Feel of the Flesh
Chapter Six
Innya sat back down at the table, picking up the piece of flesh before her and testing it cautiously with her teeth. The thready pink meat gave way easily before her, and she started to chew contentedly, leaning back in the stiff wooden chair. She tore off another piece of meat and took a gulp of the apple juice in front of her when a flash of blond fur racing across the field beside her home made her jump. Dropping her fork and setting the glass down firmly, Innya jumped to her feet and ran to the window.
Nothing was there.
Slowly, Innya started up the stairs, only to stop short when the doorbell rang. She walked to the large, sturdy oak door and took a deep breath, wishing that her brothers and mother hadn't gone to her Aunt's house to visit.
"Who is it?"
There was a short pause, then she heard shuffling feet and someone clearing their throat.
"By the name of The Moon, pray let me in. For I am friend, not foe.
A deep, raspy voice sounded from behind the door, and Innya half-way relaxed, recognizing the stranger's greeting as one that belonged to her people. Easing the door open slightly, she peered out of the crack and saw a tall, figure standing with his back facing her. Hearing the door open, he turned around and smiled warmly. Seeing his face, Innya realized that he was not a man, merely a full-grown boy. He couldn't be more than twenty. And he surely wasn't any older than Rhys, who was twenty-one. The boy's shaggy blond hair hung in his startlingly green eyes, and he had the air of a loner about him. His clothes -ones worn backpacking and hiking: boots, sturdy denim, and button up flannel shirts layered on top of creamy tan skin- were ragged and worn, the threads fraying and the knees and elbows thin.
"Hello," he said, still smiling warmly. "You wouldn't be able to spare any food, would you? I've been on the road for a long time now, and I'm kind of hungry."
The boy's smile was so beguiling that Innya grinned back and motioned for him to step into the house. Without thinking, she led him to the kitchen tables and placed a plate of eggs and grits in front him, turning to the refrigerator and pulling out another slab of ham.
"Thank you so much, my friend," he said, bowing his head briefly in silent prayer before picking up a spoon and digging into the grits in front of him.
"You're welcome," Innya said gently, speaking for the first time since he had entered her house. Flipping the sizzling piece of meat in the cast iron pan, she touched it briefly to see if it was warm enough, then laid it on the stranger's now empty plate.
"More?" Innya asked, smiling at the content look on his face.
"If you don't mind... I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name."
He beamed up at her, and the sweetness in his eyes caught her unaware.
"Innya. I'm Innya Bannatyne. And you are?"
"Stray. Just Stray. It's nice to meet you, Innya."
He grinned again, gleaming ivory teeth shining up at her. She nodded amiably and picked up his plate, refilling it and then returning it to the quilted place-mat in front of him. He ate silently, savoring the food like it was manna sent from heaven.
Innya smiled.
She didn't know who this Stray was, but she knew she liked him.
Nothing was there.
Slowly, Innya started up the stairs, only to stop short when the doorbell rang. She walked to the large, sturdy oak door and took a deep breath, wishing that her brothers and mother hadn't gone to her Aunt's house to visit.
"Who is it?"
There was a short pause, then she heard shuffling feet and someone clearing their throat.
"By the name of The Moon, pray let me in. For I am friend, not foe.
A deep, raspy voice sounded from behind the door, and Innya half-way relaxed, recognizing the stranger's greeting as one that belonged to her people. Easing the door open slightly, she peered out of the crack and saw a tall, figure standing with his back facing her. Hearing the door open, he turned around and smiled warmly. Seeing his face, Innya realized that he was not a man, merely a full-grown boy. He couldn't be more than twenty. And he surely wasn't any older than Rhys, who was twenty-one. The boy's shaggy blond hair hung in his startlingly green eyes, and he had the air of a loner about him. His clothes -ones worn backpacking and hiking: boots, sturdy denim, and button up flannel shirts layered on top of creamy tan skin- were ragged and worn, the threads fraying and the knees and elbows thin.
"Hello," he said, still smiling warmly. "You wouldn't be able to spare any food, would you? I've been on the road for a long time now, and I'm kind of hungry."
The boy's smile was so beguiling that Innya grinned back and motioned for him to step into the house. Without thinking, she led him to the kitchen tables and placed a plate of eggs and grits in front him, turning to the refrigerator and pulling out another slab of ham.
"Thank you so much, my friend," he said, bowing his head briefly in silent prayer before picking up a spoon and digging into the grits in front of him.
"You're welcome," Innya said gently, speaking for the first time since he had entered her house. Flipping the sizzling piece of meat in the cast iron pan, she touched it briefly to see if it was warm enough, then laid it on the stranger's now empty plate.
"More?" Innya asked, smiling at the content look on his face.
"If you don't mind... I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name."
He beamed up at her, and the sweetness in his eyes caught her unaware.
"Innya. I'm Innya Bannatyne. And you are?"
"Stray. Just Stray. It's nice to meet you, Innya."
He grinned again, gleaming ivory teeth shining up at her. She nodded amiably and picked up his plate, refilling it and then returning it to the quilted place-mat in front of him. He ate silently, savoring the food like it was manna sent from heaven.
Innya smiled.
She didn't know who this Stray was, but she knew she liked him.