Shifter Planet

by D. B. Reynolds

  She studied Rhodry thoughtfully. Whoever had attacked him wanted him dead. There could be no question of that. As for her own situation, she didn’t want to believe Nando had intended her to die out there on the glacier, but he certainly hadn’t wished her well. It would have been a very close thing if she’d been as helpless as they seemed to have assumed she was.

  She pulled her backpack over and began taking inventory of her few supplies. He was breathing steadily which was a good sign. If he’d had a serious concussion, chances were he’d be showing it by now, so she had to assume either his thick head had protected him, or his accelerated metabolism was working overtime to heal whatever injury there was. She remained puzzled that he hadn’t already gone kitty on her to accelerate the healing. But at the same time, she was relieved to have woken up next to a man rather than a big, angry cat.

  Not that she had anything against shifters. In fact, she rather preferred them. They were just so damn…masculine. It was hard for a regular human male to compete. She still marveled at the idea of an entire species of alpha males. There was some disagreement in Harp’s scientific circles about which of the two forms was a shifter’s natural state, but if you asked a shifter that question, he’d just give you a pitying look and walk away. In her experience, they were just as comfortable in one shape as the other. Fionn, for example, had lounged in front of her fireplace more than once, licking his paws like a big tabby.

  But regardless of her comfort level with shifters in general, she barely knew Rhodry. No matter that they’d once danced all night and, okay, had kissed more than once, or that they’d slept together very intimately for the last several hours. Or that every time she saw him, she wanted to tackle him to the ground and force him to admit that he felt the same tugging chemistry between them that she did. If she ignored all of that, she had to admit that their few real conversations hadn’t exactly been personal.

  Sighing, she gathered a few handy sticks and branches and lit a tiny fire, then grabbed the thickest stick she could find and jabbed it up through a corner of their snow cave until she felt the brush of cold air on her face. Their shelter wasn’t airtight—if it had been, they’d have suffocated by now—but she wanted to be sure the smoke had an outlet between cracks in the overlapping tree trunks. She spent a few minutes watching the smoke wind its way up and over the uneven ceiling to her makeshift vent, then packed her empty canteen with snow, and leaving the cap off, set it in the fire. This was why she always carried a metal canteen. It might get too hot to handle, but it wouldn’t melt.

  While waiting for the water to heat, she pulled the sleeping bag back to expose Rhodry’s torso and studied her handiwork from the night before. She clucked unhappily at what she found, and knew she was going to lose another shirt—those bandages would all have to be replaced.

  Good thing I wore three. She stripped off her two remaining tops until she wore nothing but her usual sports bra. As soon as Rhodry could travel, they’d have to head straight for the Green and warmer temperatures, because she was running out of clothes.

  She eyed the two shirts critically. It was a toss-up as to which was less dirty—neither was clean—but at least the one she’d worn next to her skin wasn’t streaked with blood and dirt. Her skin was already prickled with goose bumps by the time she yanked her remaining top and jacket back on, and she rubbed her arms vigorously before using her knife to cut the shirt into bandages.

  She smiled, thinking someday she could tell Rhodry that she’d literally given him the shirt off her back. She hoped he had a sense of humor about it. Hell, she hoped he had a sense of humor, period.

  When steam was puffing from the wide mouth of her canteen, she started removing his bandages. “Oh, baby,” she whispered in shock. “Who did this to you?” It had been too dark last night, and the timing too urgent, for her to get a really good look at his wounds. But this morning, even in the dim light inside the thicket, she could see how incredibly vicious the attack must have been. Whoever had done this had definitely wanted him dead, but not right away. They’d wanted him to suffer, to lie out there in the snow, dying slowly, aware of the hycats circling and the horrible death awaiting him when he became too weak to keep them away. Someone out there truly hated him.

  Several of the wounds began bleeding almost immediately, and she winced, troubled by how little healing had taken place. She was hardly an expert in shifter physiology, but this wasn’t normal. Some of the deepest lacerations hadn’t even begun to close yet. On a human, the solution would be a few simple stitches to help the body along, but on a shifter? She had no idea.

  She blotted away blood, trying to see better, and frowned. Shifter healing abilities being what they were, very few of them were trained in anything beyond basic first aid. Norms rarely traveled the Green, and if one happened to be injured, he or she was transported to one of the clinics in the city, which were now fully equipped, thanks to her mother. Amanda routinely included a small dispenser of surgical glue in her first aid kit, which had, of course, disappeared along with Nando and all the rest of her supplies.

  Fortunately, her mother had always insisted that she learn how to make do with what was available. If she was set on venturing down repeatedly to uncivilized planets, her mother had said more than once, she needed to know how to put herself back together if she was injured.

  Drawing a deep breath and letting it out, she considered her options. She was pretty sure a few stitches wouldn’t hurt Rhodry, and she didn’t see how his wounds could get any worse than they already were, anyway. She dug into the backpack’s side pocket, and retrieved her needle and thread, then poured some of the hot water into the canteen’s cup, set the cup in the fire, and dropped the sewing implements into the water to sterilize. Regardless of a shifter’s normal resistance to infection, it went against everything she’d been taught not to take minimal precautions. Besides, if Rhodry had been reacting normally, she wouldn’t be sewing him back together at all.

  To her surprise, her fingers were perfectly steady when she threaded the still-warm needle. It was a regular sewing needle, not the sickle shape she’d learned with, and the thread was much thicker and coarser. The principle should be the same. Or so she told herself.

  She leaned forward to stroke his forehead and cheeks, making sure he remained unconscious. The last thing she wanted was a pissed off shifter waking up because some idiot norm was sticking a needle in his chest.

  “Are you in there, kitty?” she said softly. “This might hurt a little. Compared to everything else, though…” Her voice trailed off as her gaze ran over the horrific wounds. Shifter or not, he had to be in terrible pain. Her eyes filled with sympathetic tears and she dashed them away impatiently. “Okay,” she said, swallowing hard. “Be tough.” She didn’t know if that last was meant for her or for him.

  She started on the worst of the injuries, a deep gash across his left pectoral muscle. He had a nice chest. She knew that already. She’d admired his hard, smoothly-muscled body more than once, although this was the first time she’d seen that sprinkling of dark hair running in a diminishing line down past his ridged abdomen and over his perfectly flat belly, like an arrow pointing… She sighed.

  “I finally get you half naked, de Mendoza, and you’re bleeding all over my sleeping bag.” She flushed guiltily then, once more feeling as if she were ogling an unconscious man. Rhodry apparently brought out the voyeur in her.

  Bending to her work, she first cleaned away the blood and grit she’d missed last night, then chose the place she thought stitches would do the most good and started sewing.

  She talked to him in a low voice as she worked, still going on the theory that somewhere inside his head, he was aware of her and what she was doing to him.

  “I’m sorry about the needle,” she said. “I know you’re not used to this kind of thing, being a shifter and all. I’ve had my share of injuries, though. The first really bad one was when I was twelve. One of the planetary department guys I worked for, doing g
ofer stuff, gave me a knife for my birthday. I’d had a puny little pocketknife forever, but this was my first real blade. Anyway, it was a sweet little four-inch beauty with a steel inlaid handle, and I thought it was the most wonderful thing I’d ever seen. My mother almost had a heart attack. I ran next door to show it to Meredith before my mother could take it away—Meredith was my best friend at the time. Her parents left the fleet and went back to Earth that same year.”

  She snipped the thread on a stitch, cleaned the wound one last time and moved on to the next injury, which was a set of nearly perfect claw marks. The four bloody slices ran in parallel lines, following the curve of his ribs almost perfectly, as if it had been planned that way. All four gashes were nasty, and one had gone dangerously deep, exposing a flash of white rib.

  Desperate to distract herself from the raw truth of what she was doing, she started talking again. “Where was I?” she muttered. “Right, new knife. Anyway, I ran over to show it to Meredith, tripped over my own feet and ended up slicing open my arm.” She lifted her left arm and tugged her sleeve up with her teeth to show him a thin line of smooth white scar tissue marring the tanned skin. “See? My mom left the scar, so I wouldn’t forget. The whole thing was pretty embarrassing, let me tell you. I didn’t see that knife again for nearly a year, and even then I had to sneak into my mom’s bedroom and dig it out of her drawer.”

  Remembering her mother’s reaction, she shook her head as she tied off another stitch and moved on to the next. She kept doing that, talking about nothing, moving from stitch to stitch until she was nearly finished.

  “Okay. Almost done. One more and I’ll tuck you in and let you sleep in peace.” She huffed a soft breath. “Lucky you. No rest for me. We need food, and I need to find out what’s going on outside. I have a feeling I’m going to be digging some snow. Too bad you’re not in better shape, because those claws of yours would really come in handy. As it is, I’m going to have to use my knives and fingers, because you guys wouldn’t let me bring my camp shovel. Bet if you were awake, you’d be wishing I had it right about now,” she added wistfully.

  By then, she was sewing up the final wound low on his belly. She had to untie his pants and pull them down low over his hips. She stopped there, leaving him his modesty. Not that she thought he’d mind since she was…that’s right, saving his life. She smiled and kept working.

  When the sewing was complete, she washed his arms and torso again, using the remnants of her shirt and boiled water. Since he wasn’t healing like a shifter, she decided he might not be fighting infections like one either. So she dabbed the wounds with careful amounts of her precious antibiotic ointment before applying fresh bandages—or at least fresher ones. She also carefully washed his head wound and cleaned the blood from his ear. She thought the swelling might be down a bit and the bruise was already starting to discolor. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. If only he would wake up, even for a short while.

  “Please wake up soon, Rhodi,” she whispered into his good ear.

  She’d already decided to stay put for a couple of days—they both needed rest, and, with any luck, Rhodry would regain consciousness before then. Food wouldn’t be a problem. She still had her snare wire, and small game would be plentiful, especially once the storm had passed. And if the storm lingered? Well, there were always other things to eat. She wasn’t exactly sure how far they’d traveled, nor how much of that distance had been toward the Green. Judging by the number and size of the trees she’d seen earlier, there should be plants around for eating, and for medicinals as well—for pain and fever and to help the body start rebuilding lost blood. Of course, after a big storm like that, everything would be buried beneath the snow. The herbs should still be viable, though, and she had used her time well these last several months. She knew where to look.

  One other thing she knew. The sooner they could start moving toward the Green, the happier she’d be.

  Satisfied with her nursing efforts, she straightened Rhodry’s shredded clothing, covered him as much as possible, then tucked her cloak around him and pulled the sleeping bag closed, zipping it only halfway. It was warm enough where they were, especially with her small fire, and she thought the fresh air was probably better for him than rebreathing the air inside the bag. The thin foil blanket she folded into its small square and shoved into her jacket pocket. She’d take it outside and shake it out. And the next time, she’d leave him wrapped in it and take the sleeping bag instead. That way everything would get aired out eventually.

  Drawing on one of her gloves, she picked up the canteen and poured a little of the melted snow into her cup. Waiting until both rim and water were cool, she leaned over and held it to his mouth, lifting his head enough to pour a little past his lips. She watched the muscles in his neck work as he swallowed reflexively, and took that as another good sign that he’d wake soon, that he was in some sort of deep healing sleep rather than truly unconscious. She tipped a little bit more water into his mouth, and then a third time before stopping.

  It was good that he was taking water, but she’d have to figure a way to get something nutritious into him soon. She still had the little bit of rabbit from her last fire. It should be frozen solid, so it would be safe enough to eat. Or maybe she’d get lucky with her snare. Either way, if she boiled the meat, there’d be broth to drink and the meat would be soft enough to mash up or something.

  “Or you could pre-chew it, and feed it to him like a bird,” she muttered to herself. Things weren’t quite that desperate yet.

  She had to force her way through the ice and snow built up around the thicket, only to fall face first into several feet of powdery fresh snow. It took a moment to get herself right side up, and she was still spitting out snow when she finally got a good look at the sea of white surrounding them. Bushes, shrubs, anything shorter than five feet had become a lumpy white swell beneath a low gray sky. It was just good fortune that their hideaway was elevated by the slight hillside, or they’d have been buried along with everything else. The trees she’d escaped through last night stood all around them, spots of color in the otherwise colorless vista. Great drifts of snow had piled around the thick trunks, and the lower branches were so weighted down that they were nearly scraping the ground.

  A light snow still fell from the curdled sky, while a brisk breeze set the airy flakes to dancing sporadically, kicking up flurries to skim along the surface, vanishing as quickly as they started. She lifted her face to the cold and laughed out loud at the flakes that clung to her cheeks. It felt good.

  She waited a moment more, enjoying the fresh air and the weak sun on her face, then she closed her eyes and listened. The song wasn’t as strong here as it would be in the Green. That didn’t mean it wasn’t there. The forest was still, not so much as a vole disturbed the perfect silence. Sinking deeper, she found the song beneath the quiet, the trees content in their blankets of white, accepting the freezing storm, as they would the warm thaw that came after, as part of the natural cycle. Each had a part to play in the pattern of life and death on Harp. Submersing herself in the flow of the trees’ awareness, she searched for a threat—shifter or animal, both were the enemy for now—and found nothing. Everything that lived was hunkered down, waiting to see what the weather would bring next.

  Rising slowly back to focus on her immediate surroundings, she pushed up her sleeve and unwound the coil of wire from around her wrist. With a final glance over her shoulder to the thicket where Rhodry slept unaware, she turned for the top of the hill and slogged through the thick snow to set up a snare. She had to be careful where she walked, an unwary footstep and she’d sink up to her thighs. Though it would be difficult to travel in these conditions, they couldn’t stay here forever. She needed to figure out a better transport for Rhodry and put together some snowshoes for herself. She’d never made anything like a snowshoe before. She’d certainly seen pictures, though, and she understood the principle behind it. While whatever she came up with wouldn’t be pretty, it
would work.

  Another day or two and the storm would clear. The intense cold would retreat back to the glacier that had birthed it, and the snow would begin to melt. Once that happened she and Rhodry would need to move fast. The others, the shifters who’d tried to kill him, might come back then to make sure he was dead. And when they didn’t find his hycat-chewed bones, they’d almost certainly begin to hunt.

  It was cold where he was, icy cold, and fresh with the scent of new snow. Rhodry loved the smell of fresh snow. It reminded him of the mountains and home. But he wasn’t home.

  The air around him stirred and he heard a voice. Amanda. It was her voice he’d been hearing for hours now, although it seemed as if he’d just remembered. She’d slept next to him, kept him warm, protected him. It was an odd thing to think of a woman protecting him now that he was fully grown, especially this woman. It was even more odd to have his memories suddenly appear in whole cloth, as if they’d been waiting just over the horizon for him to climb a hill and find them.

  She’d been outside somewhere. Her voice brought with it the scents of forest and freshly cut wood. He smelled the bright spark of a match. And then nothing.

  “I’m home,” Amanda sang out gaily. She threw several pieces of wood ahead of her, then crawled inside and dragged the rest in behind her, one piece at a time. Finding the deadfall among the trees had been the easy part. Digging her way through several feet of snow in search of food, with only her gloved hands and her blades, had been a lot tougher. The rewards, on the other hand, had been great.