Chapter 37
“Peas with onions,” I muttered. “Tomato soup. Not strong enough.”
Above my head, swords clanged together and I ignored them. I grabbed the next can too fast and it fumbled through my fingers, rolling away into the melee of skinless. Somebody swore as metal struck their toe.
Soon enough, the pack would notice what I was doing. I had to find something liquid and smelly and I had to do so fast.
Ah, here we go.
Sardines packed in oil—definitely strong enough. The can was cylindrical, though, not the handy rectangular type with the pull tab. Not as easy to access without a can opener, but I could work with what I had.
I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the scream of pain in my side where my pelt had been burnt. Irrelevant. Cupping the can between bare ankles, the cool metal stead
