Page 78 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER FOUR

Vantos

I think my pains are less intense when I wake the next day, but one attempt to sit up on my own proves that I am a bad judge.

The sunset female, Rachel, is not in the hut, but Shemza helps me to sit up, propping me on a pile of pelts as Rachel did before.

He checks beneath my bandages, nodding with satisfaction.

“You are healing well.”

“I cannot sit up without assistance.”

Shemza pays no mind to my grumbling. “It is my turn to patrol. Is there anything you require? Grace and Rachel will be along soon. They can see to your needs while I am busy.”

“I am fine,” I say, though in truth my chest feels hot and itchy, my mouth dry.

Shemza brings me water and stands beside me until I have drank it, then assists me with emptying my bladder so at least I do not have to suffer that indignity in front of the females.

“Would you like to lie back? Sleep some more?” Shemza asks.

“Any sign of trouble on the patrols?” I ask, ignoring his question.

“None yet. Lina looks out for the tribe. She will keep trouble from our village until you are ready to face it.”

I feel like snapping and growling, taking my displeasure at my situation out on him, letting him know that no amount of trying to appease me will make me less frustrated.

But Shemza is a good male. He has got me to this point of recovery quickly, and spares no effort in my care. I am grateful to him.

“I am fine, brother. Go to your patrols.”

Shemza nods, then heads out, and I am alone.

Alone and stuck in this bed, unable to move by myself. I could snarl my frustration and rage at being brought so low, but it will not aid me. It will not even make me feel better for a temporary moment.

I touch my fingers to the bandages over my chest, gently probing the edges of my wounds. I think they feel less tender than yesterday, but I do not know if that is just my own wishful thoughts filling my headspace until it can see things no other way. It is a possibility.

I know I should be offering my prayers to Lina in gratitude that I yet live. My ingratitude is not becoming of a true raskarran male. I hope my goddess knows that my frustration is only out of desire to be useful to my tribe. That I mean her no dishonour.

I doze away most of the morning. I do not know if my body is tired and in need of rest, or if my headspace wishes to escape the boredom and frustration.

Sometimes when I wake, Grace is there, ready to hand me a drink of water and crushed djenti berries, or a little bit of broth to eat.

Sometimes, I am alone with nothing but my own headspace for company.

I am not good company for myself right now.

It is late afternoon, I think, when the door to the healer's hut rattles, startling me from my half sleep. I look up, my heart lifting as I wonder if Rachel is about to walk in.

But it is the female Sally and her youngling, Ahnjas.

“I hope I didn’t disturb you,” she says, setting Ahnjas on the floor. The youngling immediately starts walking around on his unsteady little legs, his hands outstretched, ready to grab and explore. “He’s teething. I am after some envida bark for him to chew. Do you know where Shemza keeps it?”

“I do not. The females Rachel and Grace would know.”

“I am sure I can find it.”

It is strange to hear raskarran words spoken by a female voice.

Unlike many of the others, I was almost a male full grown when the sickness struck our tribe.

I have a better memory than most of our females.

But these many long seasons since have dulled their voices in my headspace.

Sally speaks in the Great River tribe fashion, as she has learned from her mate, and her human voice twists the words a little out of shape.

But it is close enough that it makes me miss the females of our tribe with sudden strength.

A tug on my pelts draws my attention downwards to where Ahnjas is now using the edge of my bed to hold himself upright.

He is small for a raskarran youngling of his age - his mother’s blood in him, I suppose.

But he is healthy and happy, his eyes wide with curiosity and wonder.

The sight of him makes my heartspace ache - with joy and darker feelings.

His father, Jaskry, is a male my age. He will soon have three younglings with his pretty human linasha.

And my hut is empty except for me.

“Ahnjas,” Sally says. “Come away from there. Let Vantos rest.”

“He is fine,” I say, reaching down to ruffle the youngling’s hair. It is a light brown colour, a mix of his father’s raskarran dark brown and Sally’s sunshine colour. I wonder if when Rachel has a youngling it will have her sunset hair.

Ahnjas reaches for my hand, closing his little fingers around one of mine.

It is the first time I have been close to him.

During our travels back to the village, I was focused on my patrols, on keeping our group safe.

I did not take the time to get to know any of the females or the younglings.

I am surprised by how overwhelmed I feel at his nearness, my heartspace full of so many different feelings.

“May I hold him?” I ask, my voice catching in my throat a little.

“Of course,” Sally says, and her face is all softness as she approaches, scooping Ahnjas up into her arms, then sitting on the edge of the bed beside me. “Now be gentle, my flower, Vantos is injured.”

Carefully, she hands him over. His little hands rest against my chest, and it does hurt, but it would hurt my heartspace more to let him go.

He is so small, a tiny little thing in my arms, and a fierce need surges in me.

I am a warrior, a protector, and this is my purpose.

To protect the tribe so younglings like Ahnjas can be safe and happy.

I hate that I am stuck in this bed, unable to do this duty for my tribe.

“He is a fine youngling,” I say. “He will grow into a strong male. A warrior. Or perhaps a hunter like his father.”

Sally smiles. “I think he’ll be a builder. It is what he likes most. Stacking things up into piles. And then knocking them down afterwards.”

“It is a fine trade. We will need builders again, now we have so many in our tribe. Harton was our builder. I am sure he would enjoy having an apprentice. Although, perhaps in a few more seasons.”

Sally’s eyes shine with a mother’s love and affection as she looks at her youngling.

She may not be raskarran, but she is a fine female - as I think will all the human females be, once they are recovered from their ills and settled into the tribe.

I think of what Shemza said about the females perhaps only mating once they have done this.

I hope it is true. I hope that many of the females mate to my brothers.

I hope that one mates to me, so I can have a female like Sally, looking at our younglings like they are the most precious things in Lina’s forests.

No, I do not hope that one mates to me. I hope that it is Rachel.

In my headspace, I picture Rachel, her sunset hair shining as she smiles down at our youngling. A daughter or a son, I do not mind which. My heartspace throbs, aching for the younglings I may never have.

“Is he okay here for a moment while I find the envida bark?” Sally asks.

“He is fine,” I say, tickling Ahnjas’ cheek.

They are a little puffy and swollen, his pale green skin darkened to brown in places.

I remember when Shemza was a youngling this age and cutting his own teeth, how he had the same look to him, and spent much of his time fussing and grumbling because of the hurt of it.

Growing can be a cruel business at times.

Ahnjas does not seem too uncomfortable for now, though, continuing his explorations by crawling around my bed.

I do not mind him clambering over my legs.

The further he is from the wounds in my chest, the better, and it pleases my heartspace to watch him as he pulls himself up against the shelf next to my bed, using it to walk.

Then he reaches upwards, grabbing for a cup that was not on the shelf earlier. I catch his hand before he can pull it onto both of us, tipping its contents over the pelts. Ahnjas makes a squawking noise that attracts his mother’s attention.

“Oh, no, my flower, don’t play with that. You’ll make a mess,” she says as she comes to grab him from the bed, swinging him up into her arms.

She has located the envida bark and passes him a piece. He immediately stuffs it deep into his mouth, chewing happily.

I look up at the cup, thinking Grace must have left it there for me to drink from at some point and I did not notice. But it is not filled with water. Instead, a handful of dead flowers have been stuck inside it. I frown.

“What is this?” I ask.

“Oh, I imagine it was Rachel,” Sally says. “She was out collecting supplies with Shemza this morning.”

My heart sinks. “Have I… offended her?”

Sally gives me a puzzled look. “I don’t think so?”

Sally’s uncertainty does not reassure me, and I look up at the dead flowers, aghast. Sally’s lips twitch, as if she has a smile inside her, just waiting to break out. But instead, she sits beside me, breathing in her smile and breathing out a serious, contemplative expression.

“I can see this is bothering you,” Sally says. “Would you explain your feelings to me so I can fully understand?”