With Bagamoyo only a couple days ahead of them, the supplies Khalifa had been feeding the captives from had been almost completely depleted. RyAnne hated to think what the meals would have been like over the next few days.
They had found a meager supply of cornmeal, however. The porridge had been thin to make it stretch farther, but they had done their best to make sure that every person got a decent meal by including pieces of game from the gazelles Kako and his men had bagged.
Trent had broken up two fights between parties when fear had made them grapple over scraps. The first sight of food on the heels of weeks of near starvation had the tendency to transform people into hoarders. It had taken some convincing on the captain’s part for everyone to share equally what food they had managed to muster.
RyAnne knew the portions had been insufficient, yet even at that they were much more plentiful than the people had been used to for the past weeks. Some of the people had been so hungry that they hadn’t even waited for the meat to cook, but had simply devoured their portions raw.
RyAnne shuddered. She was hungry, but she didn’t think she would ever be that hungry. The thoughts of food penetrated her consciousness and her stomach loudly protested its emptiness. Unfortunately, she had doled out the last of the thin gruel to Moyo for a second helping, and there was nothing left in her pot.
She should go see if there was any meat left, but she couldn’t seem to work up the energy to get up now that she’d relaxed for a moment.
She glanced over and noticed Moyo and Nyimbo seated together on a rock. Their heads were tipped together and Moyo was sharing the bowl of porridge RyAnne had just given her.
A smile tugged at her lips even as exhaustion draped her shoulders. Even though she’d been watching the two of them off and on all day, she could still hardly believe that her long nightmare was over. They were all reunited.
Weeping may last through the night, but joy cometh in the morning. The verse soothed her in that moment. Perhaps her morning had finally dawned.
A bee buzzed around her shoulders and she swept a hand at it to shoo it away, but as she twisted to make sure the bee was flying away and wouldn’t get caught in her hair, one of her ankles pressed against a sharp stone. She gasped and shut her eyes against the severity of the pain.
She eased her hip against the ground and carefully lifted the hem of her skirt to examine the ankle. It was red and swollen, and looked like it was getting infected. On the long trek she’d been trying her best to keep the broken skin clean, but it appeared she was beginning to lose the battle.
Footsteps sounded and she quickly tossed the hem back over the injury.
Trent sank down, balancing on the balls of his feet beside her. Resting his forearms against his knees, he clasped one wrist with his other hand. His gaze flicked down to the torn lace edging near her ankle. “Are you okay?” A furrow tucked into his brow.
“It’s nothing.”
He studied her expression for a moment, and then in one swift move, he reached out and flipped back the hem.
Find more information about the other parts of this continuing story here on my website. Or, to be notified as each episode releases, sign up for my newsletter here. (If you choose to sign up for my newsletter you will receive a free contemporary Christian romance story called, My Blue Havyn.) And please take time to let others know what you think of this series by leaving a review. Thank you!
The Trail of Chains: A serialized historical Christian romance. (Sonnets of the Spice Isle Book 5) Page 9
