Page 121 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

“You enjoying it? I think it’s beautiful out here. I don’t know why the others don’t venture out a little more.”

“I was a bit nervous at first. I wasn’t in any rush to leave the village either, but you’re right. It is beautiful. I’ve seen so many birds.”

There must have been birds as we walked back from the beach.

There was certainly the monstrously large one that Ellie killed for us to eat.

But if I saw any other than that one, I don’t remember it.

Those days are a fog of hurt and exhaustion, struggling to put one foot in front of the other to keep up with everyone, then collapsing into my tent the moment it was erected.

Most of the time, my eyes were only focused on the piece of ground in front of me, making sure there weren’t any stray roots or logs that could trip me over.

But today I’ve seen so many. And they’re so different in the wild.

That first one that caught my eye - a spirited little thing with speckled brown feathers that was darting about collecting twigs - had so much life to it.

I think of the birds in Robert’s aviary, trapped in their heavy wrought iron cages, nothing but a perch inside for them to sit on.

They weren’t there to live good lives. They were ornaments, and their eyes were dulled of all life and vitality, no character left in them.

Do you know why I keep birds?

Robert’s voice, echoing out of the past.

It was the first thing he did when our engagement was decided - took me on a little tour of the aviary. Stood me in the middle of all the awful cages and asked that question.

Because you like to show off, I thought at the time. Birds like the ones Robert had were rare - inhabitants of the rainforests that had been destroyed decades before. They only existed in collector zoos now, and owning them was a sign of great wealth.

But it was never just about the wealth with Robert.

I realise that now I’m a little older, wiser.

He wasn’t the sort to enjoy extravagance for extravagance’s sake.

I don’t think anyone on the top tier really was.

My own parents threw lavish parties because it gave the impression they were more wealthy than they were.

For them, it was all about hiding the true state of their bank accounts, never giving any hint of how close they were to destitution.

For Robert, extravagance was about power.

If he was wealthy enough to own live birds, that made him the wealthiest man in the room.

He wanted people to know that, wanted them to see in a glance the power he had, and how he could use that power to exert control over everything in his environment.

Control over nature, control over his associates. Control over me.

I didn’t answer his questions at the time, anyway. My thoughts on the matter were never the point.

“In most bird species,” Robert said, “it’s the male who has the bright plumage.

The male is the one to whom nature endowed all the best attributes.

The superiority of the male is indisputable.

It’s in the colouring on his feathers, plain for everyone to see.

The females, by comparison, are smaller, plainer.

It’s a pattern you see repeated in nature all the time, but it’s particularly clear with birds.

It’s a reminder for humanity. Men are the superior sex.

A man’s woman should be by his side - beautiful in her own way, but never outshining him. ”

And in the insect world, the much larger female eats the male after having sex with him, I wanted to say, but didn’t.

People like Robert see what they want to see.

The narrative is just another thing for them to control.

Besides, I knew he wasn’t just telling me this to impress me with his intellectualism.

It was an instruction. The framework I needed to fit within as his soon-to-be wife.

Much as I hated it, I knew there was no point trying to fight back against it.

There weren’t any iron bars around me, but I was every bit as much in a cage as the rest of his birds.

“Lorna?” Ellie’s voice is as gentle as the hand she places on my arm. “Are you okay? You looked a very long way away, then.”

“Fine,” I say, feeling anything but. My skin crawls with the memory of Robert’s touch, his hand against my back, the acrid stink of the aviary that somehow I could always smell on him, even past the wretched aftershave. “Just remembering someone. From before.”

“Someone you miss?”

“Someone I’d rather forget.”

Ellie nods. “I think we all have them.”

In the silence that follows her statement, I can hear the rain has slowed to a trickle outside.

The roll of thunder is distant, quiet. Anghar goes to the hut door and opens in, the smell of damp soil and rainfall wafting into the hut.

I let it fill my lungs, wash out the remembered scent of the aviary.

“Guess we’re getting wet again,” Ellie says, rising to her feet.

“We’re living in a rainforest. I think it’s part of the deal.”

Ellie laughs, shaking out the furs and folding them back onto the cot.

Anghar and Shemza use mud to put out the fire, then we all head out into the drizzle and start to walk home.

My legs feel heavy, achy from the walk out here, but it’s downhill for the first stretch, and then it’s not far to the village.

I could go to the pools, have a soak in the hot water before eating that monster we’ve got for dinner tonight, then curl up in my bed for an early night, furs tucked all around me.

And dream of Shemza’s thumb on my lip, what might have happened if we were different people in different circumstances.

In my imagination, he lowers his head to mine.

Brushes his lips over my lips. Sinks his hands into my hair as he tips my head back, deepening the kiss.

Rosa’s stories provide me plenty of ideas, and heat sparks between my thighs again.

I can never have the real thing, the dreamspace.

What’s in my head needs to stay in my head.

But if I want to cast Shemza in a few of Rosa’s stories, stave off the loneliness with a few fantasies…

I don’t see that there’s any harm in that.

The next step I take, my foot sinks deeper than I’m expecting, the ground coming loose under my foot. I yelp as I slide, and Ellie grabs me round the waist to keep me upright.

“It’s the rains,” she says. “The ground is so soaked, it collapses under our weight. Did you turn your ankle?”

I rotate my foot. “No, it’s fine.”

“It should be more stable as we get on flatter ground. Just be glad you’re not still stomping around in your Mercenia boots.”

Ellie releases her grip on me. I ease into my next step, and the ground holds beneath me. For the rest of the walk home, though, I concentrate only on where I’m putting my feet.