Page 182 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Endzoh

I let Gregar know about the flutterwings. His expression is grim, and I know he is thinking about Maldek and the human female Sam, somewhere out in the trees. They should have returned by now, that knowledge growing more certain with every day that passes.

“Who has the clearest head?” he says. “Who might go out to look for them?”

My head is clear of poffi berry drink, but I confess, even now, my attention is half on my female as she carries her things from her hut to mine.

“I will go,” Vantos says, rising from his seat.

Gregar nods, and Vantos goes to his linasha, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, before heading to collect his weapons.

“All the good news in our tribe these last few sunsets,” Gregar says. “I will only feel fully free to celebrate when our brother and sister are returned to us.”

But he grins at me, reaching across to grip my shoulder.

“I am happy for you, brother. My linasha is well pleased for yours, also.”

I do not correct him. Do not say that the dreamspace has not come to us yet. It does not matter. It will. I know it will.

I receive some stares from Darran’s brothers as I head back to my seat at the fire, but none challenge me with questions.

Either their heads are too sore to pick fights, or they have finally accepted that human females are not objects, not prizes to be won.

Even Larzon does not manage to muster much heat into his glare, and he quickly looks away from me.

My heartspace does beat a little sympathy for them.

I know I am the luckiest of males to have such a fine female to call my own.

But I will not feel undeserving of that honour any more, only work to be deserving of it.

Which is what they should have been doing all along.

It does not take long for my Carrie to move her belongings into my hut.

When I come to offer my assistance, I find that she is already finished, just moving her things around within my space.

Her sewing basket, her clothes - a surprisingly small amount, considering how hard she always works at her sewing projects.

Because she does everything for everyone else first, I think.

Because there will always be clothes to make for growing younglings, and repairs to make.

I will find her some good fabrics, I think.

When the rains pass, I will suggest seeking out the Wandering tribes.

It would only be right to let them meet the females, in case any find their mates among them.

And with the tribe so much grown, we will need the supplies that trade with the wanderers can bring us.

Yes. Fabrics for my Carrie, so she can make herself a dress like the one she drew on the cave wall.

My Carrie pushes her hair back as she surveys her belongings, but I catch her hand, tugging her outside.

She shoots me a confused look, gesturing to the piles of things she has yet to sort.

I shake my head, miming rainfall with my fingers.

The sun is shining this day and with the rains due to arrive, we should make the most of it.

There is a lazy atmosphere in the village.

Sally is the centre of her sisters’ attention, all of them wishing to hold little Marsal.

Sally is generous with her daughter, passing her round to every waiting pair of arms, until the sounds of her hungry distress ring out. Then she takes her back to feed.

My Carrie takes her bag of flowers to Molly, showing them all to her.

The two of them work together to dye the sinews my Carrie has in her sewing supplies, and I fetch her the ones Anghar saved for me from the merka beast. She smiles up at me with such gratitude, and I know it pleases her that I see her, that I have always seen her, despite her silence.

I am pleased for her that Molly seems genuine in her interest, studying my Carrie’s motions as she weaves together the coloured sinews with strips of leather, making the cord for her jewellery.

My female has an apprentice of her own, I think, and this is good, for if Molly learns the skills of sewing, she will be able to do many of the more simple repairs quickly.

It will give my Carrie more time to work on projects for her own satisfaction.

Across the fire, Grace watches her youngling, a proud smile on her face.

Things feel good. Things feel right . I do not know if my satisfaction is only my own, or if the others feel the same sense of rightness in the air on this last nice day before the rains. I sit back in my chair, basking in it.

Of course it is Rardek who disturbs the peace, appearing from somewhere with djossi nets in his hand.

“If this is to be the last day before the rains, then we should take best advantage of that,” he says, speaking to no one and everyone, approaching where Jassal and Ahnjas are sitting playing with blocks together, Jassal entertaining her brother with endless patience.

“It has been so long since we have had numbers enough for a good game,” he continues. “Jassal, would you like to be the chieftess of a team?”

“I don’t know how to play,” she says, even as she accepts a net.

“I will show you. First, we must pick our teammates.”

Ahnjas reaches a hand out towards the nets.

“I choose Ahnjas,” Rardek says, picking him up and lifting him onto his shoulders, prompting a burst of joyful laughter from the little one. “If his mother is okay with his participation?”

Rardek bows to Sally as much as he can while carrying Ahnjas. Sally laughs.

“Of course he can play,” she says. “I don’t know this game.”

“It is a very simple game,” Rardek says. “You will have an understanding of it very quickly. Who will you have on your team, Jassal?”

Jassal looks round, her eyes landing on Molly.

“Molly, wannabeonmyteem? ”

Molly looks very unsure, but my Carrie gives her an encouraging nod, taking the cord she was weaving from her hand.

“ Idunnohowtaplay ,” Molly says. “ Duyoo?”

“No.” Jassal laughs. “ Bud Ahnjas fallsoverwenneewalks. Ahthinkwecanwin. ”

There is such mischief in Jassal’s smile, it is impossible not to smile back at her. I do not understand her words, but they prompt much amusement in the females.

Most of us follow Rardek out to the edge of the village, where there is space enough to mark out the shape of a court.

In the old days, there was a permanent space for this sort of thing, maintained by the elders and used by my brothers and me as younglings.

But as the tribe shrank, the enthusiasm for such things faded.

It is nice to see one more thing returned to our tribe.

A game is something so inconsequential, and yet, an ache is soothed in my heartspace to see Darsha setting two large baskets at either end of the court.

An ache I had grown so accustomed to, I had forgotten I ever felt it.

Darsha squats down to Jassal’s level, talking her through how to hold the net, placing a large seed pod inside it and showing her how to throw it up in the air and catch it again.

At the other end, Rardek swings Ahnjas round so he is tucked beneath his arm.

He puts the net in Ahnjas’ hand, then wraps his own hand over the top, guiding Ahnjas’ movements.

Ahnjas’ arms are so small, they do not have much range of movement, but it does not seem to bother the youngling.

He babbles delightedly in his strange mix of human, raskarran and nonsense words.

The basic aim of djossi is to get the ball from your end of the court to the other, throwing the ball between nets, then trying to get it into the opposing team’s basket.

It can get quite physical, but for all Rardek might behave like the fool, he is not one.

He will not do anything that would hurt the younglings.

Much of the first moments of play involve the younglings dropping the ball, failing to catch it, no one getting anywhere near the baskets.

Although, the bright laughter of the younglings is a far greater reward than any point scored.

Darsha shouts encouragement that only Jassal can understand, while Rardek manages to catch the ball in his net, only to have Ahnjas grab it out of the net and throw it back to his sister.

“You are supposed to be on my team,” Rardek says, poking Ahnjas in the side, making him cackle.

“Perhaps you need another team member?” Jaskry says, stepping onto the court.

“ Papapapa,” Ahnjas says, reaching out for him.

Jaskry takes his son, placing him on his shoulders. Rardek grins, handing Jaskry a net.

“ Wellthasscheetin ,” Molly says, putting her hands on her hips.

“Darsha!” Jassal calls. “Come be on our team!”

Darsha grimaces a little, his head probably still aching after last night’s excesses, but he picks up a net then steps onto the court beside the females, facing Rardek with mock seriousness.

Jaskry engages Jassal, playing in a slow, exaggerated way, giving her plenty of chances to win the ball from him.

Ahnjas does not seem to mind who has the ball, as long as it is moving, and points gleefully at it whenever it flies between nets.

Eventually, Jassal uses one of the openings her father gives her to take a shot at the basket.

I think it is more luck than skill, but it does not matter - the ball goes in, and the youngling jumps in the air, cheering her excitement.

Rardek collapses in mock disappointment, making all three younglings laugh.

“We are hampered by our smallest teammate not being big enough to hold a net, I think,” Rardek says. “Perhaps we should choose someone else to play with us?”

Jaskry sets Ahnjas down on the floor, encouraging him to choose someone else to play. Of course, he goes to his favourite, calling out to her as he runs over.

“Lolo!”