Page 159 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER SIX

Endzoh

T he whole time I am watching my Carrie work, my heartspace thunders in my chest. It is as if Lina has heard my conversation with Callif, as if she has granted me this chance. I send out a prayer of thanks to my goddess, and for Callif’s recovery as well.

It does not take my Carrie long to complete the patch on a pair of leathers that are so small, they must belong to Jassal.

Younglings wear through clothes quicker than they can even grow out of them, and it must be a great relief to Sally and Jaskry to have aid in keeping up with the making and repair of the clothing.

My Carrie has mostly been busy with making raskarran clothes better fit her sisters, but soon there will be new younglings needing things to wear.

I wonder if she is excited at the thought.

Does she enjoy fixing things and making clothes?

Some of the human females were very unhappy in the work their tribe required them to do, but I do not think that is the case with my Carrie.

I think she takes a great deal of pride in what she does.

My curiosity grows as she finishes her repair, but takes out more thread. There is nothing further required for the patch. I know enough about sewing to know that. My grandfather’s leather working was not so delicate as the sewing my Carrie does, but the principle of it is the same.

I watch as she punctures the patch on the leathers, creating a single large stitch.

It is not neat and barely noticeable like the others - the pale sinew thread stark against the much darker leather.

Then she does another few stitches, and I do not understand, because she does not stitch in a line, rather outwards from points on a circle.

It is only when she is almost all the way round that I realise her clusters of stitches are petals. She has sewn a little flower.

Unable to help myself, I shuffle closer, moving into a seat next to hers.

She looks up at me, surprised, but not startled, and I take that as a good sign that I do not need to back away from her.

Still, I am careful and slow as I raise a hand towards the little pattern she has made, trace my finger over it.

It is a lovely thing. I can imagine how well pleased Jassal will be to have something so pretty on her clothing.

My Carrie looks up at me, a question in her eyes as she gives me the ‘good’ gesture.

I nod, trying to smile in a nice way, though I fear it comes across more as a grimace.

I am not a natural smiler any more than I am a talker.

My Carrie looks pleased, though, and I think there is a touch of blush in her cheeks.

I sit up a little straighter, my chest growing full.

And it is a different feeling to pride in my apprentice, or happiness for my brothers.

It is something deeper, more satisfying.

I wish to make her look pleased all the time, for the intensity of the pleasure it gives me.

But I am conscious that I have crowded next to her, and though she might be comfortable to show me what she has created, I fear she might grow uneasy at my closeness if I have no other reason for it.

So I sit back in my seat, creating some distance that I immediately regret, even though I know it is the right thing to do.

My Carrie is not the most nervous of the human females, but I need to be careful.

If my heartspace fills with joy in her happiness, I fear it would snap in two if she reverted to fearing me after we have shared this moment.

Claim her, before it is too late, Callif’s voice urges me.

My Carrie folds Jassal’s leathers, then places them on the chair next to her, turning her attention to her basket once more.

She pulls out another pair that must belong to one of the females, for she takes a little bone knife to the bottom of them, slicing away some of the material to shorten them, then folds the leather over itself and stitches it up so the edges are neat.

I should probably do something with my own hands, but I was not doing anything in particular before she arrived, and I like to watch her work.

I have done it often since the females arrived in our village.

Her little hands are so neat and quick, and it is very satisfying to watch something be mended.

It is pleasant to raskarran spirits to make the most of what our forest offers us.

A creature died to provide the skins to make the materials our clothes are made from.

That creature fed us, also, provided medicines and materials.

The more parts we can utilise of an animal we hunt, and the more use we can get from each individual part, the more we honour its sacrifice.

My Carrie takes the offcuts and places them in her basket to use at another time. She honours the creature that provided the leather well.

She glances up from her work and catches me watching her.

I nearly duck my head - what I would have done in any other circumstance - but I find I cannot stop myself from looking at her.

She is so lovely, especially in the soft light of the fire.

It is altogether too easy to picture her in my hut, sitting in my chair as she works, the two of us existing together in this pleasant silence.

Silence. The noise in my headspace - the low hum that has been part of my existence every time I have been in the company of another. It is gone.

I must show some of my surprise and confusion on my face, for my Carrie gives me a questioning look.

Unlike with me, it is easy to read her emotions on her face.

Or perhaps it is just that I have spent overlong studying it from a distance, growing familiar with how she looks when she is sad, discomfited, happy, delighted.

I tap my head and do the finger gesture for spinning thoughts again. I gesture in the general direction of the huts, where my new brothers are sleeping - or eagerly trying to - maybe even dreaming of one of the females. Then I tap my head and put my fingers in my ears.

My Carrie tips her head to the side. Then she gestures to the huts, then cups her hand around her ears before putting her fingers in them, then taps her head and puts her fingers in her ears, a question in her gaze once again.

Do you mean they are noisy, or that they make your headspace noisy?

It is a strange thing to feel delighted that she understands what it is to have a noisy headspace. I would not wish it on anyone, but emotion swells inside me all the same as I tap my head and put my fingers in my ears.

She nods. Then she closes her hand into a fist and taps it twice against her chest.

Me, also.

I am so busy trying to contain my emotions at this that I almost miss her next gestures. She points to herself, then taps her head and points to me, before putting her fingers in her ears.

Do I make your headspace noisy?

I shake my head, point to her, then put my fingers to my lips, pressing them together. In my eagerness to explain this strange and wonderful development to her, I do not realise how that might hurt her until her face drops.

My heartspace clenches, and I rush to clarify my meaning, hating that I am so bad with words - even when I am speaking them with my hands, not my mouth.

I point to her, point to my head, then repeat the quiet gesture. I do this two more times, then realise I am being foolish, and just drop my head, wishing there were a way that I could disappear from this village forever.

Then I feel a gentle tap on my knee. I am not much for being touched.

My brothers are physical with each other, always giving friendly touches.

Grips to the shoulder, a hand on the back, a full embrace.

It is the natural raskarran way, but as with other natural raskarran ways, my heartspace and headspace do not align with it.

If conversation makes my headspace buzz, touch makes my skin buzz.

I can tolerate it, will use this way of speaking my feelings when I have to.

But I do not like it. It is yet another reason I have considered myself unsuitable as a mate.

What female would want a male who does not like to be touched?

And yet, feeling my Carrie’s touch - even this small, impersonal touch she uses to get my attention - it is like a fire has been set in my skin. Heat and desire race through my body, and I like it. I want more of it. More of her.

But if I am to have more, I must first make amends for my unintentional unkindness.

I look up, bracing myself for her anger, but she only smiles at me in that sweet way that I do not deserve.

She points to herself, then puts a knuckle to the corner of her eye, twisting it a few times, then taps her throat, her mouth, and shakes her head.

Then she taps herself, traces her fingers over the shape of her smile, then touches my head and makes the quiet gesture, before placing her palm over her chest.

I am sad that I cannot speak, but I am happy that your headspace is quiet with me.

Then she smiles again, turning back to her sewing, colour blooming once more in her cheeks.

It takes everything in me not to scoop her into my arms and hold her to me.

The fierceness of that desire is shocking, the opposite to everything I thought I knew about myself.

I watch her as she works, tracing again the things about her that I do not like - all the little pieces of perfection that make her.

The way her brow furrows in concentration, the way her lips press together when she studies a finished repair, making sure she has done it correctly.

I do not like them because they make me want her, and this has always felt like wanting something that would be bad.

A female who would make me unhappy in the end, as I am not like my brothers.

I could not show her the devotion she deserves while my headspace buzzes at her presence and my skin buzzes at her touch.

Her sadness at this would be mine tenfold. A miserable situation for both of us.

Could you stand to see your female with another?

Callif knows I could not. That no male ever could.

I just was not certain I could stand to have her with me. Admiration from a distance seemed the safest path.

But with my Carrie my headspace is silent. My skin tingles with the echo of her touch. These things tell me that I could be a mate to her in the proper way. The way that a female so fine as she deserves. It is not that I do not desire company or touch. It is that I only desire hers.

I think of Darran’s brothers’ eagerness. Of Callif’s musings on how the females might decide to choose a mate using their ways.

Claim her, Endzoh. Before it is too late.

My Carrie finishes the leathers, folding them neatly and returning them to her basket.

She does not take out another garment, instead leaning back in her chair, turning her face up to the night sky, her breathing the slow rhythm of tiredness.

I am starting to feel tired myself, also, her presence calming the spinning in my headspace enough to allow sleepiness to creep in.

She looks to me, gestures back to her hut. I nod, but I am reluctant to part company with her, wanting to remain beside her for as long as I can. Like the foolish male that I am.

So I gesture to her basket, picking it up for her. She does not need me to carry it, it is not heavy, but it is something. A little kindness I can do for her. A selfish sort of kindness, for it gets me what I want, also.

My Carrie smiles at me, though she does look a little amused. I do not mind if she sees my foolishness. I am a fool only for her.

We walk together. It is only a short distance back to her hut, and we arrive far too quickly for my heartspace.

On her doorstep, I hand her back her things, and she gives me an awkward little bow in thanks, her hands gripping the basket and unable to gesture to me.

I give her an awkward little bow back, unsure what else to do.

To my great delight, another little laugh slips past her lips.

Just a tiny sound. I would never have heard it if it were not so late in the evening, when all other sounds have quieted.

But even small things can be transformative, and that sound lodges deep inside me, filling my chest with a fizzing kind of pleasure.

She sets the basket down, then raises a hand to her mouth, pressing her fingers to her lips, then moving her hand down, her fingers outstretched towards me. As she does it, her lips form the shape of words.

Maha shun.

Thank you.

I do not know why she thanks me, though I am sure it is not for carrying her basket. Still, as I walk back to my hut, I am full of a lightness of spirit that I have never felt before, every part of me lifted by her smiles, her laughter. Elevated further by her thanks.

And in this moment I know that I will not stop at this.

I will not be able to. I will find ways to learn her.

Find other ways to make her smile and laugh.

It might go against all my natural inclinations toward solitude, but I want this female with a strength that only grows with every new discovery I make about her, every new interaction we have.

This desire in my heartspace will not be denied.

And I will not try to any longer.