Chapter 6: Firelight
Ash calls this fresh misery “camping.” The best part about it is it comes at the end of a long day of “travel” and takes place in “nature”—which it turns out I also hate.
I collapse on a thin mat that does little to shield me from the lumpy, cold ground because after hours of perching on Ash’s two-wheeled nightmare contraption, sitting is no longer an option. I can’t decide which is worse: my numb tailbone, my bruised and rubbed-raw shoulders, my aching arms, or my much-abused hands.
That’s an exaggeration—it’s still the hands.
Ash is busy cheerfully rustling around in the huge pack he made me wear all day and pretending everything is fine. I practice clear communication and asserting my desires every time he gives me an opening.
“Comfortable?”
“I want to go home
