by Ruby Dixon
“And presents?” he asks, scooping another bite of stew into his mouth. “We still have time to work on those, yes? I have not finished Borran’s decorated waterskins yet.”
“Plenty of time,” I assure him. The moons don’t turn for another week and some change, though everyone’s already eagerly looking forward to the beginning of the celebrations.
“What happens if someone gives a gift early?”
“Oh, well, I suppose that’s all right, though it’s not much in the spirit of the game.”
“Did you decide to play, after all?”
I tilt my head at him, curious. “Of course not. I’m running things. Someone has to make sure things go smoothly. Why do you ask?”
He shrugs and sets his empty bowl aside. “Because there is a wrapped package next to the door.”
“What?” I pry out of his arms and stagger to my feet. “There is?”
“Shall I get it?” He gets up as well.
“No, I’ve got it.” I head to the door and push back the flap, peering out. Sure enough, there is a small, fur-wrapped package on the step. Curious, I pick it up and look around. “Did you see who left this?”
“It was there when I arrived. Perhaps someone is playing early?”
Or they don’t understand the rules. It makes me sad, because both Asha and I have worked so hard to get everyone to pay attention. I know we’re throwing a lot at them, but it’s all in fun, and everyone seemed to understand the concepts when asked. “Perhaps it’s for you?” Except Georgie is his secret gift partner, and I’m pretty sure she grasps the rules, being human and all. There’s no cultural misunderstanding there.
“Open it and see?”
I offer it to my mate, but he shakes his head. After a moment’s hesitation, I pull the sinew-cord tie off of the small square package and unwrap it. It’s mostly hide, but in the center is a delicate, shining bone bracelet. It’s been worked with care and precision, the carving delicate and beautiful, and someone’s spent hours on this to make it glossy and lovely to wear.
“That is not for me,” Ereven says with a grin. “I do not think it would fit over my hand.”
He’s right. The size is definitely human. It’s so pretty, and yet…I’m not playing the game. I shouldn’t be getting any gifts. “I’ll have to talk to Asha in the morning and see if she can think who would have left this.”
“Until then,” my mate says, and puts his arms around my waist, “you are all mine.”
7
ASHA
Two Weeks Later
Decorating Day
“And you don’t have any idea?” The look on Claire’s face is frustrated. “I’ve gotten three gifts now. We haven’t even started playing until today.”
I shake my head, putting the final stitches on a soft little tunic, perfect for a kit. It is dyed a dark reddish color with light, contrasting stitches, and while I am not the best at sewing, I am pleased with it and its contrasting sister tunic made of buff leather with dark stitches. No-rah’s secret gift-giver is Warrek, and he has not been himself since his father passed, so I am helping him along. “Perhaps someone simply wishes to give you gifts?”
“But who?” Claire puts down the colored seeds she is stringing. “We’ve checked and everyone says they know the rules. You know I’m not playing.”
I shrug. I am not nearly as concerned as my friend. “Take the gifts and be thankful. It is a kind gesture.”
This is not a good enough answer for Claire. In the days we have been spending together, I have learned that she is quiet, but when she plants her feet, she is more stubborn than an old dvisti. I can tell by the look on her face that she will not rest until she solves this. “I just want to know who and understand why.”
“It is as you have said—it is the awful-day spirit.”
“Holiday spirit,” she corrects.
“Same thing,” I tease. “Your human words all sound the same.”
She gives a little irritated snort, and I bite back a grin. Spending time with Claire is fun. Just having a friend to talk to makes even the most monotonous of chores entertaining, and I see now why the human females are so quick to cluster together on a daily basis and share stories. Having a friend your own age is…vastly enjoyable. I have never felt friendly with Maylak, and I do wonder if that is my own fault. I have always seen her as competition, never as a friend. She was always so perfect, so lovely, so talented with her healing, that I felt I had to be that much more flirty with all the males of the tribe to get any attention. There is no competing with Claire, just friendship.
It is…nice.
Claire glances over at the little tunics I am finishing, and a true smile returns to her face. “Those are so cute. Nora will love them.”
“Warrek has done a wonderful job,” I agree slyly. “He is a good gift-giver.”
“And you are sweet to help him,” Claire says with a squeeze on my arm. We both know he has been sucked into the blackness of despair since his father died. I know this feeling all too well, and it makes me feel good to help out. He will be himself again soon enough. Until then, I will assist how I can.
“I am done for now,” I tell her, knotting the last stitch and then biting the cord. “Shall we go see how the decorations are coming?”
“Probably a good idea. Let me finish these seeds and we can check on Josie.” She strings a little faster, and I fold up and hide the tiny tunics under a basket of dried tea leaves. Once Claire is done, we take the string and put on our wraps, heading to the center of the vee-lage. The weather is terrible, and Claire shivers and makes chattering noises the moment we step outside. I carry the strings of seeds so she can tuck her hands into her clothing, but it is cold even for me. There is a thin layer of ice on the stones, which makes them slippery, and we take our time picking our way across the vee-lage toward the long-howse. The air is frosty cold, and the wind howls above, snowflakes drifting down despite the protective lip of the gorge. From a distance, I can see the tall, thin stalk of the decorating tree sticking out from the roof of the long-howse. As we get closer, I can hear the excited chatter of people. Everyone is enjoying Claire’s No Poison celebrations, and I am proud of my friend for setting this all up. She has a good heart.
“I can hear Josie,” she muses as we approach the long-howse.
“It is impossible not to,” I retort. Jo-see is the most chattery of the humans, with a mouth that never stops moving and a high-pitched voice that seems to cut through the air. How her surly mate tolerates all that talking, I do not know, but Haeden seems blissfully content. Thinking of them and their happiness makes me think of my once-mate, Hemalo. I have not seen him in the last few days, and a pang of loneliness hits me. Is he enjoying the celebration? Is he pleased at making gifts for the healer? I hate that I care. I should not. He has abandoned me.
And yet I cannot stop my thoughts from turning to him, time and time again.
We enter the long-howse, and people are everywhere, laughing and talking. The tree that has been selected for decorating rests in a large basket, soil tucked around the bulbous root. It will be eaten on Feast Day, and until then, the tree will be laden with garlands and ornaments and colorful fluttering disks made of hard leather or papery tree bark. Jo-see is near the center of it all, holding little Esha up so she can adjust a string of colorful seeds on one of the thin, wobbly branches. Clumps of poison plants have been hung from the ceiling, and underneath one, Mah-dee kisses her mate with enthusiasm. More poison leaves are strung up on sinew cords, fluttering as they are hung from the rafters. Nearby, others in the tribe make garlands and laugh together, and several of the hunters are stringing even more garlands around the lodge and Tee-fa-ni’s potted plants. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. I do not see the appeal, and I think the tree looks terrible with so many things piled atop it, but humans have strange traditions that make them happy, so I go along with it.
Claire claps her mittens together happily at the sight of the ugly tree covered in eve
n uglier decorations. “It looks so great!”
“Doesn’t it?” Leezh comes up beside us, tossing her yellow mane. “I feel like Cindy Lou Who in the center of Whoville post-Grinch!”
“What?” I blink at the humans.
“Nothing,” Claire says with a laugh. She hugs my arm. “Just Liz saying crazy things like usual.”
Leezh does tend to say strange things. “Where is your mate?” I ask Claire. “Shall we find him?”
She searches the busy groups, and then points off into the corner. “There, hanging garlands with Lila and Rokan.” She lights up at the sight of him and looks over at me. “Should we give him our garland while they’re busy?”
I wordlessly hand it over to her, biting back my smile. Claire is a good friend, but she is still in the early days of her mating and is always pulled away by the thought of her mate. I do not mind this. I was like this once, I think.
Then I frown to myself. All of my memories of Hemalo and I in a cave together are unpleasant ones, of me sniping at him or making angry comments. Of him trying to please me and me pushing away his help. Maybe I was never like that, after all. Perhaps I was never a good mate. I feel sad at the thought. Perhaps it is good that Hashala never got to see her parents like this. A mating should be for life, and I drove my mate away with my bitterness.
I watch Claire cross the long-howse with the garland. Leezh sidles up next to me, a curious look in her eyes. “So where is your mate, Asha?”
I scowl at her. “He left me. You know this.”
She shrugs, unruffled by my angry tone. “All I know is that you’re looking at Claire and Ereven like they’re cake and you’re on a diet. And I’m thinking maybe you’re working too hard to convince yourself that you hate Hemalo.”
“You think I hate him? He abandoned me.”
“You pushed him away.” She lifts her shoulders again in another small, careless shrug. “I’m not going to say being mated to Raahosh is nothing but daisies and kittens. Sometimes you have to make a relationship work. And I’m just saying maybe you should have tried a little harder. He lost his kit, too, you know.”
Anger burns in my gut, and I am filled with the sudden urge to scratch her smirking human eyes out. But Leezh is carrying a child in her belly, and her mate stands nearby holding their small daughter and talking to the chief and his mate. She is bold with her words, but she is needed by them. And I somehow feel that if I defended myself…no one would take my side. They would just shake their heads at sad, angry Asha.
This day is ruined for me. “You do not know of what you speak, Leezh.”
“Then tell me,” she says in a soft voice. “Help me understand and maybe I can help you, too. I’m not trying to be a bitch, Asha. I just see you unhappy and I want to help.”
“I do not want your help,” I snap at her, and turn on my foot, leaving behind the happy celebration. Let the others celebrate No Poison Day. I am retreating to my howse, where it is quiet and safe and no one will bother me.
I storm across the vee-lage, but once I leave the long-howse, it is quiet. Everyone is gathered there, enjoying the day. I am happy for Claire that things are going so well, but I no longer want to be part of it. I just want to hide again. I want my blankets and I want to not think about the once-mate that I have hurt or the kit I have lost. I do not want to think about anything right now.
Leezh can sympathize with Hemalo, but I cannot forget that he abandoned me. He left me. I needed him and he gave up on me. Thinking of him hurts, and I am so tired of feeling as if I am the one constantly in the wrong. Why does no one see that I am in pain, too? That just because I do not cry prettily like the humans or give everyone sad eyes, I am not walking with an open wound in my chest where my heart should be? Why can I not wear my pain differently? But no, because Hemalo has left me alone, I am somehow the flawed one. I am the problem.
I swipe aside the privacy flap to my howse and storm inside. Because my thoughts are full of Hemalo, it is somehow unsurprising to see him there inside. His back is to me, and he stands over my furs, gazing up at the teepee ceiling. His hands are on his hips, and his tail flicks in that restless, constant way of his. I suddenly remember lying in bed with him, laughing because his tail flicks so much, and so often I would tease him that I would never be able to sleep.
But that was a very different time from now. We had good times between the arguments, once. Now there is nothing left but a void.
Still, I cannot help but be secretly pleased to see him here. Has he come to visit me? To tell me that he loves me and misses me? That he is sorry for abandoning me? “What are you doing here?” The words sound abrasive and cold the moment they leave my mouth.
He turns slowly to look at me, his movements a leisurely contrast to that endless flicking of his tail. “Farli told me you had a tear in your roof. I came to look at it.” His voice is liquid and deep, and the sound of it fills me with longing. Hemalo is a handsome male, and his body is big and strong. But his voice, oh, his voice is something special. Just hearing it makes my khui react, and it gives a low, pleasurable hum.
“So you are only here because Farli asked you?”
He turns back to the walls of the howse and examines it closer. “Why else would I be here? You certainly would not invite me.”
That hurts. I have been thinking about him, a lot. It is just…hard to unbend and admit that he has hurt me with his leaving. That I wish for him to give me a second chance. That I am the one that is the problem. The very thought stings my pride. “Why should I invite you?” I snap back. “You have made it quite clear how you feel.”
Hemalo gives me a focused, intense look, and then turns back to the roof. He fingers the covering and the torn stitches that bind two of the hides together. “You should invite me so the snow does not fall on you as you sleep. Or do you like waking up covered in meltwater?”
I shrug, feeling defensive. “It will get repaired soon enough.” I do not tell him that I picked apart the stitches to invite him over for such a meeting, but my courage failed me and I did not follow through. Curse Farli and her interfering. I am not ready to talk to Hemalo. I hate it when he judges me, when he gives me those knowing looks that make me feel foolish. When he treats me like I am a kit.
“It will never get repaired if you do not let me know there is a problem.” There is a rebuke in his mild tone, even as he examines the thick stitching. Then he holds an end out and gazes over at me. “Was this cut?”
“What? Do not speak of ridiculous things.”
The look he shoots me is thoughtful. “If this tore, it would not tear in such a neat fashion.”
“Why would I cut it?” I snarl at him, jerking his hand away from the cords as if they will somehow accuse me, too.
“I do not know. That is why I am asking.” He grabs my hand before I can pull back, and then his fingers lock with mine. “You are angry, Asha.” His voice is a low whisper. “Why are you so angry?”
My heart speeds up at his nearness, my khui reacting to his presence. It is only that I have not mated in such a long time, I tell myself. That is why the brush of his skin against mine makes every muscle in my body tense. That is why my tail begins to flick so rapidly against my leg, and my cunt gets wet with need. It is only because I miss mating. It is not because I miss Hemalo. “I am not angry,” I protest.
A slow smile curls his mouth. “You think I do not know you? That I do not know your moods?” His thumb strokes over my knuckles. “Are you angry because Farli asked me to fix the roof, or are you angry because it is me here and everything I do makes you angry?”
Does he truly think that? That everything he does makes me upset? I jerk my hand from his, because I feel as if I am being accused all over again. “I said I was not angry. Though now I am getting irritated that you think I do not speak the truth about that.”
He sighs heavily, watching me. “No matter what I say, it ends in a fight with you, does it not?”
“Why do you think I wish to fight? Wh
y are you always trying to make me feel like the bad one in a fight? Like I am doing something wrong?”
Hemalo shakes his head at me, his mane flicking. “That is not what I meant at all.” He puts a big hand to his forehead and rubs the base of his horns, like he always does when he has a headache. “I am doing this all wrong. My apologies. I did not come here to make you upset.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I came to help.”
Instead of making me feel better, his words just make my khui hum faster, and my cunt aches with need. I press my thighs tightly together and cross my arms over my chest. My teats tingle with awareness at his nearness, but I try to ignore that. Now is not the time. “You should be with the tribe,” I tell him, and gesture in the direction of the long-howse. “Celebrating.”
He shrugs and turns back to the roof, eyeing the hole I have created (and denied). “I do not feel like there is much to celebrate.” His hand caresses the leather.
I am startled to hear him say that. Hemalo has always had such an even, calm personality, unlike my fiery temper. It sounds like something that would come from my mouth, not his. “The humans, especially Claire, have been working very hard to make this enjoyable for the entire tribe,” I chastise him.
“You have been working alongside them,” he reminds me. Hemalo glances over his shoulder at me, and it nearly takes my breath away. My tail patters against my leg with excitement, coiling and flicking. “I am glad they have finally accepted you.”
Accepted me?