Page 169 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

“I know. And God knows, you all deserve better than most human guys. But like I said to Carrie yesterday, I think if these guys could get their heads out of their own arses for a minute, they would be horrified to realise how they’ve made you feel.

They’re confused and they’re desperate. We’ve upended the entire way they think about lovers.

I don’t think they want to be dicks, they just don’t know how to be around us.

There were rules about how mating works, and now there aren’t. ”

“Well, maybe we should make them some rules?” Ellie suggests. “Invent some clear signals so they know who can be approached, who they need to leave alone, what they can do to signal their interest that’s both obvious and has a definite yes or no response.”

“I think they’d probably appreciate that,” Lorna says. “Shemza’s always asking me to talk about human relationships so he can help the others to understand. But it just confuses him. There are too many subtleties.”

“And we all know raskarrans are many things, but subtle isn’t one of them,” Liv says, her lips quirking upwards.

“We could make something to wear?”

We all turn to look at Molly, who blushes at our sudden attention.

“I just thought,” she continues, “it would be easy for them to see. And it wouldn’t get in our way. Like something around your wrist.”

“A bracelet.” Liv nods. “That could work.”

“Different colours for different meanings,” Ellie says. “So, one for people who are open to mating, one for people who aren’t, so the raskarrans know to leave them alone. Can we dye things different colours?”

She looks to me. I pick up my slate.

Yes but dont no how

“Someone here will have some ideas,” Liv says.

“You can use plants to dye things,” Lorna says. “I ruined a dress once getting lily pollen on it. Turned a patch of the fabric bright orange and wouldn’t wash out. Maybe there are some flowers here that would have a similar effect?”

“If we worked that out, do you think you could make bracelets, Carrie?”

I know how to make a braid of thread. It wouldn’t be difficult to simply tie one around someone’s wrist. I nod, but I look at Molly, wiping off my slate and writing her a message.

Yoo help?

“Me?” Molly looks startled.

“Well, it was your idea,” Liv says, smiling at her.

With that decided, we discuss how the raskarrans can signal their interest, eventually settling on the same system.

They wear a coloured bracelet if they want a mate.

Then either the raskarran or the human in question can go to the other and offer to exchange bracelets.

If they agree to an exchange, then that signals that they are dating.

One colour for raskarrans, one for humans.

If a human wears a raskarran coloured bracelet, you know she’s taken, and vice versa.

“We’ll have to be careful about it,” Liv says.

“‘Dating’ is not a concept raskarrans are familiar with. They would need to know that it isn’t a guarantee of mating, and that a dating relationship can break down.

I’ll have to talk to Gregar about it, but I think this could work.

Will you make a start on the bracelets, Carrie? ”

I nod, but I’m thinking about the flower Larzon gave me.

Would its pollen be strong enough to change the colour of the white sinews that I use as thread?

I could just do white sinew and brown hair, but I want the girls to have something lovely to wear.

There are different ways of weaving threads together, too. I’ll have to do some experimentation.

After lunch, I head back to my hut with a handful of white sinews.

I set them down on my sideboard, then pluck Larzon’s flower out of the cup Khadija set it in.

I wonder what Lorna meant when she said lily pollen.

A lily is a type of flower, and the pollen must be part of it.

Of course, raskarran flowers could be completely different to the ones back home, but then I think about how the raskarrans are essentially the same shape as humans - just with a few added extras - and perhaps the same applies to their plants.

I examine the flower closely. The large purple petals are slightly rubbery, but full of colour.

Perhaps if I mulched them up the way Rachel does with her medicines, I could transfer that colour onto the thread.

Then there are the strange bead-like bits that jut out from the centre of the flower.

I trace my fingers over one and a purple-coloured dust transfers onto my skin.

I know a little about flowers - one of the services Ms Isserman offered was finding ways to match bridal gowns to the flowers the bride would be carrying - so I have some language to describe them with.

But I have no words for these inner parts.

Could this dust be the pollen Lorna referred to?

I dip my fingers in the water in my sink, rinse the dust away.

When I pull my fingers out, they’re stained purple.

This could work.

I take out my small wooden chopping board and a bone knife - never used before, as we’ve always cooked communally.

With the rains coming, I’m going to have to get better acquainted with them.

I set the flower down on the chopping board and carefully slice the bead-like pieces from the top of the flower, then set the rest of it aside.

Using the flat of my blade, I crush the little beads, creating a lot of purple dust. I take out a small bowl, scraping the dust into it, before adding a few drips of water and mixing it with one of my spoons.

The utensil stains a bright purple colour.

Probably ruined for eating with, but I’m too excited to care.

Pressing the sinews into the purple liquid, I stir everything with the spoon once more.

I leave it a few minutes to soak before tipping the whole lot into the sink.

I run my fingers over the sinews beneath the water, the murky purple colour spiralling through the liquid too dilute to stain my skin any further.

The sinews, however, are a bright, vibrant shade and cleaning them in the water doesn’t do anything to diminish the colour.

My heart flutters, excitement filling my belly.

I look over to where my slate is propped against the wall. I haven’t rubbed out the message from Lorna, but I’ve been holding the slate, using the other side of it. The words are smudged and faded, but still there.

Rest, tea, joy.

I look at the purple sinews. Let the joy of success flood me.