Page 170 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Endzoh

I am gone on my rounds with Khadija far longer than I want to be.

First, one of our traps has been triggered by a merka beast. Normally, they do not stray so close to our village.

But this one is rangy and thin, not strong enough to survive the rains without filling its belly.

Truthfully, even if it could have caught a raskarran unawares and feasted, I do not think it would have been enough.

It is a creature destined to return to Lina’s embrace this season, and so I do not feel shame in putting my blade through its throat.

But then we have to reset the trap, which is arduous work.

It needs taking apart, cleansing of merka beast blood so the wood does not rot before its time, or attract other creatures, or alert sensitive raskarran noses to its presence.

Khadija works beside me, uncomplaining as we take the whole thing down, take each of the components off, clean them thoroughly, and reassemble them.

Merka beasts are not good eating, and the one we have killed has no spare flesh to it anyway, but its pelt will come in handy for something - even if it is only for scraps to stuff a pillow, or for the hunters to use to clean their knives - and bones are always needed for carving new tools.

It would not do to waste such a bounty for the tribe, leaving it in the forest, so I lift the creature’s body over my shoulder, carrying it with me for the rest of our patrol.

It is not heavy, but it is big, and it makes everything else we do that much more slow.

Normally, I would not mind. Patrols are a peaceful time for me.

But today, my headspace is constantly turning back to my Carrie.

The softness of her skin beneath my fingers.

The way she invited me into her hut, trusting me in her private spaces.

I am consumed with a need to see her again, to see her smiles and to know that I have prompted them.

Eventually, we finish our tasks for the morning and turn back to the village.

Most everyone else is gathered at the fire when we arrive - though I am grateful to note that Larzon is not - and the hunters exclaim in teasing tones over the magnificence of my catch.

I shake my head at them, and shove the body into their arms for them to deal with.

Despite their teasing, they are quick to start stripping the corpse into its useful components.

I turn to where the females sit at the other end of the fire.

I see the evidence of my Carrie’s presence - her box of sewing things.

But it is Molly whose fingers dip into the off cuts of fabrics, pulling out pieces and placing them in her lap, intertwining them, then separating them again, as if she is trying to figure something out.

But my Carrie is not here. I wonder if she hides herself away again now my brothers, old and new, are returned to the fire.

I feel a tap on the back of my hand. Khadija. Always it is the back of my hand, as if she knows without needing to ask that I dislike touch.

I turn to my apprentice to find her grinning up at me.

“ Lookinfor Carrie?” she says, her voice low enough that I doubt any other can hear her words.

I do not recognise the words she says, except my Carrie’s name. Even though she grins, I brace for her disapproval, that I would look for her sister even after she has been accosted by Larzon.

Khadija’s expression does not shift, though, and it seems to me that she is pleased by my interest in my Carrie.

“ Gofindherthen ,” she says, shooing me away from the fire.

I arch a brow in question, but she only grins wider, chasing me away once more.

I do as she bids, leaving the fire to go to my Carrie’s hut.

I hope she has not been hiding away inside all day, especially as there cannot be many days between now and the start of the big rains, when we will all have to hide away inside for many sunsets.

She should be enjoying the last of the good weather. The fresh, cooling air on her skin.

I knock on her door, and a moment later, it bursts open.

My Carrie’s excitement is clearly not for me, but the wide smile that spreads across her face when she sees it is me at her door is.

My heartspace pounds to see it, and pounds ever harder when she waves me inside her hut once more, ushering me over to where she is working on something.

I see the flower Larzon gave her has been cut into parts, and feel a thrill of sharp pleasure that she has destroyed it, although I do not immediately understand why. Then she gestures to some sinews she has dyed varying shades of purple with the flower’s parts, and it becomes clear.

I mime sewing, thinking she intends to make more designs with her stitching.

She shakes her head, picking up the sinews and wrapping them about her wrist. Ah, so she intends to make jewellery.

It is not something many raskarrans do, though some among the Wandering tribes make pretty things from shells and dried seed pods and bone carvings.

They are our artisans, but it has been many long seasons since one of them passed through this area of Lina’s forests.

The desire for lovely things has faded in raskarrans anyway, for what is the point of loveliness if it will all go to rot when the last of us has passed into Lina’s embrace.

But now there are younglings and we have a future, and if my female enjoys making lovely things, then I will help her.

There will be more sinews in the carcass the hunters are stripping now.

I will get them to save them for her if Shemza does not need them.

But I also know where there are some other plants that she can use for her colours.

I wonder if she would be happy to go walking with me as Lorna used to with Shemza.

I am not as gentle, or as inviting as Shemza, but she has invited me into her hut twice now, and I hope that means there is sufficient trust between us.

I point to the flower, then gesture between us, then mime walking with my fingers. My Carrie frowns, but then she gestures back to me.

Me walk with you. You show me flowers?

I nod, then stand, waiting for her answer.

My heartspace races so much, I can feel its pulse even in the tips of my ears, and I am sure my face has flushed dark.

I brace for disappointment, always a part of me so certain that I have done something this time that is too much, or that my manner of asking has hurt her feelings.

But my Carrie just smiles, holding up one finger in a gesture I do not understand, before rushing round to gather some of her things.

She picks up a small pack, tucking her slate and chalks inside it, then grabs her waterskin and her little bone knife.

When she is done, she places the pack over her shoulder, grabs the sinews she has already dyed, and smiles up at me.

My Carrie goes to our chieftess before we leave, showing her the dyed threads, then through a series of gestures and letters written on her slate, she explains that I am going to show her where to find more flowers, more colours.

Liv looks pleased, and I wonder afresh what this project is that my Carrie is engaged in.

Something that pleases our chieftess and interests many of her sisters.

Then Liv looks at me, her eyes slightly narrowed, but in appraisal rather than distrust, I think.

“Be. Good. With. Her,” she says, in halting raskarran, but I understand what she asks.

Guard my Carrie’s safety - both her body and her heartspace.

I nod to my chieftess, placing my hand over my heartspace in solemn vow, then collect the pack I take on my patrols, hefting it over my shoulders.

Inside are furs, food supplies, many other things we are not likely to need on a short walk into the trees, but I want Liv to know that I am prepared for anything.

That whatever my Carrie needs, I will be able to provide it for her.

Liv nods her approval, then we are heading away from the edge of the village, my Carrie and myself. Alone.

My headspace buzzes, but it is not the discomforting sound I normally endure.

It is excitement and anticipation and nervousness bubbling round inside it.

My thoughts race faster than an ensouka herd, wondering if I should be trying to communicate with her always, or if she will find that irritating.

Should I attempt to touch her hand, or would that be something she would find undesirable?

The human females like to touch hands with their mates, but I am not my Carrie’s mate, no matter how much I might desire it to be true.

Not her mate yet, I amend in my headspace.

I decide not to touch her hand. Instead, I walk at her side, keeping my awareness fixed on the forest around us, so that she might feel safe and secure, certain that I am taking care of her. It is not a long walk to the place where the flowers grow. I will save interactions with her until then.

Lina’s forests are quiet this day, the usual sounds of birds and creatures rustling absent. The animals have gone to their homes for the rains. It is a sign that they draw ever closer.

If Walset’s tribe does not arrive at our village soon, they will have to journey in the dangerous conditions of the rains.

I only hope Maldek has the good sense to bring the human female, Sam, home quickly should they start.

That tiny female did not ought to be trudging through the mud and water of the big rains.

If it were my Carrie caught in them, I would carry her on my back until I could return her to shelter.