Chapter 36: […] knew not eating death. – IX, 792
She’s always heard it smells bad here, but no one ever told her it smells overwhelmingly of death.
The flight hadn’t been bad, just long, and she missed Holland the entire time. The entire tribe had wanted to pitch in and get her a good ticket – i.e. on a plane with Wi-Fi because everyone loves Holland (of course they do) – but she refused to let them. Jobs and income are hard enough on Native Americans as it is. She could fly coach. It hadn’t killed her.
Ezra Berry had come to get her from the airport. Scrawny by shifter standards with a thick mop of chocolate brown hair and a timid sort of smile, it’s hard for Lissie to equate him to the fiercely good fighter Holland described. He’s also not much of a talker. So, she’d fallen silent again about ten minutes into the hour-long drive.
“Sorry if I’m terribly forward, but I’ve always wanted to tell you I quite like your look,” he says suddenly, jerking Lissie out of a jet-lag nap she’d been about to slip into.