Page 171 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

But, for now, the sun still shines down on Lina’s forest, and my Carrie looks around with wonder in her expression, touching her fingers to the bark of trees or the leaves of climbing vines as we pass.

The human females are like younglings in many ways, experiencing the things in our forests for the first time.

It pleases me that my Carrie finds beauty in the wilderness, that she is not like the females who prefer to never leave the confines of the village.

When we arrive in the clearing where the flowers grow, her eyes go wide, a gasp escaping her lips.

There are not so many flowers growing here and all of them are wilted and sad.

Most plants have already finished flowering this late in the season, but there are always a few remaining, lacklustre in their colouring and shape.

This does not seem to diminish my Carrie’s pleasure though.

She heads straight toward the flowers, running her fingers over the petals, admiring the different colours.

Immediately, she lowers her bag to the floor, taking out her bone knife and a few scraps of cloth.

She sets the cloth out on the floor, then turns her knife towards the first flower - a bloom with petals close in colour to Rachel’s hair.

My Carrie’s knife is pressed to the flower’s stem before she hesitates, turning to me with a question in her gaze.

Is this okay? She asks with her gesture words.

I nod. The big rains will destroy any of these flowers that have not wilted away before they arrive. Taking the heads from the plants will not mean that new plants do not grow, only that the colour of the flower is not wasted.

My Carrie slices off several of the flowers, sorting them into piles on the cloths, like colours with like.

When she is done, she wraps them carefully so that they do not mingle when she places them back in her bag.

I help her to tie up her little parcels, enjoying the simple pleasure of working beside her.

When we are done, my Carrie looks to me and gestures back to the village, her brows raised in question once more.

I look back that way, and I know I should return her to the village, but selfishly, I desire more time spent in her company.

My skittering thoughts arrive at an idea that pleases me, and I gesture in the opposite direction to the village.

I wish to show you something. These are the words I wish to gesture to her, but our hand words are not so many as to speak them.

Instead, I point to myself, make the ‘see’ gesture, then point to her.

A heat creeps into my chest and I think she is surely going to point to the village once more and insist we return.

Instead, she gives me an amused grin, then shoulders her pack, gesturing for me to lead the way.

It is not much further. This part of the forest is an area I patrol regularly, and I am familiar with its arrangement.

I cut through the trees until we come to a small stream - one of the many that wind through our territory.

It is not large, but it is more than a step for my Carrie, so I stand astride it, then take her hand, helping her to leap over it.

When we are both firmly footed on the other side, she does not let go of my hand, and my heartspace thrills at the feeling of her fingers twined with mine.

Then we come to the place I wish to show her.

At first, it is not much to look at - a simple cave, not even a large, spacious one.

It is sufficient shelter to rest in, but the ceiling has eroded, and great holes let through shafts of light - along with any rain or other weather a raskarran might be trying to shelter from.

The reason I have brought my Carrie to this place, though, is not to rest. It is because one side of the cave has been worn smooth over many seasons, its surface strange and unusual for rock.

But perfect for drawing on.

My Carrie makes the connection immediately, going up to the smooth wall and tracing her hands along it, her smile as wide as I have ever seen it.

She drops her pack to the floor and rummages through it, locating her chalks, then draws one of Ahnjas’ smiling faces, large sweeping curves making the smile and the round shape of the face.

I remove my own pack, taking out one of the furs that I have stashed inside it.

I roll it up into a tube, taking it to her.

I place it on the ground, then gesture for her to kneel on it, so the padding might protect her knees from the hard floor.

She looks up at me then, and there is joy in her expression.

Her eyes meet mine, and they are almost watery with happiness.

And she is so close, so near to me that I can feel the heat of her, her scent filling my nose.

It would be nothing at all to lower my face to the crook of her neck and breathe deep, and my stomach dances and spins at the thought.

My hand hovers above her back, everything in me wanting to touch her, to cross this boundary that exists between us.

Everything in me except the voice in my headspace that argues that she has already been pushed once by Larzon, that I should not push her again so soon.

It is quieter than all the other desires that race through my blood, but I know I would be a fool not to listen to it.

I will not do anything that would put in my Carrie’s headspace thoughts of that male.

So I give my Carrie a nod, then retreat to the other side of the cave.