Page 79 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

“Flowers do not belong inside,” I say. “Even the ones that grow over this hut do not grow inwards, only out. It feels wrong to me to see them indoors. We take only what we need from Lina’s forests.

Medicines, foods. It is wasteful to take something without a purpose.

If someone places dead flowers inside, it must be with a purpose.

I can only think that purpose would be to make someone feel discomfort at seeing something wrong.

You would not wish a person who has not offended you in some way to feel discomfort.

It is upsetting to me to think I have offended Rachel. She has taken good care of me.”

That is not the all of it, but if Sally senses as much, she does not say. I am glad. I would not have her think me a foolish male, longing for that which he cannot have.

Sally smiles, touching a gentle hand to my arm. “I think it is the opposite. I think she saw the flowers and thought them pretty. I think she’s trying to make the space in here nice for you.”

“With dead things?” My confusion increases.

“To her, they aren’t dead yet. Humans don’t think of flowers as dead the moment they are cut. They keep them in pots with water as decoration. When the petals start to fall, or dry up, she will throw them out.”

“But those flowers would live far longer still attached to their roots.”

This seems a callous practice. It is at odds with what I know about Rachel.

What I think I know. It has been days, many of them spent glancing at her from afar, but not speaking.

And now, still, we cannot speak. But she has been considerate and thorough in her care for me.

These do not seem to be the actions of someone who would show so little regard for life.

“To understand, you must see it from Rachel’s perspective.

Where we come from, there are no flowers.

Just lots of grey huts and grey pathways between them.

Lina’s forests are so very beautiful to us.

I think Rachel wanted to bring a little bit of beauty inside here for you.

It would make her smile to see the flowers, and she’s assumed you would feel the same way.

I have also made this assumption. I used to decorate my home with Jaskry this way - before Jassal reached the age Ahnjas is now.

The grabby age. Jaskry never said anything about it, so I didn’t realise it was offensive to raskarrans. ”

Her cheeks go a little pink. I have noticed the human females do this when they feel uncomfortable.

“Your mate knew it made you happy,” I say. “And a good mate wishes for his female to be happy above all else.”

“Yes, I suppose I was sad a lot in the early days,” Sally says, her eyes going distant.

“It’s hard, leaving behind everything you know.

Even when everything you know is terrible.

Except my sister, of course - it never got any easier, knowing she would have to grow up without me.

I don’t know if Rachel left anyone behind.

I just mean, please forgive Rachel for being wasteful. She doesn’t know any better.”

I wish to thank her for explaining it all to me, and to tell her that I hold no ill feeling towards Rachel at all - only relief that she holds no ill feeling towards me - but in the moment I could have said such things, Shemza returns. While he is asking me how I feel, Sally slips out.

When Rachel finally returns to the healer’s hut, it is evening, the sun slipped beneath the trees.

I know, because I can hear the crackle of the fire outside, and the sound of my tribe brothers’ voices as they discuss the evening meal and the results of their activities.

I cannot hear their actual words, but I know the rhythms of their conversations from hearing them so many times before.

Always such talk has been a comfort to me, but right now it is only a reminder that I am still weak, confined to this bed, not with my brothers as I should be.

But the sight of Rachel chases any discontent from my heartspace.

The females are all wearing raskarran clothes now.

Gregar had the old storage hut emptied for them so they could claim the belongings of those of our tribe long since passed into Lina’s embrace.

All those things we kept without purpose for so long - it makes my heartspace glad to see them find use once more.

Today, Rachel is wearing a simple dress.

I think perhaps it would have been more a top for a raskarran female, but Rachel and the other humans are small.

The garment comes down about halfway to her knees, revealing lots of her soft, pale skin.

My eyes are caught on the sight for a long moment before I drag my gaze back up to her face.

Her cheeks are red. Not the sunburnt red she was when we were travelling back to the village. Shemza treated her burns with soothing paste and djenti berry tonic, restoring her cheeks to the fine pale colour they should have been. This red is the same as Sally’s earlier. The red of discomfort.

“ Ahmsosorry, ” she says, her words a jumbled rush.

Her eyes are not on me, but on the cup with the dead flowers. Sally has spoken to her, then. Let her know of my confusion and discomfort. And Rachel is unhappy to know she has caused these feelings in me.

I am a selfish male, but the thought does please me a little.

Rachel rushes forwards, her hands outstretched to grab the cup, but I reach up and grab her wrist before she can take it.

“If they please you to look on, then they please me also,” I say, though I know she cannot understand my words. I only hope she can understand my tone - read that I am not unhappy within it.

“ Icaneverdoanythinrite, ” Rachel says with a huff of breath, practically falling into the seat beside my bed.

She looks down at the floor, her sunset hair falling forwards so it masks her face.

She does not pull her hand away from me, her tiny wrist still trapped between my much larger fingers.

I did not think before taking hold of her.

I only meant to stop her removing the flowers that bring her joy.

Now I fear I have frightened her again, or hurt her in my carelessness.

I take her arm gently in my hands, turning it to look for any sign of bruising.

Her skin is so pale, I am sure even the slightest pressure would leave a mark.

I trace my fingers over the back of her arm, the inside of her wrist as I do my inspection.

Satisfied there is nothing to find, I set her hand down.

And look up to find Rachel staring at me, her soft lips slightly parted. I cannot understand her expression. I do not think it is fear, at least, but I am unsure what emotion lies behind it.

Rachel picks up her arm, running her own hand over the skin.

“You are uninjured,” I say. “But I am sorry if I frightened you. I did not mean to grab.”

And then, because she is so close, and because I am a selfish male and cannot help myself, I reach a hand up to her beautiful sunset hair, brushing a finger over it.

It is every bit as soft as I imagined it would be, just as I am sure the skin of her face, her neck, would be too.

But I restrain myself before reaching to touch her there.

That would be crossing a line, and I do not wish to dishonour her, or the male she will one day take as a mate, by crossing it.