by Amanda Milo
“They’d eat your Narwari’s grass, and your Narwari would have no food.”
The bucket clacking stops. “Halt there: you are far off the path,” Breslin says, and my concentration shifts to my feet thinking he means that I’m literally off of a path in the barn until he explains, “The Narwari don’t eat grass. They pretend to eat grass. Unsuspecting herd animals are drawn to peaceful-looking Narwari packs, and my Narwari do as they do in the wild and lure prey in and decimate them. The neighbor won’t fault me if the Narwari manage to coax a llarolla or two to their death if his animals are sneaking under my fence—I’ve done all I can by penning my pack in. But if my fence is down then my pack has an unfair advantage against their prey.”
“That is so disturbing.”
“The neighbor would agree with you. Thus, I best get out and check that fence.”
“Can I go with you?”
When Breslin’s quiet, I’m afraid he’s trying to think of a polite way to tell me I’m a hindrance. “Breslin,” I reach out and find his arm, my fingers bumping over his metal wrist bracer before smoothing over his rough skin. “Back home, I’ve worked so hard for independence. I’ve had to prove to everyone I can do things—I can do almost anything if people give me a chance. You told me to tell you what I need. Well? I can’t sit still. It’ll legit drive me crazy. I’ll drive Kota crazy. I can walk around here if you’d rather me do that, but if there’s a way to stay busy, please tell me how.”
His voice holds approval when he says, “Industrious to the core. If your people are all like you, they’d get along very well with Iechydmaw.”
His people. If his people are all like him, then humans would get along really well with the Iechydmaw too.
Women for sure. There’s just something about Breslin that makes me want to be near him.
He brings his hand over his arm, trapping my hand over his skin. “I wasn’t going to tell you no. I was turning over whether you should work on driving or riding today.”
I really, really don’t want to climb up on a very tall carnivorous alien lifeform but this is my chance to show Breslin that I can be more than mobile decoration. I don’t flinch. “And what did you decide?”
“Brave salk,” he murmurs.
My translator says, Brave girl.
I adopt my most innocent face, the ‘aw, shucks,’ earnestly helpful one. “I could be wrong, but since I’ve already been started on wagon basics, it might be quicker for you to get me rolling with that so you’ll have enough time to check out your fenceline.”
He clucks his tongue. “That’s a fair thought, and rather works in favor of someone who’s too nervous to ride.”
I bite my bottom lip and borrow his noncommittal, “Hmm.”
He chuckles as he strolls out of the barn to fetch me a Narwari.
CHAPTER 14
SANNA
Kota and I are pacing the pasture connected to the barn where Breslin’s untacking Cohrah after my ‘driving lesson.’
We’re surrounded by Narwari. I’ve been in horse pastures before where the sounds of languid, quiet grazing add a peaceful hum to the air.
There’s no quiet munching here. No harmless grinding of greens over flat teeth.
When my hand had been inside of Meesahrah’s mouth, I’d felt the sharpness of her teeth, but I hadn’t imagined that she was less a horse and more a crocodile that only pretends at being a horse long enough to catch a zebra.
Shivvver.
They seem nice enough animals though. The driving lesson was actually really fun. And though there were plenty of downed trees we had to navigate the cart around, the fence line was thankfully undamaged which makes Breslin’s life easier. His time is best spent on training instead of repairs.
Whenever I reach out to touch a Narwari, I find their heads lowered as they deceitfully meander with their noses to the ground. As long as I don’t think about why they’re doing it, it’s just as relaxing as strolling through a herd of equine or something equally as placid. The worst that’s happened to me with these guys was me getting too close to a set of hindquarters, and I got whipped by a surprisingly strong, thin tail.
Behind me, a steady tread of hoof on soft ground follows me, and I smile, having an idea of who is keeping pace.
When a long jaw drops over my shoulder, Kota stops walking. So do I.
I reach out and catch the tasselled collar, feeling along their number and finding their pattern (four strung in a row, a gap, and four more) to be Meesahrah’s, just like I’d thought. Releasing Kota’s harness handle, I stroke the Narwari’s neck, enjoying the way she heaves a sigh and leans into my touch. Since she seems willing, I give in to my curiosity, bringing my hands over her, learning her slowly. Then I move to stand further along her side, reach up on my tip toes and stretch to pet along her spine. “That alien is bonkers if he thinks I’m going to climb up here,” I tell her.
“I didn’t mean that one,” Breslin says from beside me.
I choke and Kota whines and in my moment of distraction, Meesahrah reaches around and snatches my forearm.
Breslin roughly claps his hands together, startling us both—not to mention Kota, who wuffs at him. It’s less than a bark and more of a disapproving woof.
Meesahrah drops my arm reluctantly and I breathe a sigh of relief that, once again, she didn’t actually use any of those sharp teeth on me.
“This one is a challenge even for me,” Breslin explains. “We’ll start you on a nice one.”
Meesahrah honks and he replies with a pointed, “You know it’s true.”
I snicker at them.
“Don’t think I haven’t seen that dog of yours leading you around,” Breslin says to me.
“You know she has to!” I protest, finding it difficult to speak because my diaphragm is spasming with a chuckle. “It’s her job.”
Breslin growls—that popping growl-sound again, but it’s a relaxed, more faux-contemplative noise that makes my skin tighten in an unexpected way. “Mmhmm, I’d wager Meesahrah would say leading me around is her job too. Just ask her. I’ll wait.”
I snicker harder.
“You want to claim to me that yours doesn’t do the running roughshod over you sort-of-leading? None of that dutifully-doing-her-job partnered to you, leading.”
“Never,” I lie.
“Don’t rouse me to call you the names I keep stored up for Meesahrah.”
Keeping one hand wrapped over Kota’s harness I clap the other against my leg. “Oooh, tell me: what’s the next insult you had in mind for her?”
“I thought I might go with double-tongued, hook-beaked moldwarp,” he says thoughtfully. Over my laughter, he changes the subject, but he sounds like he’s smiling. “When you’re ready, your first ride can be on Cohrah. For now, let’s head back so we can wash up and eat. Tomorrow after chores I need to take a trip to the neighbor to the east. The round of training and hoof trims must go on, though I don’t believe I’ll take on new clients this season. Would you like to come along?”
“I would.”
“Then tomorrow after we finish chores, we’ll eat, have baths, and we’ll leave right after.”
“Wait, baths? I’m scared to hope but like we get the full splish-splash bath-baths?” I clutch onto Kota’s harness handle to stop myself from jumping up and down.
Breslin makes a puff-snort—it’s not as harsh as a real snort, and it’s infused with a heaping measure of humor. “I don’t know how they do it where you’re from, but here, a bath means we heat water, fill the tub, and we scrub up.” He moves past me, but the sound of his voice stays pointed in my direction, making me think he’s throwing the offer over his shoulder, “You can even bathe first. Would you approve?”
“I would very much approve, why thank you. Forward, Kota.” We start to follow him out of the paddock when something catches me from behind.
Having a fair idea of who it is, I go still and slowly reach up to find Meesahrah’s nose, and below that is the bunched nape of
my coat clamped between her lips. My fingers trace past her fangs and follow the line of a mischievous smile.
“You’re going to get in trouble,” I warn her.
Her lips inch along my coat, sucking more of the fabric into her mouth before she gives it a playful yank, making me gasp as I fall back a step. Kota goes wild. Barking madly, she’s not playing—she’s worried.
Breslin bellows, “MEESAHRAH!”
His boots sound almost as heavy as a Narwari’s steps as he barrels for us and Meesahrah wisely releases me a second before he reaches her.
CLONK!
It’s hard to say, but I think these aliens just clashed heads.
“We talked about this,” Breslin intones with great emphasis. “You’re going to have to find someone in the pack to tease—not the guests, Meesahrah. Never the guests.” He does a lot of growling, and only some of the words translate which means, I think, that he’s mostly cussing her out.
At the end of what seems like a stern tongue lashing involving words harsher-sounding than mere hook-beaked moldwarps, Meesahrah moos—but even to my ears, it sounds less than genuine, and definitely not very trustworthy.
Kota must be of the same mind too because she mutters a low grumble, the dog version of You better watch yourself.
CHAPTER 15
SANNA
Frustration tries to ignite inside my muscles but I take a deep breathe, relax, and try to think. I was sure I set Kota’s harness on the little cubby next to the bed. I feel around for it one more time before I kneel and start systematically sweeping the floor with my hands, making sure no area around me is missed—making sure that nothing in the area around me is missed.
Breslin calls, “Can I come in? Morning chores are done and I’m ready for a thaw-out. It’s colder out here than Meesahrah’s heart.”
My concentration shatters because I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah! Come in, I’m dressed. Thanks for asking.”
“Of course—” Breslin starts, but his easy-going words die, all traces of humor chased off by concern. “What the krit happened that you’re on the floor?”
“I’m not hurt or anything. I just can’t find Kota’s harness. I try to put everything in the same place to avoid losing stuff—”
“Sanna?”
“Yeah?” I scoot my hands further away from me, canvassing more area. “I’m sure it’s right out of my reach but I can’t—”
“Said true—it is just out of your reach: Kota has it.”
“She... what?” I exclaim, shock bubbling up. “You are so busted! You got me good, you sneak!”
Kota’s tail thumps guiltily. Dogs can have a guilty tailwag—this one sure does.
“I don’t follow. What alien element am I missing in order to understand this conversation?” Breslin muses.
I crawl to Kota’s bed. “This isn’t the first time I’ve ‘lost’ Kota’s harness here—last night when you went out to do the last check on the Narwari? I went to walk Kota but I couldn’t find her harness. I thought maybe I’d knocked it off the cubby or something. Finally I asked Kota to help me, and she brought it to me. I spent forever telling her what a smart, beautiful girl she is. The smartest girl ever,” I stress as Kota’s tail beats out a faster (guiltier) rhythm.
“Oh I bet she liked that,” Breslin offers.
“She did! And two treats out of the fridge—”
“Crite, she’s good.”
“Right? Then I played with her outside—”
“My dear salk, no; she played you—but go on.”
My fingers catch on the harness Kota’s clutching half under her chest with the ‘H’ strap held in her grinning mouth. Yes, she’s definitely grinning—her lips are pulled all the way back and up and her tail’s still going.
“You said this started when?”
Kota stretches out her leg to help me fit her harness on, standing when I need to clip it around her chest. “Yesterday, why?”
“Well I’m no expert in Earthen lifeforms but she looked a bit left out when you were learning to drive. Perhaps there’s no connection, but if there is, she may need reassurance.”
I lean on her and tug her big ear over my mouth like a megaphone—but I whisper into it. “You’re my best girl, Kota.”
Her ear flicks my lips, proabably because me talking into it tickles the heck out of her. I dig my fingers into the fur of her shoulders and scratch.
This is where Kota would normally groan and beg for more but when the harness goes on, she’s in work mode, and as far as she’s concerned, we’re on the clock now and it’s time to be serious. “Toilet time?” I ask her.
But she knows. As soon as I’m up and my hand is on the harness she’s ready to go. As we exit, pots clang. Breslin told me we’d be boiling water and it sounds like he’s getting it ready.
To think he has to go to all that work every time he wants to really scrub himself.
When Kota and I get back, buckets clack, a kettle squeals sounding just like a teapot from home, and the room is so damp and warm I can feel steam gently mist my skin. Kota starts panting but she’s as curious about this process as I am. Breslin sets me to the job of bucket-filling. He does the emptying, but I tell him when the bucket is full.
“Where are you putting this water?” I ask.
“Off to your left about perhaps six of your paces you’ll find a metal tub.”
“Where did the tub come from?” There’s definitely been no bathtub in here.
“It hangs on the wall when it’s empty and dried.”
“Gotcha. This bucket’s ready,” I tell him, and Breslin brushes against me as he lifts the pail and empties it into one of the pots on the stove. When the other one starts squealing, he pours the boiling water into our bath. Our pails aren’t that big, so when he offers, “You can start now; I’ll get the wagon loaded while you do,” I’m thinking how much water am I washing up in, exactly? “Then I’ll scrub up, we clear out and we go. Follow me?”
“I follow you but… it doesn’t sound like the tub’s full yet.”
“It isn’t full—that would take half the morning if you want heated water, and it cools off mighty fast. We—”
“No, that’s fine, I just had a different mental picture. I’m all for Pioneer bathing, alien-style.”
Before he can leave the farmhouse, I ask, “What do I use to empty the tub? Is there like a hose attachment to drain it, or are we doing it by bucket? And where do we dump the water?”
“After you bathe, I’ll bathe, and then we’ll get to the part where we empty the water pail by pail.”
I pause, my hand resting between Kota’s velvety ears. “This is like old Earth isn’t it? Where everyone in the house shares bathwater until it’s mud?”
I hear him gathering things together as he gets closer to the door. “Surely you aren’t that filthied.” He sounds completely unworried. “And if you are, it still might be good enough to mop the floors with later.”
“Right,” I agree weakly.
Mopping floors. With dirty bathwater. Welcome to alien farmlife.
After I wash up and dress (as it turns out, Ekan did pack a few skirts and tops that I can wear in public) and call Breslin in, Kota and I take a short walk in the Narwari pen. I asked Breslin to call for us when he’s done so that I can help empty the buckets—and to mop the floors with the water that we stewed ourselves in, mmm.
Breslin does exactly as he promised and bellows loud enough the Narwari mini-stampede around us and I could be way off, but I think Meesahrah purposely uses herself as a shield to block the other Narwari from bumping us until they calm down.
When Kota and I make it back to the house, Breslin’s halfway done emptying water so I waste no time in grabbing a bucket and beginning the process of hauling it to the door. We form sort of an old-style fireman’s line of two people, one to pull the water and one to dump it outside near the dormant garden.
Once finished, I find out there’s just the one mop, which makes sense since Breslin
lives alone, but he must whip that thing over the floors at ninety miles an hour because he calls, “Done!” before I can finish asking him if I can take over.
After the mop water is dumped in the garden, we stand in the farmhouse that smells surprisingly fresh (and a little like freshly wet dog and wet Narwari) and absorb our accomplishment.
“You look very fetching in that skirt,” Breslin says.
“Thanks; I feel weird because I haven’t shaved my legs in forever. At home, I’d just wear pants.”
I find out it’s possible to hear someone’s—somealien’s—shock. “You shave your legs?”
“If I’d known I was going to have to wear a skirt? Definitely.”
Something brushes me; I have a second to register this feels like his shoulder before the big meaty thing moves into me and my hands land on his back because Breslin’s taken up the hem of my skirt, bared my leg, and hooked my ankle over his knee for an examination of my limb.
I huff, “You’re such a farrier.”
Kota wuffs and her claws tap along the floor as she shuffles uncertainly.
Breslin sounds far off in thought as he examines the knobby part of my ankle bone. “Why do you say that?”
I twist a little to wave at myself. “Because you just grabbed my foot off the floor like it was a hoof!”
His shoulder shifts away briefly before settling back, almost like a human shrugs. “If you didn’t like it you could have kicked at me.”
“Oh please. Would that have even slowed you down?”
He snorts. “If I let a little kicking stop me I’d be out of job. Why must you shear your legfur? It’s very fine,” he remarks, stroking my leg like one might a strange but interesting animal.
I try to politely ignore the feelings of interest his innocent touch immediately stokes, and focus on his question. “It’s not ‘fur’—it’s hair—and where I’m from it’s considered... unsightly, I guess.”