if they kept the fire going, that wouldn't matter so terribly - besides, the innerbits would provide a feast for the scavengers away from their hiding place.

Her hands slipped frequently and her back was screaming in pain, but with every slip she bent down, picked the hooves up, and tried again. The snow and ice made it easier, while also covering the rocks and bracken that caused her to lose her footing. Eventually, though, she was able to drop the carcass on the other side of the fire. Bloody water ran from the cavity, and she herself looked like she'd been on the losing side of a vicious fight. Exhausted beyond compare, she half-sat, half-fell by the fireside, and llooked through some of the fuel she'd gathered. Selecting a long, thin and very wet skewer, she speared the tenderloins on it and held it in front of the fire. The whole process had taken at least an hour by the time she judged them cooked, and soon they'd need more firewood.

As disgusted as she was, Cass had to admit that the meat smelled surprisingly nice, and her stomach grumbled hopefully. Wiping sweat off her forehead with her other hand, Cass crawled back into her side of the hollow and nudged Fordren, then poked him, then wafted the meat under his nose. Wake up, she said, her mental voice weak after the second attack. I cooked. See? The puny human isn't so dainty after all.

No; after butchering an animal she'd killed, 'dainty' probably wasn't the word.

Cass had to admit - on some level, at least - that she didn't go around killing things for just anyone. Sadly, it didn't mean that she found Fordren any less infuriating; far from it. She was used to being in charge - it was natural to her, and having to fight to do what she wanted was suffocating. Perhaps it was easier to be alone, at least in her case. Surely this wasn't what everybody went through when partnered up, otherwise there'd be a lot more people going postal. As he dragged himself off towards the carcass, Cass pulled a tenderloin off the stick and kicked him (lightly) to get his attention. She held it out pointedly. I only need one, and you should have something to keep you going while you cook.

The taste of game wasn't bad - Cass had never eaten venison before, and although there was a chunk of guilt in her soul about eating Bambi's dad, it tasted good and warmed her. The outside was fairly charred, the inside a little pink, giving it a slightly unpleasant texture, but aside from the tang it resembled beef. She kept her eyes averted from the carcass as she ate, concentrating on everything but. When she was five she expressed shock at her grandfather's habit of killing animals. Her grandfather had asked her where she thought meat came from, and she'd replied, all innocence, 'the store'. Cass had gotten used to the idea of eating animals after that, but she never thought she'd have met her dinner before killing it, carving it, cooking it and then eating it. The whole process was more disgusting and time-consuming than she'd expected.

The wind changed a little, blowing some of the fire's smoke into the hollow instead of away from it. Finished with her steak, she settled down so that her head was beneath the wave, and tried to find a comfortable position to rest in. Fordren would probably be busy for a while carving up his mammoth meal, so eventually she settled on lying curled up on the ground, head on her arms. The sound of the fire was soothing, and gradually she drifted off.