The Ocean - 7

[metraylor]

Originally published at M.E. Traylor. You can comment here or there.

Enád, please—

"We have to feed her?"

Mehth sounded sourly unconvinced of the necessity.

Ashur made half a ruthless grin.

"One meal a day's not going to starve the rest of us."

Helping him wrestle another crate from the back end of a stack against the hull, Mehth said, "I don't like it as an idea." Ashur didn't disagree. Mehth picked off a length of the pitch seal, squeezing a wooden bar under the tightly fitted lid, and wrenched it downward with his heavy arms. Pitch crackled and popped off onto the decking. Lifting the lid off, he leaned it against the stack of crates and they surveyed the contents.

Wing fruits, pickled, dried, and mashed into a solid block as heavy as a man. It showed no sign of having been tampered with since they had put it away last warm season. The seal hadn't been touched.

"That," Mehth said, "s'the last one."

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