Blood Storm: The Second Book of Lharmell by Rhiannon Hart

onto my wrist.Her normally sharp and clear mind felt like it had a thunderstorm brewing inside it. The gulls were still with us and she was not a happy raptor.
    Inside the damp, cool hold and away from the gulls, she calmed somewhat. Now it was my stomach that was churning. I could feel the rabbit flopping around in the bag. I crouched behind a large crate and wondered how best to go about my task. I could drink straight from the rabbit down here but Rodden could hardly do that on deck. The neck of the flask was wide and I thought that if I got the angle right I could drain the blood out of the rabbit and directly into it. I considered letting the rabbit out in the hold and hunting them down with my bow and arrow. Then I saw Smokey atop a barrel, glaring down at us with amber eyes. Smokey was a big white tom with a piratical patch of black fur over one eye, and with his ragged ears and scarred nose, he looked more than capable of taking apart my fluffy white rabbit. Well, it wasn’t for him.
    I held the rabbit up by its ears and unsheathed my knife. It hung limply in my hands, not even bothering to struggle. We regarded each other silently. I imagined that it had led a reprehensible life of womanising and child-beating.
    It twitched its nose. I took this as a confession.
    I flipped the rabbit so it was hanging upside down by its back legs and its throat was exposed. I placed the knife tip against the creature’s neck, and then paused to steady my hand and squeeze my eyes shut. I couldn’t bear the thought of sucking on its carcass in the dark. Under my breath I counted to three . . . and then plunged the point in and jerked it across and out, severing all the arteries and probably its windpipe too. There was a light spray of blood and the rabbit twitched. Then dark red liquid began to trickle over its chin and into the flask. I let myself relax a little while it drained, glad that the worst was over.
    Back up on deck, Rodden seemed to have rejoined the land of the living. I’d saved a haunch for Leap but asked him to eat it elsewhere. I didn’t relish the sight of him chewing on the bloodied white fur. Griffin got a piece too and I turfed the rest of the carcass overboard when no one was looking. I avoided the accusing gazes of the fourteen remaining rabbits.
    ‘Are you okay?’ Rodden asked, noticing my guilty expression. He was sitting up, pale but composed for the moment.
    ‘Peachy,’ I muttered.
    We shared the flask in silence. I licked my lips when I was done, careful that no trace of blood beleft on my mouth. ‘Feeling better?’
    ‘A little. Thank you for the blood.’
    ‘You’ve been keeping me fed for the last five months. It was about my turn.’
    ‘Use a knife?’
    I nodded, looking away.
    ‘It’s not the same as hunting, is it?’ He sounded as if he knew what he was talking about. I had no doubt he did, what with all the rabbits he’d done in over the years. ‘I’m sorry you had to do it,’ he said.
    I shrugged, wanting to forget the whole thing. ‘It’s fine. If you can do it, I can.’
    He sighed and lay down again, covering his eyes with the crook of his elbow. ‘I’m still sorry.’
    ‘Shh. Be still or you’ll be sick again.’
    But he muttered on, and I didn’t know if his words were directed at me or the blue sky above.
    ‘Deeds like that stay with you. No matter how remorseful you are or even if you have no choice in the matter, you’ll always be that person. The one holding the knife, with blood on their hands.’
    ‘Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.’ But I knew he wasn’t talking about me. He was talking about himself. I had felt the great lake of guilt inside him open up as he spoke.
    I stayed by his side until he fell asleep, wonderingwho it was he had killed.

    Our days on board were monotonous: hot sun and fitful dozing punctuated by mealtimes and rabbit murdering. Rodden seemed better by day three, but on the fourth day, after a flask of blood, he turned green