“Oh, so you don’t even have time to eat the meal I slaved over?”
That was mostly a joke, of course. I had no idea what I was doing by the massive communal fire, and I just collected the pieces of meat that Rika had set aside for Buroudei. This must be what women feel like when their husbands get home late for dinner. I flushed. Hold on, husband? I hadn’t been here that long, had I? Long enough that I was actually thinking about settling down with an alien?
We’ll think about that one later.
Either way, I still took his hand.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Buroudei
I was a Gahn, certainly. But by now I should have been regarded as a true god among men for the restraint that I had shown. Zeezee had seemed different last night, like she would have actually welcomed my cock if I had offered it. Perhaps I was a fool for refusing.
A fool. A god.
Maybe both.
But there had been no time. Knowing that I had to prepare for our trip back to the fallen creature on top the looming battle with Gahn Fallo meant that I had to use every spare moment I had. And that had meant leaving her in the tent so I could create her irkdu saddle and her riding garments. I could have assigned the task to one of the women, but it had felt important that I did it myself. The fact she’d gotten so injured the first time she’d ridden my mount with me was still a hot blade of shame in my guts. This was the smallest sort of recompense. I would learn every intricacy of her kind. I would learn exactly how to provide for her. I would spend the rest of my life making sure something like that never happened again.
And so I’d stayed up half the night, working the hides the way my mother had done when she was still alive. And after I’d finished, though I’d longed to plunge myself into Zeezee’s warm, soft body, I’d slept at Galok’s tent. She’d need her rest, too, for the journey.
Now that darkness had fallen, it was time. The zeelk were less active at night, and Zeezee wouldn’t be as susceptible to the sun and heat. We didn’t have many nights left before Gahn Irokai returned with his men. It had to be now.
Zeezee’s hand was so small in mine. It made my heart ache. The full weight of her vulnerability was crashing down upon me. Just existing in my world was a danger to her. And now she was going to be in even more danger as we travelled back to the body of the fallen creature. I did not like it. Not at all. But I knew with increasing certainty that it had to be done. Best to get it over with quickly.
Zeezee said nothing as we walked, which was unusual for her. I’d been half-expecting her to try out any newly acquired words on me, and felt a pang in my chest when she didn’t. Perhaps her mind is on the journey ahead.
I led Zeezee away from the tents, towards the boulders and the peet grass. The irkdu roamed slowly, munching on grass. Some of them slept. I whistled, sharp and low, and my mount roused itself, moving towards us.
Zeezee said something, then, and she sounded unhappy. I squeezed her hand, the way she’d squeezed mine yesterday.
“Do not worry, Zeezee. I have made better preparations this time.”
I moved to where I’d stored our supplies between two of the smaller boulders. Zeezee clutched at my hand, following closely, keeping her eye warily pinned to my irkdu. It was wise of her – though my animal was well-trained and would not intentionally hurt her, it could crush her with one wrong roll of its huge body.
I had already collected everything I imagined we would need. We would likely be back before sunrise, but I had brought Zeezee’s shielding cloak all the same, as well as the hard shells she wore on her feet during the day. The fabric garments she wore between her feet and the shells were wearing thin in places, so I’d fashioned her new ones from the softest, thinnest parts of the dakrival hide. I’d reinforced her leg garments with much tougher dakrival leather along the inner thighs, cutting away the bloodied parts, and had crafted a saddle of sorts using a frame of bone and more heaped layers of leather. We used saddles like these for our cubs when learning how to ride, when their legs were too short to comfortably remain seated, so I already knew the basic design. It was adorable, and terrifying, that I only had to make the saddle slightly larger for Zeezee than we would make them for our tribe’s children. I had valok and dried meat to sustain us, tucked into the pockets of the saddle, as well as long leather cords to lash any other items to the irkdu. I had no idea what we were going back to collect, but we should have had enough to be prepared. Even if we were getting something large, it could trail behind the irkdu, tied with the cords. I had collected weapons, too: an extra zeelk spur spear, several knives, and my axe.
I presented Zeezee with her clothing, then got to work securing the saddle to the irkdu. Because I was turned away from her, working with the saddle, I did not see Zeezee’s reaction to our supplies, and thus was blindsided when I turned around and found her eyes shining, her cheeks wet, her voice coming in short little wails. Rika told me Zeezee had done this in the smoke tent. Rika was fairly sure it was nothing physiological, not a sign of illness, but rather something to do with strong emotion. I abandoned the saddle and was at her side immediately, brushing my fingers across her wet cheeks.
“What is it? What is happening?”
What is happening? A question for the ages. A question I was asking myself far too often lately.
Zeezee was waving the thin leather foot coverings I’d made in the air between us, her words coming thick and fast. The wetness coming from her eyes was unnerving. Losing that amount of moisture in the desert, apart from normal daily bodily functions, was never a good sign. I pressed my fingers to her cheeks, applying a small amount of pressure upwards, as if I could somehow stem the flow. But that only seemed to make things worse.
“Save your fluids, mate, or I will need to collect more valok for our journey.” I wished I knew what she was saying. She was very clearly talking about the foot coverings, and her tone was upset. I frowned, trying to look at the garments as she waved them frantically. I’d copied the design of the ones she’d come with, and the ones I made seemed far better constructed, the fabric softer and also more durable. But clearly I had done something wrong.
“I can adjust them. Give them here.”
I tried to take them from her hands, but she yelped, hugging them to her chest with the ferocity of a krixel defending its kill, before bending and putting them on her feet. I watched her in confusion, and worried that, even if we one day shared the same language, I would never really understand her.
After putting on the foot coverings (that I saw with satisfaction seemed to fit well, despite whatever her protestations may have been) she pulled on her leg coverings. When she noticed my amendments to that garment, her eye leaking was renewed once more. I was at a loss. She didn’t seem to want me to do anything, and I did not like that feeling. She wiped viciously at her cheeks then put on her hard foot shells.
She stood and faced me, and started trying to form a sentence. A question.
“Dakrival hide... Balia?”
I stared at her, confused. She sniffed hard, then tried again, this time pointing to the new parts of her pants, then her feet.