Page 229 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER THREE

Grace

W e don’t walk that much further after our lunch break. Another hour or two, perhaps. Certainly before my feet start to really ache, Calran turns to me, gesturing at the space around us, a question in his eyes.

I look at the clearing we’ve stopped in.

It’s large enough to set the tent and build a decent fire with room to spare.

The stream we’ve been following most of the way here cuts through the middle of it, giving us access to fresh water, but isn’t too wide to easily step over, meaning we can get to the other bank.

There, the ground slopes upwards, becomes rocky.

There are several cave openings, most too small for even a human like me to crawl inside, but the largest is big enough that Calran wouldn’t have to duck much to step through.

The opening is steaming slightly, like the hot springs do back at the village, and I wonder if there is hot water somewhere inside.

All in all, it’s a perfect spot and I smile my approval to Calran, grateful that he’s taken the time to think through the details of this impromptu getaway. That he’s doing everything in his power to make it a success.

It just leaves me to follow through on my side of the bargain.

I’m nervous about it, but it’s not a consuming sort of feeling. I can ignore it well enough as I look for stones to contain the fire, while Calran makes the tent. Even when he pulls several furs out of his pack and steps inside to arrange them, I only have to take a couple of steadying breaths.

He’s not going to expect me to do anything this first day, I remind myself. He’s a good person. He’ll wait until we’re sleeping, until we can speak.

By the time Calran is satisfied with the tent, I’m finished with the circle of stones, starting to layer up leaves and twigs to get the fire started.

Calran pulls a pair of flints from his belt, striking them until something catches, and before long we have a merry little fire burning.

It’s not cold, but the warmth from the flames soothes my aching feet, so I take off my shoes, put my feet close to the fire.

Calran smiles at me, but then hands me a small pouch of djenti berries he must have collected at lunch time.

I collected some, too. The healer in me couldn’t pass on the opportunity.

But I take his with a grateful smile and crush a few into my canteen, drinking deep.

Then we’re done with the jobs we needed to do, and nothing but time and each other’s company stretches out ahead of us.

The nervous feeling expands in my chest, harder to ignore with nothing else to distract me, and I itch at it, as if I could scratch the fear out of me.

When that doesn’t work, I turn to my pack, take out my cream.

Calran gives me a curious look as I open the lid, drawing it to my nose and breathing in the floral scent of this batch.

I gesture for him to come and sit beside me, holding the cream pot up for him to smell.

He takes a deep breath and immediately sneezes, his much more sensitive raskarran nose struggling with the scent.

He chuckles, then takes the pot again, breathing less deeply this time.

He nods, but still looks confused as he hands the pot back to me.

I smile, setting the pot down between us, then scooping out a little of the cream to massage into my hands.

Already, after just a couple of weeks of this treatment, my hands are less chapped, less raw.

They’d been getting better since leaving my medic post after the lottery win, but the people who processed us, trained us for long haul space travel, who travelled with us - none of them were much concerned for our comfort.

Our health, to a certain extent, but something as inconsequential as sore, tight skin didn’t factor.

But years of abrasion and irritation thanks to the carbolic acid spray we used to disinfect our equipment in the medic centre back home was never going to heal quickly.

The sores went, but the tightness, the sensitivity remained.

Shemza showed me the ingredients to create a moisturising cream to help it, and I’ve been perfecting the recipe - and the accompanying scent - ever since.

I smooth the cream over the backs of my hands first, then work it into the gaps between my fingers, round to my palms before rubbing the entirety of my hands together until it’s soaked in.

Calran watches my hands as though they are the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, then gestures to the pot and to himself, seeking my permission to take some.

I nudge the pot closer to him, and he dips in two big fingers, before beginning to massage the cream into his skin.

I watch him as he does it, letting my eyes linger on the play of his arm muscles beneath his tattooed skin.

Like Rachel, the first sight of those tattoos struck a fear into me, but it lasted only long enough for me to have a word with myself, remember what Rachel said about Calran being kind.

Now, I can see the appeal of them, why the warriors of the Cliff Top tribe might choose to mark their skin this way.

The dark brown, almost black colour of the ink works perfectly with the green tone of his skin, the markings intricate and delicate where they wind round his wrists, his forearms, up to his shoulders.

I don’t know how tattoos work in the human world, never mind the raskarran one, but I find myself curious enough to make a note to ask him.

When he’s done, he lifts his hands to his nose, breathing in slowly.

I watch his expression, allowing myself to feel amused at his antics.

He’s not Simon, he isn’t going to lose his temper if he catches me smirking at him.

I need to relax, trust in him. If I do it in these small moments, then it will be easier in the bigger ones.

Calran gives a nod of approval, although there’s a hint of humour sparkling in his eyes.

Then his expression shifts, and he holds out a hand towards me.

I place my hand over his, and he grips it lightly, drawing it up to his nose.

This time when he breathes in, his eyes close, a look of pleasure crossing his face.

The sight of it makes something in my chest flutter, and I can’t decide if it’s fear or something else.

Something long buried rising to the surface.

A bit of both, perhaps.

When Calran opens his eyes, he looks directly at me, catching my gaze and holding it.

He studies me, reading my reaction to his touch.

And I don’t mind it, the touch on its own.

It feels intimate, but not overwhelming.

But with his eyes on me like that, the sense that he’s watching, judging, I find I can’t help but shy away from him.

I don’t like that I react that way, but there it is.

Calran releases my hand, smiling at me to let me know it’s fine, he doesn’t mind.

Of course, that only makes me feel more conflicted about it.

He’s being so kind, so patient. I feel like I should be able to give him more of myself already.

But the more I start thinking about what I ‘should’ do, the more the muscles in my back and shoulders start to tighten, and the further away the possibility of ever being normal around him feels.

I need to get out of my own head.

So I do that the only way I know how - I forage for medicines.

There’s no djenti bush in this little clearing, but I still have my supply from earlier, so that’s no problem.

I start working my way round the clearing from one edge of the stream, going in a clockwise circle round the edges of the trees, then finish by working my way down the stream.

The herbs and roots Shemza uses for healing tend to grow out of the shade of the trees, away from their thirsty roots that suck up all the rainwater.

The best place to find healing plants is along a water source, but the stream is only small, its banks not that large, so there isn’t much here.

I find a very small nesta plant - too small to harvest anything from it yet - and some geberren roots by the stream.

I dig those out with my knife, as it’s always useful to have a supply, and the plant grows fast, spreading quickly and taking over whatever other vegetation there is around it.

You never have to feel bad about digging up geberren root - it does the other plant life a favour.

Calran also busies himself digging through his pack.

He pulls out some bits of rope and I recognise the snare traps the hunters use to catch smaller prey.

He catches my attention, indicating to the snares, before heading out into the trees to set them.

The hunting has slowed down a lot since the frantic few days after we arrived at Gregar’s village - when the focus was on trying to ensure there would be enough food to keep an extra fifteen mouths fed - and not just because the supply stores are getting full to bursting.

With the rains approaching, a lot of the animals have moved on to other places, the pickings for the hunters rather slim.

So I doubt Calran’s traps are going to succeed, but I’m grateful he’s brought them with us.

It gives him something to do that isn’t about me.

It gives me a moment alone to gather myself.