Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 106646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Another female picks her way into the group, yawning. "Is breakfast ready?"
"She sat with that one!" I say triumphantly, using my spoon to gesture at the new female. "Last night."
"Oh?" H'rlow hands the bowl in her hands to the female. "Flor, can you help our new friend?"
The female smirks. "He's looking for Bridge."
B'reej?
"Bridget?" H'rlow echoes. "Oh, okay. She went out looking for sweetweed and gathering seeds. You'll probably find her near the cliffs." She points at the distance, where the steep rocky walls enclose the beach into its cove. "She won't be too far and she might appreciate the help."
I shove the last of my food into my mouth. "That is where I will go, then," I say around the food.
"Give some breakfast to your friend first?" H'rlow asks. "I'll make another bowl."
3
BRIDGET
I'm a vain, vain woman.
Since I don't have any particular skill I'm good at, I tend to do a variety of things around the camp to help out and earn my keep. Harlow's organizing us today, and when I asked what was needed to be done, she told me fishing, scraping some skins, or seed picking. And because there's a bunch of hot guys on the beach—one particularly smoking hot one—I went with seed picking. Fishing's just miserable in the icy water, and scraping skins is disgusting and messy. If I'm just picking seeds, I can at least look cute.
Too bad it takes me away from the center of camp. Maybe I'll run into Sexy Boy at lunchtime. With that thought on my mind, I get back to work on the sweetweed and the bramble seeds. It's a task I've done several times, and while it doesn't require a lot of skill, it can be time-consuming and my fingers get cold. My gloves—more mittens, really—don't allow for fine dexterity and today the breeze is exceptionally cold. The plants hang off the rocky cliffs a bit like moss, growing in every crack and crevice possible. You don't see them at first, because they're not a vibrant green like the plants at home. They're more of a grayish shade, and you get right up to the rocks before you realize that you're staring at a whole mess of clingy, thin vines. They also don't have leaves like the plants at home. Some of them coil, some of them have needles, and some just look like nasty, squatty pinecones.
I'm after the squatty pinecones and the stringy vines today. We need sweetweed (stringy vine) for flavoring and the seeds of the bramble seed plants are one of the staples of the food here, just because it provides a grain-like texture that breaks up some of the monotony of meat and fish. We have roots, too, but those require going out into the mountains, and I'm not allowed to go without an escort. At least with this, I can stay near the camp in flirting range and get some work done. I'm on my own with this—I invited Flor and Sam to come with me, but Flor overslept and Sam…well, Sam wasn't around this morning. It's like she's gone all skittish the moment the islanders showed up, which is weird and unlike her.
Just as well. If I happen to run into You-Know-Who, I'd rather not have anyone else around interrupting.
I'm fluttering inside with excitement. It's strange, because for the last month or so, I've just been in survival mode—adapting to the frigid weather, learning how to walk in snowshoes, making fires, a crash course on cooking, hunting, gathering, skinning…there's an endless amount of tasks to learn. None of my private school upbringing prepared me for life on a prehistoric beach, and I've been doing the best I can. But today…there's something to look forward to.
Maybe I've been more upset about the lack of guys on the beach than I thought. It's a weird thing to learn about yourself. I mean, I've had sex droughts before. Actually, I've probably been in a drought more often than I've been getting laid, now that I think about it. And it's not that the other ladies on the beach aren't awesome as friends. It's just…yeah.
Apparently I am super into dick.
I climb a rock, adjusting the two bags slung over my shoulder, grab my gathering bowl, and lean forward. I carefully move toward one of the bramble seed plants, wedging my hand inside the ring of brambles and brushing my fingers against the thick cluster of seeds in the center. With a few flicks of my fingers, the seeds loosen from their home and rain down into the bowl I'm holding underneath. Once I've gotten almost everything out of the plant, I extract my hand carefully, mindful of the brambles, and move farther down the cliff. I've been taught that you always leave a little, and to be careful not to hurt the plant itself. It's less about a meal today and more about ensuring there are plenty of meals in the future. I pour the bowl of seeds into my pouch and scan the rocks, looking for the next likely bramble seed plant.