Droplets of water fell upon Mr Rikkard Ambrose's cheeks. He twitched, stirring in his unnatural slumber, and then...

Splash!

"Bloody hell!"

Cursing, I glared down at Mr Rikkard Ambrose's soaked face. Miles. I had marched for miles through the jungle to find my way back to this dratted cave, losing half of the water in the process. Bloody miles! Or at least that's what it had felt like! And now all that effort was wasted!

Well...not exactly wasted. At least now I knew that it would take more than a splash of water in the face to wake my husband up again from his poison-induced slumber. Which was more than slightly worrying.

One problem after another, Lilly. Right now, you've got other matters to solve.

Like finally getting some liquid into him. Worrying about whatever poison was coursing through his veins would be of no use if he died of thirst before she could do anything to help.

Making my way outside the cave, I started back into the jungle. Luckily, the path I had left in the underbrush was now pronounced enough that I could easily find my way to the pond. When I stepped into the clearing, Fence was happily running around, chasing after butterflies. Silently, I wondered whether he wanted them to throw sticks for him, too. I wouldn't put it past him.

"Hey! Stop bothering those poor butterflies and come over here!"

"Woof?"

"I'll need my whole focus to keep the water from spilling. I can't concentrate on the path while doing that. Stop playing around and lead the way, will you?"

"Woof?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, yes, I'll throw the stick for you later."

"Woof!"

Following Fence's swaying tail, I managed to make it back to the cave without spilling more than a third of the water. It was only as I once more stood above Mr Rikkard Ambrose that something occurred to me: how the bloody hell was I going to get the water into him? It wasn't as if, being unconscious, he would helpfully open his mouth.

Not that he did that very often while conscious, either.

Nibbling my lower lip, I stared down at him. What could I do...?

Oh yes! That's right! You can hold his nose shut, right? Holding someone's nose shut will force them to swallow.

Except there was just one small problem with that. I would need a hand free to hold his nose shut, and another one to open his mouth. Two hands free—both of which were currently occupied with desperately trying to keep water from dripping through my fingers.

Plus there was the little fact I had read about the nose-pinching method of making someone swallow in an adventure novel about a prince going vampire hunting in a fictional country. As such, it might not be entirely reliable.

But what else could I do? What else...

Ah!

Letting go of the water with a splash, I whirled around and dashed back to the pond. The moment I reached the place, I started tearing at my petticoat. It didn't take long till I had a sizable rag in my hands. Dumping it into the water, I waited until it was completely soaked, then cupped it in both hands and started carrying the sodden piece of cloth back towards the cave.

"Woof?"

"I'm too busy to explain. If you want to know what I'm doing, just sit and watch."

Two minutes later, I was back beside my husband. Kneeling down with the wet cloth in one hand, I pulled Mr Ambrose's mouth open with the other, and...

Squeeeelch!

I squeezed. As I did, drop after drop of water fell into Mr Rikkard Ambrose's mouth. It was a laborious process, and it required me to take several trips back and forth between the cave and the pond, but it worked. By the time I thought I'd gotten enough water into him, I had made at least three dozen trips.

Or at least that's what my legs felt like.

"Oh my God!" With a groan, I slid down the wall of the cave until I half-sat, half lay slumped on the ground. I could really use another massage right about now. Threateningly, I glared over at the figure of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who was still lying on the ground unmoving. "Lazy son of a bachelor!"

In answer, all I got was silence.

Well, at least it looks like he's back on his way to health. Soon, he'll be glaring icy daggers at people and ordering people around once again.

"Woof?"

I glanced up, only to see a certain mutt with a wagging tail and a stick in his mouth.

I took a deep breath.

"Really? I've been running around for over two hours! I need some food, and water, and rest, and—"

"Woof!"

"—and it can wait till after we've played with the stick." Sighing, I grabbed the bloody thing. "All right. Let's get started, shall we?"

"Woof, woof!"

For the next hour or so, I played fetch with Fence and...actually ended up having fun. Not that I would ever admit that to that annoying flea bag, of course. He was already far too full of himself.

When the mutt finally decided to take a break, I settled down and pulled out some roasted crab. The meat was by no means as delicious as it had once been. Right now, though, I was too hungry to care. Instead, I was more concerned with the fact that there wasn't much of it left anymore.

Could I find my way back to the beach?

Possibly. If I managed to find a path up the cliff the cave was located in, I might be able to see the beach and go in that direction. Or I could just head downhill and hope for the best. But...I had nothing to keep any water in. By the time I had reached the beach and come back, I would most likely be dying of thirst again. Not to mention one little fact...

I would have to leave Mr Ambrose behind.

Sick.

Unconscious.

Alone.

Nah. Not happening.

Well then, Lilly. You'll just have to use that brilliant brain of yours to find a better plan, right?

I covered my eyes with one hand.

"Hey, Fence?"

"Woof?"

"You don't happen to have a brilliant idea where to get food, do you?"

"Woof!"

"No, I can't go to the store and purchase dog food, Fence."

"W-who's Fence?"

I froze.

Then, slowly, very slowly, I lifted my hand away from my eyes—and met a pair of deep, dark, blue-grey ones. A pair that was incredibly, heart-achingly familiar.

"Mr Ambrose!" Leaping to my feet, I rushed over to him. "You're awake!"

"Do. Not. Run!" he growled, eyes boring into me. "You're preg—"

That was about all he managed to get out before I threw my arms around him and squeezed the life out of him.

"Too...tight!" he wheezed. "Can't...breathe..."

"And I should worry about that why, exactly?" Moving back, I smacked him upside the head and sent him the most deadly glare I could manage. "Didn't seem like you particularly cared if you lived or died when you ate that bloody poisoned fruit!"

"It was a valid tactical decision at the time."

"Oh, it was, was it? So, what would you say to me making such a valid tactical decision next time?"

All I got in response to that was silence. Silence that said more than a thousand expletives.

Ha! Take that!

"My question still stands." Once again, he fixed me with his icy gaze. "Who is Fence?"

I opened my mouth to answer. But before I could—

"Woof! Woofwoofwoofwooooof!"

A shaggy blur shot past me and pounced. A moment later, Mr Rikkard Ambrose landed on his back, with a happily slobbering dog on top of him, licking his face with unbridled enthusiasm.

"What," he enquired with a voice cold enough to freeze the surface of the sun and then some, "is that?"

"That's Fence," I explained, cheerfully. Although I had to admit to the slightest amount of jealousy for the mutt who was still covering Mr Rikkard Ambrose's face in doggy-kisses. "He's happy to meet you."

"You don't say?" The tone of his voice only barely failed to turn me into an icicle. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"Well, then I'm happy to help."

"Mrs Ambrose?"

"Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir?"

"Get. This. Mutt. Off. My. Face."

"Why, yes of course, Sir. Would you like me to put it on your groin instead?"

"Don't you dare!"

"All right, groin it is."

But before I could wreak my vengeance upon my husband for his foolishness, the silly dog ruined my plans. Leaping off Mr Ambrose, he dashed away and, moments later, returned, tail wagging and clutching something in his jaws.

"Mrs Ambrose?"

"Yes, Dicky Darling?"

"Why is that dog trying to shove a stick in my face."

"Well...either he noticed the stick up your arse and thought you could do with a new one..."

"Mrs Ambrose!"

"...or he wants you to play fetch."

He sent me a deadpan look. Deadpan as in "you'll soon be dead because someone is going to smash your head in with a pan".

"I," he stated in no uncertain terms, "do not play."

"I beg to differ. Or do I need to remind you of a certain part during our wedding night, when you—"

"Ehem! Enough of that, now." Pushing himself up into a sitting position, the mighty business mogul fixed me with a censorious stare. It would probably have been more effective if he didn't still have an overgrown puppy trying to shove a stick into his hands. "We don't have the time to waste on jokes, Mrs Ambrose. I need to be brought up to speed on the current situation."

"The current situation, eh?" Cocking an eyebrow, I leaned towards my husband. It said something about Mr Rikkard Ambrose's face that, even covered in dog saliva, it was still the most ravishingly handsome countenance I had ever seen. "Well, Mr Ambrose, Sir...the current situation is that, after you decided to take your impromptu nap, I dragged your arse, along with the stick inside it, into this cave. Somehow, miraculously, I managed to find enough water to survive for the time being. But as far as food goes..."

I held up the sad remnants of the last crab. A dead decapod said more than a thousand words.

He gave a grim nod. "I see."

And then, before I could say or do a single thing, he pushed himself to his feet and staggered towards the entrance of the cave. He had hardly moved two steps before he stumbled and slammed knees first into the ground.

"Mr Ambrose! What the hell are you doing?"

"What do you think?" he wheezed, barely keeping himself from fully keeling over. With trembling arms, he tried to push himself to his feet again—only to once more slump back to the ground. "I am—ng!—going to go out there and—agh!—find some food, of course!"

He somehow managed to push himself to his feet, took a tremulous step forward—then promptly slammed to the ground, panting.

"You," I informed my dear blockhead of a husband, "will not be doing anything in the foreseeable future. Anything other than lying down and enjoying the beautiful view of the stone ceiling, that is."

"But...but...have to...go and..."

Firmly, I pushed him down onto his back. "...lie down. I warn you. If you move, I'll sic Fence on you. I bet he'd just love to lick your face some more."

"...uncalled for, Mrs Ambrose."

"Says the man who ate a happy gaga fruit and left me to lug him around for the next few days." Rising to my feet, I stared him down. Which somehow was incredibly hard even when I was towering over his prone form on the ground. Darn those deep, dark, fathomless eyes of his! "Stay where you are!"

"And leave my pregnant wife to traipse through the jungle alone?" With a growl, he pushed himself up on trembling arms. "In your dreams!"

"Hardly." One corner of my mouth twitched. "In my dreams you wear fewer clothes."

"This is serious!" Arms trembling, he forced himself towards me. Sweat was running down his forehead, and his pupils were unnaturally enlarged. The dark pools drew me in, threatening to drown me. "You don't know how to find food in this place! You don't know what dangers you could encounter!"

I raised my chin. "Then why don't you tell me?"

"I...I'm trying to. I just...just..." He blinked rapidly. "L-listen here. Here's what you have to do..."

"Yes?"

"You... you have to pin the banana peel to the top hat."

I blinked. "Pardon?"

He swayed ever so slightly. And then, for just a fraction of a second he smiled. Mr Rikkard Ambrose smiled.

"And...you've got to look at the pretty clouds...and the bunnies hopping in the sky...oh...so pretty..."

"We're inside a cave. There's a ceiling above us, not a sky."

"Makes it even more pretty!" His hand swaying, he pointed at the rock-solid ceiling. "And there's a pink cloud! And a green one! And a pin-striped one."

"You're still high as a kite, aren't you?"

"Most certainly not, Mrs Lamb Roast! I am perfidiously crane! I mean...perfectly lame! Incorrectly sane!"

"I knew that already."

Apparently, I had underestimated the effects of a certain fruit. I had to act, and act fast. If I didn't get some more water and food into him fast, things might change for the worse.

"You." Stabbing a finger at Fence, I pointed towards Mr Rikkard Ambrose. "Keep an eye on him. If he tries to move, you have my express permission to use him as a chew toy!"

"Woof!"

Was it just me, or did he sound very happy about that?

Smiling ever so slightly, I turned around, and made my way out into the jungle. Time to hunt.

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Ha! Time for Lilly to be the breadwinner of the family. Or rather the meatwinner ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

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GLOSSARY:

Decapod—a word for creatures with ten limbs, such as crabs. It comes from the Greek déka, meaning "ten."