Page 22 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

It’s not just that, either. He’s bigger than me, his legs eat up the ground in large, effortless strides. I’m half jogging just to match his ambling pace. He notices after a while, stops, gestures that he will carry me.

I wrinkle my nose, shake my head. I’m filthy and I’m pretty certain the stink of me has reached ungodly levels. I don’t want to put him off ever coming near me again, just as I’m starting to give being his mate serious consideration.

There’s a heat in his eyes as he nods at me.

I don’t know if it’s anger or admiration.

Can’t tell the difference in the alien set of his features.

He really is attractive, I think. I didn’t just exaggerate that in my dream.

Proud features, gorgeous eyes, cheekbones for miles.

But he is different. Unfamiliar. I think of all the ways we fail to understand each other even in the dreamspace.

Reading human faces can be hard enough. I can’t hope to understand what’s going through Gregar’s head.

We keep quiet as we walk. We have nothing to say to each other - nothing that the other could understand, anyway.

I remember his warning to keep quiet yesterday, and figure it’s probably a good idea to keep heeding that warning now.

When we slow enough that I can concentrate on anything other than his feet moving in front of me, I glance up at the canopy overhead.

It’s the middle of the day, but dark as hell, only the barest bits of light sneaking through the branches.

Literally anything could be up there, watching us.

Every so often, Gregar stops, has a look round, sniffs at the air and checks the ground by the tree trunks.

I find out what he’s looking for after a couple of hours. He stops, hands me a canteen to have a drink from, then begins his checks. He crouches down at the base of a tree, gesturing for me to come to his side. He points at the floor, where there’s a massive pile of animal droppings.

I have to bite back a heave.

Gregar points upwards at the trees, then makes a gesture with his hand like claws scratching.

He holds up two fingers on each hand, puts them beside his face, and I think they’re supposed to be the lashes of those cat creatures we were attacked by.

This is their territory, then. They live somewhere near here.

My heart beats a little harder in my chest, thinking about how Gregar had five of his tribe with him, and they made reasonably quick work of the three cats.

But we’re now only two and I didn’t even bring my spear. I thought it would be too awkward.

I close my hand into a fist, wishing I had the comfort of gripping the spear inside it.

As if he can read my mind, Gregar reaches a hand down to his boot and pulls out a knife.

It’s only small, but with a wickedly curved blade that looks sharp enough to slice through rock.

He turns it so the handle is extended towards me, nodding at me.

I reach out, hesitant, but he doesn’t pull it away, or make any sort of sudden move.

Just holds the knife still until I take it.

It’s light, fitting into my hand like it was made to be there. I grip the handle and feel better. Ridiculous. I’d have to be close enough to one of those cats to have all four of its lashes digging in to me to use this blade against it.

But still, it’s nice to be armed. To feel a little less defenceless.

Gregar motions for me to follow him, signalling for me to be quiet, like I wasn’t doing that already.

I can’t help that I’m breathing harder than I would like, or that I have the grace of an elephant walking through the undergrowth.

When Gregar steps, it’s like he’s walking on something soft, pillowy.

I seem to break every stick, kick every rock and crunch every leaf available.

And it’s hot. Oppressively hot. I thought it would be better in the shade, but while the absence of the sun’s rays does stop the back of my neck burning, the absence of the sea breeze means there’s a river of sweat dripping down it instead. I’m disgusting. I’m a gross, horrible mess.

I’m an idiot, too. I felt so sure back on the beach that this was something I needed to do, my whole body itching with the need to act.

But I can barely see a thing here and what I can see looks all the same.

Did I really think I’d be able to detect one of Ellie’s footprints on the mulchy jungle floor?

Like I’m one of the amazing detectives in the books my sister brought home.

If Gregar wasn’t leading the way, I’d be lost inside of a second.

We’re not going to find her in here. It’s impossible. Gregar thinks I’m a complete fool and is just humouring me with this little excursion. Anything to keep me happy enough to consider his little proposal.

It’s not fair to think that, and I know it. He went through all the pros and cons with me, talked me through his reservations. Humouring me isn’t a decision he made lightly, and it certainly wasn’t out of any desire to get me in bed. He was trying to do right by me and my ‘tribe’.

Which just makes it feel all the shittier.

I’ve been telling the girls that we can do better than thrive here, that we can survive, but on my very first attempt at doing anything, I’m ready to collapse and give up.

I felt so sure earlier that I was right to follow my instincts to come out here.

Turns out my instincts aren’t worth shit.

And if I’m wrong about this, am I wrong about everything else?

I was so, so sure yesterday that Gregar and his tribe would never do anything to hurt us.

Am I wrong about that, too?

I don’t know if it’s the darkness of the trees, the constant feeling of being watched by something I can’t see, or just confusion and exhaustion overwhelming me, but I’m crying again, tears streaming down my cheeks. It’s all I can do to keep quiet about it and keep moving.

Gregar doesn’t notice, mercifully. We walk and walk and walk until I’m pretty sure my feet are going to fall off.

Because that would just round this whole situation off real nice.