by Dixon, Ruby
The fur is a reminder of what I must do tomorrow, though. I must go out and hunt. I have done traps and fished since we arrived here on the beach, because I did not wish to leave my mate's side. Har-loh is fragile and there are many, many things she does not understand about taking care of herself. She does not know how to set traps or to make a spear. It is lucky she has me, because I can do these things for her. But hunting is dangerous. I cannot take Har-loh with me. I do not know what I would do if a herd of dvisti turned the wrong way and trampled her. I do not know what I would do if a snow-cat attacked her.
Har-loh must stay safe in the cave, with the fire. I will hunt.
16
HARLOW
When I wake up in the morning, Rukh is gone.
Huh.
Normally we wake up tangled together in the furs for some pre-dawn snuggling and a before-breakfast quickie, but this morning, he's nowhere to be seen. I rub my eyes and peer out of the cave, but no Rukh. Probably fishing, then. Maybe he woke up with a burning need to get some fish in or something. We're still not great at communicating yet, and a lot of what goes between us is guesswork. With a yawn, I wrap the few furs we have tightly around my body and stoke the fire. The coals have gone down while I slept, and I poke them until they get hot once more, then work on setting up the makeshift tripod we have for heating water.
I wish we had more things. I've taken for granted just how many supplies there are back at the main cave, and how hard everyone has worked to make those supplies. When I think of how much time I have to put in just to make a cooking pouch, I have a whole new appreciation for those giving, thoughtful sa-khui people who took a bunch of humans into their homes, no questions asked, and fed and clothed us.
Rukh thinks of them as the enemy, but they were always kind to me. I've made my choices, though. I'm with Rukh now, and that means starting over in all ways.
I pad to the entrance of the cave, my toes curling on the icy rocks, and peer out, looking for my mate's broad shoulders and long, wild hair. I don't see him on the beach, either, but it doesn't mean that he's not around. He's probably gathering food. I wet a soft scrap of leather, take a quickie bath with the melted water, and then add a bit more from the trickle in the cave. Once my pouch is full, I add the last few leaves for hot tea and get dressed. Maybe while Rukh is fishing, I can find some of the plants that the sa-khui always used for tea. I can start our supplies there, I decide. Leaves are easy. It's everything else that's daunting.
One thing at a time, Harlow, I remind myself.
I head out to the cliffs, noticing that Rukh's spear is gone from inside the cave. Definitely hunting. The sight of it missing actually makes me feel a little better, and I concentrate on picking leaves for tea. I'm proud of myself for actually recognizing several of the plants that cling to the cliffs here. It's weird, because for an ice-covered planet, there's a surprising amount of greenery to be found if you know where to look. There's the not-potato trees that grow incredibly tall stalks, but there aren't any near the beach that I can see. There are all kinds of vines crisscrossing the rocks and growing into the crevices. And I know that if I go up into the mountains, I can dig under the snow and find all kinds of strange, wiry plants that somehow grow despite the cold and the gray, weak sunshine.
I gather leaves until my little pouch won't hold any more and my hands are full. I look around for Rukh again, but there's still no sign of him. I can't let that worry me. He knows what he's doing. Next time, I'll tell him that if he heads out he needs to take me with him. I need to get better at hunting, too.
No sense in being angry about it, though. And I'm not, really. I'm just frustrated that our communication is falling down again. It's one thing I wish we were both quicker at. There's so many things I want to say to him, and I can tell he wishes he could talk to me more. We're getting there, but we're both impatient for more. Thinking about Rukh and words I can teach him distracts me, and I'm back at the cave and spreading out leaves to dry before I know it. Near the entrance of the cave, I see the piles of seaweed I scavenged from the beach, and I lay them out to dry, as well. When they dry up, they harden into thick reeds that can be braided and woven into baskets, and the thought of making my own is exciting.
Storage. Who'd have thought I'd be so damn thrilled for storage? Blows my mind.
There's a lot to get done, though, and I can't sit around. With that thought in mind, I get to work.
* * *
By the time I gather my last handfuls of leaves and have them spread out on a fur near my tiny fire, I realize it's almost dark.
No, scratch that, it IS dark. The skies are just bright because the stars are shining overhead. It's completely dark out and the moons are up. And there's still no sign of my mate. I kept busy all day, because sitting by the fire and worrying doesn't do me any good, but he's never been gone for so long. I can't help but panic a little.
Okay, a lot.
I go to the entrance of the cave, hugging my fur wraps to my body, and scan the dark beach. No Rukh. What do I do? Should I grab my makeshift spear and head into the hills after him? It's dark, and all kinds of weird creatures come out at night, so I don't know if that's such a smart idea. But if he's out there, hurt, I can't just leave him and keep my happy ass warm by the fire.
I don't know what to do. Sit and wait? Go after him?
I consider my options for a few moments and then bank the fire. I wrap up in furs, grab my spear, and head out after him. I make my way to the cliffs, stumbling over icy rocks in the darkness. There's a small natural path that leads up through the cliffs to the rolling, wintry hills above that become mountains. I go up a few steps and then pause, listening. There's a noise of something walking on the sands, the crunch of footsteps.
Rukh?
I head back down the path toward it. "Is that you, Rukh?"
The sound gets louder, and then I pause. There's a dark shape on the sand that is not Rukh. Not in the slightest. In fact, it looks like a crustacean of some kind, but it's the size of an Earth crocodile…or bigger. It's got two tentacles with eyes on the end, and they swivel toward me.
I let out a horrified squeal and stumble backward, clutching my spear. The thing scuttles away, as if it's just as scared of me as I am of it.
I stare after the creature, heart pounding. My hands are slippery on my spear, and the wind picks up, blowing my hair in my face. A helpless feeling overtakes me. I don't know enough about this world to handle my shit alone at night. What if that crab wasn't the biggest thing on this beach at night? What if the next one doesn't run?
And I don't know where Rukh is. What if I head into the mountains and I never find him?
Beyond frustrated, I retreat back to the safety of my cave and build up the fire. Our supplies of the dung chips are going to disappear quickly, too. That's another thing we need to hunt.
None of that matters if Rukh doesn't come back, though. I can't do this on my own. I can't live on this beach alone. I need my mate. Hot tears leak from my eyes as I lie next to the fire and wait for my mate to return.
* * *
When I wake up again, it's morning.
No Rukh.
The fire's completely out, and no amount of poking the coals makes it revive, which is just frustrating. It means I have to build one from scratch, and part of me wonders why I even bother. Rukh hasn't returned. He's left me. I'm sure it's not on purpose—he wouldn't do that—which means only one thing. Something bad has happened to him and he can't return on his own.
I have to go find him, then.
I braid my hair and put on my leathers. I wrap extra leather around my boots, reinforcing them, since the mountains are colder and rocky, and the snow can hide all kinds of dangers. I double-check the point of my spear to make sure it's sharp and grab my waterskin and the last of our dried rations. I'm not coming back until I find Rukh. "I'm coming, baby."
The moment I step outside the cave, though, I stop.
Two dead dvisti are neatly laid out a sh
ort distance away.
I approach them, puzzled, but they are definitely dead. There's ice crusting on their fur, with slashed throats and bellies from hunting. I kneel next to one, and it's been bled so the meat will stay good. Rukh must have done this, and the thought fills me with relief. Dvisti don't come down on the beach. In the few days since we've been here, I've seen the occasional one up on the ridge, but they don't come below. I guess it's too hard on their feet.
Glancing up, I scan the beach, but there's no sign of my mate. "Rukh?"
My voice echoes on the cliffs. There's nothing but silence.
I get to my feet and follow the tracks of footprints in the sand, but they lead back to the cliffs and disappear. He went back out? Without waking me? Without talking to me? I don't understand.
Why wouldn't he come and wake up his mate? Kiss me hello before running off again? I totally understand if there's a lot to be done and he feels the pressure to provide. Maybe he senses a storm is coming and wants to get a lot of meat preserved. He's used to being on his own. He knows what has to be done to make it in this harsh environment.
Even so…I feel a little abandoned.
This is all new for me, and I'm lonely. Yesterday, I was so terrified something had happened to him that I couldn't think straight. I had to throw myself into chores or else I'd lose my mind with worry.
Instead, he's just out hunting…and I guess he doesn't want to be disturbed by his mate.
I chew on my lip, worried. Am I too clingy? Is that why he's run off into the hills? Does he need a break from me? The thought cuts like a knife, and yet…it makes sense. Rukh is used to being alone. Of course he'd find my constant presence a bit annoying. He's probably going off on his own to get a breather, and I need to just accept it.
We're in this together. He's my mate, and we just need to get used to how the other operates. When he comes home, I'll try to be less clingy and needy and more independent. I don't want him to feel smothered.
I'm still hurt, though. Oh sure, some of it's hormones, but I guess when I envisioned us living on the beach together, I had an idea in my head that we'd be…together. But maybe his idea was different.
Frustrated, I grab the first dvisti by the leg and start dragging it back to the cave. There's no time to mope. I've got to process this meat and get the skin off of it, and there's no one to do it but me. Hurt feelings won't give us food to eat in the brutal season, so I'd better hop to it.
17
RUKH
When I return to the cave that night, I have another dvisti and this time, two dead snow-cats. I am also scratched, bloodied, tired, and want nothing more than to hold my mate. But this is not enough fur to keep her warm, and the colder weather will be upon us soon. I will not have my mate shivering when I can hunt meat and take the furs from animals, so I must keep going out
I drop my kills a safe distance away from the cave and arrange them so Har-loh will know it is me. Even though I know this is necessary work, I hate being apart from her. I wish I could slide under the furs with her and drink in her scent, touch her until she wakes up and reaches for me. I wish I could go to sleep with my arms around her. I wish for a great many things, but wishes will not keep my Har-loh warm. With a frustrated sigh, I turn and head back to the hills again.
HARLOW
Rukh's been here again.
I want to scream with frustration when I see the new kills lined up a short distance from the cave. I can't believe my mate came back—again—and didn't say shit to me. He didn't even bother to come into the cave. I laid out a fine covering of sand across the entrance to check for such a thing. If he came in—even just to look at me—it'd show a footprint or two. Sure enough, it wasn't touched.
I'm moving quickly beyond hurt into anger. I realize he's used to being on his own, but what the fuck? Did I say something to make him angry? Or is this just him needing even more space? How long will this go on for?
I have no answers. I can't even write him a note in the sands. We can barely talk to each other, much less communicate in other ways. I have no choice but to wait this out. I can't even go and find him now, because the meat he's bringing in has to be processed. I have to chop it up, remove all the usable bits, cut it into strips, smoke or dry the meat, and clean the usable organs. The hides are sitting rolled up, and I need to scrape those, too. There's not enough hours in the day, and I worked until I fell asleep by the fire last night.
And now I get to do it all over again.
I stare, exhausted, at the kills. The sa-khui have caches in the deep snows where they keep their meat. I can't drag these things into the mountains, though, and a pit here on the beach would just get eaten up by crabs. It wouldn't stay cold enough, either. It all has to be cooked and processed and…I just want to cry.
With a weary sigh, I drag them toward the cave.
Another problem crops up, of course. I run out of fuel for my fire. The dung chips that are so plentiful in the mountains are non-existent here, and there's nothing for me to burn. All of the meat is going to go to waste unless I figure out something. I gaze at the charnel house of my cave around me, looking for something to burn. There's bloody meat everywhere in varying stages of drying. There's long chains of intestines hung, and the stripped animal heads glare at me from nearby, waiting for their brains to be used to work the skins. Six months ago, the sight of this would have made me run away screaming at the horror. Survivor me knows it's all useful, though. Messy, but useful.
I'm fucked if I have no fire, though.
I drum my fingers on my filthy hip, trying to think. Okay, if I don't have fire, how else can I handle this? How did old timey humans preserve meat?
Salt. Salted meat.
"Bingo," I say to no one, and head down to the shore. I can wet one of the furs in the ocean water and lay it out to dry, I think, and scrape the salt off of it as it dries up. Not the fastest method, but maybe there'll be a salt deposit of some kind on the beach that I'll be able to use.
There isn't, of course. But there is a gigantic, half-rotted log.
I stare at it in wonder as it lays at the edge of the tideline. The trees here are all flimsy, ridiculous little things that can't be used for regular wood. The only real firewood grows high, high in the mountains, I'm told, and it's so remote that going there for wood isn't even an option. But this hunk of wood looks like a chunk of tree you might find back on Earth. It's thick…and with luck, it'll burn.
Ignoring the sand-scorpions scuttling nearby, I move to the tree trunk. It's still a little wet, but with luck and some quick thinking, maybe I can make it burn. It's too heavy to lift, though, so I spend most of the afternoon rolling it, little by little, toward the cave. When it's close enough, I dig a fire pit, use my precious dried out seaweed reeds as starters, and start a slow, smoky fire on the beach and drape meat nearby to dry.
I'm exhausted, but I'll have to stay up and watch so predators don't come steal the food. Maybe I'll even catch a glimpse of my mate.
18
RUKH
Two more dvisti are mine by the time I decide to head back to the beach, where my pretty mate is safe. There is a large herd of the fat creatures tantalizingly close, but I can only handle so much as I am alone. I haul the two carcasses back with me—one over my shoulders and another in my arms.
I am tired and I have not slept in days, but every kill I bring in is more meat for my Har-loh, more furs to warm her. So I must keep working. Two more, I think. No, four. Better to be safe and have extra furs in case the weather is exceedingly cold.
As I approach the beach, however, I see an orange, flickering light. A fire. It is outside the cave instead of inside, and my heart pounds with worry. Why is the beach on fire? I move closer, rushing, and it is only by sheer stubbornness that I do not fling down my kills and race toward my mate. I know if I put them down, some scavenger will come along and snatch them. It is a fire pit, I realize, as I jog toward the light. A fire pit with someone sitting in front of it.
&n
bsp; It is not until I am directly upon the fire that I realize it is my Har-loh.
She has fallen asleep sitting up, a stick in her hand as if she drowsed while poking the fire. Strips of meat are spread atop the surfaces of many rocks and hung carefully from the shaft of her spear high above the flames. There is a great deal of meat, and all of it smells good. A short distance from the fire, however, I see crabs and crawlers and all kinds of things waiting to snatch a bite. That must be why she has stayed out here.
Her eyes do not open when I approach, nor when I set my two kills down. Her face is drawn, with dark circles smudging her face. She is dirty, too. Dried blood crusts her clothing and there are rings of grime underneath her nails and smears of blood on her face. This is not like my Har-loh. She loves to be clean. It was one of the first things she taught me, and she is always quick to bathe.
Why has she not bathed now? Is she injured?
Worried, I drop to my knees at her side and study her face. Her speckles are as bright as ever. That is a good sign, I think. But she is thin, and I do not like how she has not roused even though I am in camp, making noise. "Har-loh," I murmur, brushing my fingers over her cheek to wake her. "Har-loh."
She jerks awake with a funny little snort, her eyes unfocused. Her gaze settles on me, and her mouth parts in surprise. "Rukh. Yerbak." Then, she bursts into noisy tears. "Wydijooleaf me?"
"Har-loh?" I caress her cheek, worried. She weeps at the sight of me? Is she tired of having me for a mate because I cannot provide enough for her? The thought is like a blow to the chest, and I suck in a miserable breath. I wish I had the words to ask what is wrong, but all I can offer is a simple one. "No?"