Page 118 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER FIVE

Shemza

M y head is still spinning with Endzoh’s words as I head out into the trees with Lorna.

It is not just that he spoke actual words, but the implication.

She is not raskarran .

I have been thinking of her as not raskarran, and I have not.

I do not think her capable of all the things a raskarran female would be - I would not expect her soft little claws to aid her in scaling trees, for instance, nor do I expect her to be as strong or fast. But these are all differences in the body.

I had not considered differences in the headspace. At least, not when it comes to mating.

Is it possible that the dreamspace might not form between us, even though we have fulfilled all the conditions that would cause it for two raskarrans? Is there some other condition that humans require?

Perhaps the longing I feel in my heartspace - insistent longing that deepens with each passing sunset - is Lina trying to form our bond.

Perhaps something in Lorna will not allow the bond to take.

It is strange to consider that the humans have a power that Lina cannot overcome, but Lina is of these forests, not the world where the humans are from.

Perhaps it is a bit like me trying to speak with Lorna.

We do not use the same words - it is not impossible to get through to each other, but it is more difficult.

This thought creates a warmth in my stomach, a sensation of rightness.

It is a logical explanation, not just one that suits my own desires.

Hope sparks in my chest, bright and urgent.

And maybe I am a fool, but I let it fill me.

My heartspace will never beat for another, I am sure of that.

I will find out what the humans need to form a mating bond, and I will do it for Lorna.

I will show her in human ways that I can be a good mate to her.

Then maybe her heartspace will open to me enough for the bond to form.

My whole body feels energised, and it is difficult to keep my pace slow and steady to match Lorna’s. I am like a youngling before his naming day, wanting to race around to use up some of his excitement.

But I must put it all aside. I must focus on Lorna.

The purpose of these walks is for her to exercise, and there is a fine line between stretching the body’s capabilities and pushing it too far.

I do not want to set back her recovery by making her go further than she should, not when she has fought hard to reach the point she is at now.

Besides, I am no more knowledgeable on the subject of human mating than I was a moment before.

I am like an apprentice hunter, wanting to fire his bow before he has had a chance to properly assess the situation and decide the best course.

I must be patient. It is not usually something I have great difficulty with, but where Lorna is concerned, I find I am behaving in many ways that are not like me.

I decide to begin with a very easy path.

There is a small incline not far from the village that leads to one of our supply huts.

It is not a climb that will require strenuous effort, even by small human legs, but it will challenge Lorna some.

When we arrive at the summit, there will be a comfortable place to sit and rest for a while.

But before we strike out in that direction, I gesture for Lorna to stop. She cants her head to the side in question and I smile before walking back and forward in front of her at a rapid pace.

“Fast,” I say, then walk very slowly. “Slow.”

Lorna’s lips curl with amusement at my antics, then realisation widens her eyes.

“Oh!” she says. “ Fast .” She walks quickly herself. “ Slow.”

“Fast. Slow. ” I repeat the words until they have stuck in my mind. I know few of the human words - only really those relating to healing. I can ask if something is painful and name most of the limbs. It does not make for good regular conversation.

I set off at a steady pace. The paths to the hut are clear, well trod by raskarran feet. There will be no scrambling over fallen branches or wading through muck today. Just a simple, relaxing walk so that I can get a measure of her strength, assess the point from which we are progressing.

It is a bright day, a breeze rustling the leaves with some vigour.

Good weather for walking. Some heat from the hot season lingers still, and the breeze keeps the body cool, the spirit refreshed.

The air is laden with the scent of approaching rain and it is one of my favourite smells.

Between the weather, the flavour of the air and Lorna at my side, it is difficult to imagine I could be more contented.

“Shemza, slow?”

She does not sound breathless, her voice strong, but quiet. I turn, wondering if she has perhaps pulled a muscle in her leg, or turned her ankle awkwardly. But she just stands, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond her, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

I follow her gaze to where a bird is bouncing about on a fallen tree trunk some distance from us, searching for leaves and twigs, I suspect, to shore up his nest ahead of the big rains.

It chirps in that imperious bird way, like it is raskarran sized, not small enough to sit on the palm of my hand, then launches itself upwards into the trees.

“ Thank you, ” Lorna says, and smiles up at me, gesturing for me to continue.

I nod and carry on, but now I am watching the trees closely for any signs of fluttering wings, of darting beaks, of beady little eyes looking for twigs or bugs. If it pleases Lorna to see birds, then we shall stop for every one.

The forest provides. As soon as I start looking, it seems that there are birds everywhere to see.

I grin as I point them out to Lorna, because she exclaims softly at every one, delight making her brown eyes bright.

We do not walk so far, both of us absorbed in our game of finding them.

They are mostly the busy dors birds - fairly plain looking creatures with brown feathers, the males slightly darker than the females, so they are possible to tell apart when next to one another.

The forest is home to some spectacular, colourful birds, but they do not often stray so close to our village.

The noises of our comings and goings scare them off, even if we are no threat to them.

Dors birds are stubborn, wilful little things, and could not be less concerned about the comings and goings of raskarrans.

An attribute proved when one lands on the pathway in front of us.

Lorna gasps, and actually grabs at me, her hand pressing to my arm, her fingers squeezing slightly at my flesh.

It is a soundless communication of her excitement to see the bird so close, nothing more, but my body reacts as if she has lit a fire under my skin, my blood boiling with need.

It is as if everything narrows down in my awareness to the five points where her fingers press against my skin, my heartspace pounding faster with every passing second.

Then the bird darts away. Lorna releases me, and the world rushes back into place.

She gives me a dazzling smile, then continues walking down the path ahead of me.

I watch her a moment, tracking the sway of her hips as she steps, her backside strangely bare without a tail - something I am still yet to grow fully used to with the human females - then follow on behind her.

As we come close to the final stretch of our journey, I can see that the effort is starting to take a toll on Lorna. She breathes heavier, her steps a little less sure. She is not exhausted, but much more pushing onwards, and she will be. I tap her shoulder and as she turns to me I say, “Not far.”

I hold my hands a long distance apart. “Far.” Bring them close together. “Not far.”

Lorna nods. “ Ahm good.”

Good . This is one of the words I know, but she accompanies it with a gesture, closing her hand into a fist and pointing her thumb upwards.

“ Good?” I say, mimicking the gesture.

“ Yes, good. ” She repeats the gesture, then turns her hand so the thumb is pointing downwards. “ Bad. Good. Bad.”

She alternates back and forth a couple of times, then holds her hand flat, her fingers slightly parted, and twists her wrist from side to side.

“ Okay, ” she says, indicating the new gesture.

Good, bad, okay. This is useful. I did not know that the humans spoke words with their hands. It is something the hunters do to communicate with each other when they need to be silent. I can teach these gestures to my brothers and it will give them new ways to speak with our sisters.

I point to Lorna’s feet, then go through the three gestures, starting with good and working down to bad.

Lorna laughs, a sound that sends pleasant shivers down my neck, and holds her hand flat in the ‘ okay’ signal.

I point in the direction we have come from and then in the direction we are heading.

To my delight, she points in the direction we are heading.

She wishes to continue our walk. The healer in me is pleased with her determination and the display of endurance.

The male in me wants to puff up my chest with pride that she is choosing to spend more time in my company.

It is not long before the incline begins.

It is not steep, but it is quite long, and the sustained effort is clearly difficult for Lorna.

I wish I had the words to tell her that she is doing so well, that she is strong to be working this hard so soon after such a terrible sickness, that I admire her greatly for her determination and her grit.

But all I have are three hand signals, so I ask her with them regularly if she is okay to continue, and she says that she is every single time.