Giant brown eyes watch me with such suspicion, I'm pretty sure their owner thinks I'm a very hungry dragon with toddler on the menu.
I pretend not to notice the tiny human's approach. Looking directly might spook her—or worse, encourage her to come closer. The bunny ears on her onesie bounce with each determined step, her diapered bottom swaying like a pendulum as she toddles across the uneven stone floor.
My kidnapper—can I even call him that now?—thrusts three sticks toward me. Each holds several bright red strawberries coated in a crystalline shell that catches the dim light. Tanghulu. I'd seen pictures of it before; fruit skewers dipped in sugar syrup that hardens into a candy coating.
The man's face remains impassive, nearly hostile, as if handing me this sweet treat is equivalent to passing over the keys to his entire fortune.
I accept them cautiously.
Not a word has been spoken in the ten minutes since I regained consciousness, lying on a pile of thin fleece blankets.
