by P. M. Biswas
Loren kept staring. Mayhap he was scandalized by Tam’s unrefined behavior.
Which only goaded Tam into behaving more unrefined. She stuffed loads of cherries into her mouth and grinned around them—a red, toothy grin.
Loren didn’t grin back. He looked distinctly constipated, and when he spoke, it was with a halting, faltering clumsiness. “I overheard the end of your discussion with Nala.”
“Did you?” Tam managed after swallowing her cherries. She stole a dozen more.
“You respect her, don’t you? You like her. You might even… more-than-like her.”
Tam squinted at Loren for a few seconds, and then it struck her. She’d called Nala “beloved,” albeit in jest, and Loren had heard it. Was that why he was looking so constipated? What did it even have to do with him? “Are you implying that I’m in love with Nala?”
“You get along with her more than you do with me!” Loren argued.
“Since when can my clever comebacks to her death threats be classified as ‘getting along’?”
“For you, isn’t that the very definition of getting along?”
It was. Dammit. “All right, I admit it. I like Nala. I respect her. Just don’t tell her that, or she’ll break out in hives of revulsion and will kill me in my sleep for fear that I might start courting her. Not that I’ll start courting her,” Tam added quickly. “I don’t like her in that way.” Tam paused, then confided, “I’ve never liked anybody in that way.”
“Never?” Loren asked incredulously.
“Never. Maybe I can’t. There are some folks who can’t like anybody, and never do. Or maybe I’m too busy with spear-craft to bother with all this ‘liking’ business. Give me my spear and an enemy to stab with it, I say. That’s my definition of romance.”
“You are a warped and troubled creature,” Loren muttered, but he was in a much brighter mood than before.
“Aw, you know just how to compliment me.” Then it hit Tam why Loren might be merrier now that Tam’s supposed feelings for Nala had been put aside. “You can woo Nala, if you wish,” Tam said generously. “I won’t stand in your way.”
“Woo—” Loren broke off and just gaped at her. Then he erupted into a series of such indistinguishable, indignant snarling noises that all Tam could do was blink at him. While still producing those noises, Loren gesticulated wildly at Tam before making an abrupt about-turn and stomping out of the room.
“Bloody peculiar, these elves are,” Tam remarked to nobody in particular. She sank back into her heavenly bed, resting the bowl of cherries on her chest so she could eat directly from there without having to stretch toward the side table.
Luxury, Tam decided, was lying in a soft bed and having food within easy reach. She’d had it with epic quests and sleeping on stony, inhospitable ground with only a growling stomach to keep her company.
For now, she had no quests to worry about—no heroics, no antics, no magics. Destiny could wait until she’d dealt with these cherries.
P.M. BISWAS lives in Australia with an extremely tolerant spouse, a delightful four-year-old, and a series of unwanted possum houseguests. An Indian migrant who has traveled far from home, Biswas can never stop searching for it, usually between the covers of a book. Biswas writes fantasy and science fiction, reads literally anything—even a shopping list will do—and is generally a giant nerd. They can be found on Twitter @pm_biswas.
By P.M. Biswas
Earthstone
Published by HARMONY INK PRESS
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Published by
HARMONY INK PRESS
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Earthstone
© 2020 P.M. Biswas
Cover Art
© 2020 Paul Richmond
http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
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Digital ISBN: 978-1-64405-205-1
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-64405-557-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019955046
FORMAT published April 2020
Second Edition
v. 2.0
First Edition published as Wanderwood by Tara Burman, July 2018.
Printed in the United States of America