☼ ISHAK ☼اسحاق
"Saint Peter don't you call me, 'cause I can't go"
"Saint Peter don't you call me, 'cause I can't go"
As Ruth starts floating left-behind logs into a cabin stack, you make sure to drop both tinder and kindling in the middle. You nudge the logs more parallel, to keep the burn even. It’ll burn slowly, and last you through the storm without as much need to keep feeding. A good choice, though a bit elaborate.
You gaze around the cave. The bottleneck entrance makes it more defensible, and no animals seem to call it home. You’re not worried, but you’re in the habit for several good reasons.
“It feels strange to come here alone.”
You know when Ruth says alone that it is not a slight against you, just a fact. It’s a bit comforting to hear that she’s expanded her definition to include you, but you didn’t need to hear it to know it.
As for the rest of her statement, you don’t know about strange. If asked, you’d have chosen quiet. Without any of her siblings for your trip, there has been much less chatter. Much fewer distractions. All the better considering the circumstances; it would have been an inconvenience to lose one of the other Ieshans to a fall.
You sling a ratty blanket over your shoulders. You doubt it will do much to the cold, but until Ruth coaxes a flame to life it’s better than nothing. You drape one over Ruth as well, though you think she handles a chill better than you.
A flame springs to life, and Ruth says, “Ishak.” You turn your attention from the growing blaze to her. “Do you think that we should come back, when spring comes?”
You stare at her for a moment, and then roll your eyes straight to the cave’s roof. “Does it matter? We’ll come here in the spring, and the season after that, and on until we’re ashes dancing on the desert wind.” You flick the end of a blanket at her and answer anyway. “No, I don’t.”
It’s all pointless. The gods will do as they will prayer or no prayer. You’d argue one would have better luck asking the sea to slow the tide than a god to change their mind. At least, if you time it right, the tide may start rolling out.
You know some find comfort in it; your father always did.
What you don’t know is this: does Ruth?
“Do you?” you ask it like an afterthought as the wind picks up.
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