the water in the basin was nearly still, except at the point where it gushed out, turbulent and white, from under a mossy ledge of stone where the steps ended.
When they reached it, Kosos threw his bag to the ground and stripped out of his shirt. “Get undressed.”
A sudden, vague terror took hold of Luka's intestines.
“Strip down, wash yourself. And wash your clothes.”
Luka turned away as Kosos undid his fly and shucked off the rest of his clothes. “I don't have anything else to wear.”
“Kid, you reek of piss and fear and a week's worth of stale sweat. Clean yourself up so I can enjoy my dinner without fighting my gag reflex.”
When he heard Kosos moving away, Luka glanced out of the corner of his eye, and saw him wading naked into the shallow water, his own clothes bundled under his arm. He didn't know what was making him feel so sick to his stomach—fear, or shame. Trying to ignore the soldier's naked body, his dark genitals and black hair in stark contrast to his amber skin, smooth and lustrous, Luka made his way along the perimeter, to a cluster of molten lumps that rose up as high as his chest. Screened by the rock, he hurriedly stripped out of his things and washed them out as best he could in the cold water, then squatted down and washed himself, struggling to get water up under his arms, to clean his hair, matted against his sweaty scalp.
Knowing how ridiculous it was, he took the empty jug out of the bag the old man had given him, and tied the canvas bag handle around his waist, fashioning a kind of loincloth. Then he filled the jug and trudged back. Kosos was dressed in dry clothes and already had a fire going, and was hanging his own wet clothes from branches he'd braced together near the heat of the flames.
When he saw Luka, Kosos grinned. “You can hang your things up with mine, Tarzan. They'll be dry in a couple hours.”
The familiar urge to hide, to disappear swallowed Luka. Even his body felt like it was shrinking, folding in on itself to escape the presence of the soldier's strong, wiry body. Trying to keep hidden in case Kosos looked over, he struggled to get his things wrung out and hung by the fire. When Kosos stood, Luka's heart turned to stone and sank in his chest, but Kosos went to his bag and was rooting through it, his back to him. Luka took the chance to perch on a stone by the fire so he'd feel a little less exposed.
“Here.” Kosos handed him a coat. “Go ahead. Put it on.”
Luka didn't know why he was close to tears as he pulled on the coat, ridiculously big on him. It hung so low it almost covered the bag he'd tied in front of his groin.
“Those bruises. They really worked you over.” Kosos settled back on his perch in front of the fire. “Any blood in your piss?”
“No.”
“In your shit?”
“No.”
“You'll live, then.”
Luka laughed, but it sounded like a sob.
“I'm not going to kill you for sport, kid. Just keep being the good pupil, and everything'll be fine.”
“Until you find your platoon.” Why the fuck couldn't he keep his dumb mouth shut?
“Yeah? Then what am I gonna do?”
Luka shrugged. “Give me to them.”
Kosos laughed. “What the hell would they want with you?”
He shrugged again. It didn't matter what the soldier said, anyway. He'd say whatever he thought would keep Luka docile. Whatever was going to happen, would happen. Like always.
When they'd eaten another meager ration of the soldier's provisions, Kosos said, “Time to get to sleep. We're off again at dawn. Have a piss and drink up, if you're thirsty.”
“I'm okay.”
“Take a leak, kid. If you wake me up in the middle of the night, you'll be more sorry than I will.”
Fear beat shyness into the dirt. Luka slunk off a few feet, taking cover in the shadows thrown by a few spindly saplings—tenuously grasping at their stony bed, roots straining through the cracks for the water beneath—between spears of firelight, furtively pulled the soldier's coat and the
When they reached it, Kosos threw his bag to the ground and stripped out of his shirt. “Get undressed.”
A sudden, vague terror took hold of Luka's intestines.
“Strip down, wash yourself. And wash your clothes.”
Luka turned away as Kosos undid his fly and shucked off the rest of his clothes. “I don't have anything else to wear.”
“Kid, you reek of piss and fear and a week's worth of stale sweat. Clean yourself up so I can enjoy my dinner without fighting my gag reflex.”
When he heard Kosos moving away, Luka glanced out of the corner of his eye, and saw him wading naked into the shallow water, his own clothes bundled under his arm. He didn't know what was making him feel so sick to his stomach—fear, or shame. Trying to ignore the soldier's naked body, his dark genitals and black hair in stark contrast to his amber skin, smooth and lustrous, Luka made his way along the perimeter, to a cluster of molten lumps that rose up as high as his chest. Screened by the rock, he hurriedly stripped out of his things and washed them out as best he could in the cold water, then squatted down and washed himself, struggling to get water up under his arms, to clean his hair, matted against his sweaty scalp.
Knowing how ridiculous it was, he took the empty jug out of the bag the old man had given him, and tied the canvas bag handle around his waist, fashioning a kind of loincloth. Then he filled the jug and trudged back. Kosos was dressed in dry clothes and already had a fire going, and was hanging his own wet clothes from branches he'd braced together near the heat of the flames.
When he saw Luka, Kosos grinned. “You can hang your things up with mine, Tarzan. They'll be dry in a couple hours.”
The familiar urge to hide, to disappear swallowed Luka. Even his body felt like it was shrinking, folding in on itself to escape the presence of the soldier's strong, wiry body. Trying to keep hidden in case Kosos looked over, he struggled to get his things wrung out and hung by the fire. When Kosos stood, Luka's heart turned to stone and sank in his chest, but Kosos went to his bag and was rooting through it, his back to him. Luka took the chance to perch on a stone by the fire so he'd feel a little less exposed.
“Here.” Kosos handed him a coat. “Go ahead. Put it on.”
Luka didn't know why he was close to tears as he pulled on the coat, ridiculously big on him. It hung so low it almost covered the bag he'd tied in front of his groin.
“Those bruises. They really worked you over.” Kosos settled back on his perch in front of the fire. “Any blood in your piss?”
“No.”
“In your shit?”
“No.”
“You'll live, then.”
Luka laughed, but it sounded like a sob.
“I'm not going to kill you for sport, kid. Just keep being the good pupil, and everything'll be fine.”
“Until you find your platoon.” Why the fuck couldn't he keep his dumb mouth shut?
“Yeah? Then what am I gonna do?”
Luka shrugged. “Give me to them.”
Kosos laughed. “What the hell would they want with you?”
He shrugged again. It didn't matter what the soldier said, anyway. He'd say whatever he thought would keep Luka docile. Whatever was going to happen, would happen. Like always.
When they'd eaten another meager ration of the soldier's provisions, Kosos said, “Time to get to sleep. We're off again at dawn. Have a piss and drink up, if you're thirsty.”
“I'm okay.”
“Take a leak, kid. If you wake me up in the middle of the night, you'll be more sorry than I will.”
Fear beat shyness into the dirt. Luka slunk off a few feet, taking cover in the shadows thrown by a few spindly saplings—tenuously grasping at their stony bed, roots straining through the cracks for the water beneath—between spears of firelight, furtively pulled the soldier's coat and the
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