Текст книги "Barbarian's hope"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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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 even 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? Why 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?

His words sting. Saying they ‘accept’ me makes it sound as if I am the outsider. This is my tribe. I was here first. And it hurts my feelings. “Spare me your pity,” I tell him. “If I wanted to hear what you thought, I would have asked you to come to the howse. There is a reason why it was Farli that asked you here, not me.”

I hate the words even as they spit forth from my mouth like daggers. They are needles designed to launch and hurt, and they succeed. I can see the look on his face as his expression changes, growing cold. It is as if the warmth in his eyes ices over and leaves nothing but frost. Just like that, we are enemies again. My body needs his, but our spirits will never understand one another.

“I am sorry I came,” Hemalo says. Even now, his voice is so beautiful and pleasant that I want to weep. “Tell Farli I will be back to fix it tomorrow.” He steps away from the hole in the roof, and then moves carefully away from me, where I stand hugging my chest and hating the anger that fills me. “I will make sure to come by when you are not home.”

And now I am the one being hurt. This is what I want, right? But the thought of him deliberately avoiding me, deliberately avoiding my house when I am here because he does not wish to talk to me? Even as it makes me angry, it also hurts and makes me feel empty inside. But I lift my chin. “Good. Leave. It is what you are best at.”

He stiffens. Hemalo stops and turns back to me. His nostrils flare and his tail flips wildly, the only signs that I have upset him. “You say that as if you think I wanted to leave.”

“Did you not?”

“No.” The quiet word echoes in the howse between us.

My heart flutters wildly. “If it was something you did not wish to do,” I say, stepping forward, my every movement a confrontation, “it seemed rather easy for you to do.”

“Is that what you think?” He takes a step toward me, and I realize he is devouring me with his eyes, his khui humming. “That it is easy for me to walk away?”

“Should I think differently?” I whisper. I can barely hear my own thoughts over the pounding of my heart. Why am I so nervous around him? So very tense? It is like my entire body is coiled into one anxious knot.

Hemalo gazes down at me, and I think for a moment that he is going to touch me. That he will reach out and brush his knuckles over my cheek. Just the thought of that small touch makes my body react, and my khui hums even louder. His joins it, and the song between us seems to fill the air.

It takes me a moment to realize what is happening. That the joined song of our khuis should not be so loud, so overwhelmingly strong that they take over the air around us. That my pulse should not be thrumming so hard that my heart feels as if it will leap from my chest. That I should not be so very aroused by the nearness of my mate.

I open my mouth, and the humming of my khui is so loud it erupts from my throat, my entire body vibrating with the ferocity of its song.

Resonance.

Hemalo’s eyes widen in surprise. His hand goes to his chest and he places his palm flat over the center of his heart, as if he can feel the heart beating under the plating there. I can hear it, though. I can hear his khui singing to mine.

“Resonance,” he breathes, speaking the word aloud.

We are to mate again. We are to mate and have another kit.

I am…terrified. Completely and utterly terrified.

OceanofPDF.com

8

HEMALO

The wonder of the moment disappears in a heartbeat.

Resonance. I am to have a kit again. I am to bond with my mate again. Joy bursts through me, like the suns coming through the clouds after a long snowstorm. Even as I feel the smile spreading across my face, Asha begins to tremble. Her face pales, until she is so pale blue that she is almost the color of one of the strange-looking humans. Her tail goes limp. “No,” she breathes.

No?

This is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I am filled with joy at the thought of being able to experience the wonder of resonance with the female I love—again. To bring another kit into this world. To get a second chance with everything.

And my heart feels as if it is being squeezed by a fist when her eyes well up and she begins to cry.

She does not want this. She does not want a second chance. “Do not cry, Asha. Please.” I begin to panic, my mind spinning through possible things to say to calm her tears. “Nothing has to be done.”

She gives me an incredulous look. “Nothing has to be done? We have resonated! There is no denying resonance!”

“Yet,” I say. “Nothing has to be decided yet.” I will give her as much time as my body will physically allow me. It does not matter if resonance makes me deathly ill—I will not push Asha into something that will hurt her spirit.

She throws her hands in the air. “Why do I even speak to you?”

Because you have no choice? I want to say, but she is already panicking. “Is resonating to me again so awful?” I know I have never been her mate of choice, but surely she would grow used to the idea over time? It is not inconceivable to resonate a second time to a mate, or even three or four times. But Asha acts staggered, as if I have plunged a knife into her chest.

She shakes her head slowly. “I…I cannot. Hemalo, I cannot.” She moves forward, and I think she moves to hug me, but her hands grip my vest, and the panic in her face is overwhelming to see.

“Do you not wish another kit?”

Agony moves over her face. “I…I do not know. I want Hashala. That is who I want.”

My poor mate. “She is gone,” I say gently, covering her hands with mine. “We cannot bring her back with thoughts or hopes. If so, she would be in your arms even now.” I reach out and caress her cheek. “But we can try again. We can have another kit. Resonance wants us to have another kit. And perhaps this time, we will have a healthy one to love and take care of.”

Asha moves away from me as if burned. “I love her,” she spits at me, suddenly furious. “She may have only lived for a hand of hours, but I loved her so. I still do.”

“I do, too. Do you think the pain of grief is solely yours?”

Her shaking hands press to her mouth. “I am so scared, Hemalo.”

I know she is. I know exactly what she is thinking. She is not scared of being mated to me—she is scared of it all going wrong again. Of the tentative, fragile bond we had between us being destroyed once more in the wake of unending grief. Of loss. Of bringing something so small, so fragile, and so loved into this world only to have it taken from you as quickly as it arrived. She does not need to say any of this. I know. Oh, I know.

I want this kit.

 I want my mate, and I want my kit. I want the same happiness that the others in the tribe have. I think once Asha’s head clears, she will realize this is a wonderful thing. That we cannot live in fear or grief, but must keep living and loving. She will realize that Hashala would have wanted a sister or a brother. She would want her parents to be happy. “It is a good thing,” I tell her, and reach out to touch her again.

She pushes away from me, a panicked look on her face, and I realize I am going about this all wrong.

Asha needs time. I realize, slowly, even as my body throbs and aches with need for her, that I must give her time. The more I push and prod at her for something, the more she wants to run away. She does not like to be forced into something—one reason why our resonance went so sour. She likes for things to be her decision. She is stubborn, my mate. Stubborn and magnificent.

She will come to terms with our resonance, but she must come to it in her own time.

My presence at her side will be seen as pushing her. Not to the tribe, who thinks we should be together, but to Asha, who resents that she did not choose me. I suspect she has always felt a bit trapped with me as her mate. I am not a hunter, nor am I the handsomest or cleverest in the tribe. I am steady when she craves excitement.

I am also patient, though. I know how Asha’s mind works. The more I push her to accept this, the harder she will fight. This is why I could not help her when she was grieving. This is why I had to leave our mating.

She does not want me at her side. Until she comes to me and says she wishes to have me in her furs, I must give her space. The thought makes me ache, and I hate that it must be so. Why can I not take my mate in my arms and hug her? Rub noses and twine my tail with hers? Why must everything between us be a fight?

It makes me tired.

So I take her trembling hand in mine and give it a squeeze. “Asha,” I say, my voice low and calm. I must act as if I am not affected, as if her presence is not driving me wild with need. “Nothing must be done right away. I will leave and give you time to think about things.”

“What is there to think about?” she asks, and there is a bitter note in her voice. “It has already been decided. I am to be a mother even if my body cannot hold a kit and my mate hates me.”

“I do not hate you.” Hate is the furthest thing I feel for her. But I know that trying to hold Asha is like trying to hold a handful of snow—the tighter I grip, the more she will trickle between my fingers and disappear. “Rest,” I tell her. “Relax. We will talk in the morning.”

My slow, even words seem to finally get through to her. She nods, her movements jerky. “I need time to think.”

“I know.” I give her hand one final squeeze. “Take all the time you need.”

And because I love her, I will not be here when she finally comes to seek me.

CLAIRE

Song Day

“No, not another!” I moan in protest as one of the carolers approaches me with a gift. “I’m not playing!”

“Just take it and enjoy it,” Farli says with a toss of her hair. She is practically dancing with excitement at the fact that I’m getting an unexpected gift.

It’s day two of the celebrations, and the tribe—both sa-khui and human—have thrown themselves into the festivities with an enthusiasm that makes my heart glad. The longhouse has been decorated to the nines, and every inch of the place flutters with homemade seed-or-bark garlands, and our spindly, sad, pink tree is potted and sticks out of the opening in the roof of the lodge itself, too weak and unsteady to support a star or an angel topper. It doesn’t matter. Decorating Day was a success and everyone enjoyed it. The first of the Secret Santa—excuse me, Secret Gifting—gifts were handed out, and I’ve seen people showing off new gloves, scarves, and sharing treats from their gift-givers. It’s been fun to watch the excitement, and no one seems to mind when one particularly un-sneaky gift-giver or two gets caught in the act. It all adds to the merriment.

Today is the second day of terrible weather, which means we are plowing ahead with the next day of festivities—Song Day. It’s a mix of Christmas caroling and summer camp, as we are all hanging around by the blazing fire, roasting food on skewers and singing whatever songs come to mind. The sa-khui are terrible, tone-deaf singers and don’t have many songs that aren’t completely made up on the spot, so most of the actual singing falls back to the humans. It’s all fun, though. Everyone loved it when Tiffany sang ‘Ave Maria’ (perfectly, of course, because Tiffany is flawless) and they are currently enjoying Liz’s Batman version of ‘Jingle Bells.’ She and Josie are playing a game of one-up on who can think of the most annoying song, because between the two of them we’ve heard ‘John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt’ and ‘Henry the Eighth’ and ‘This is the Song that Never Ends,’ which the sa-khui found utterly hilarious. I’m having fun…or at least I was until the newest present showed up.

This is gift number four. Gift number two was a pouch of tea, and gift number three, a carved comb for my hair. I take the gift from Farli and hold it up, showing Ereven from across the fire where he sits next to Vektal and Georgie. He just shakes his head and laughs, amused at my frustration.

For a bit, I thought that Ereven was sneakily being the one providing gifts, but he’s been too surprised with each reveal, and it made me realize pretty quickly that it’s not him. It’s someone else, and no one’s coming forward. But who, and why? Frustrated, I pull open the tie on the pouch, acutely aware of the fact that a dozen people are watching me with interest. It’s a small tribe, and the gossip will be all over every hut before the hour is over. I peer inside, and the smell of toffee hits me. “Hraku seeds,” I announce. “Whoever it is, thank you.”

“Share the wealth,” Josie announces, making grabby hands at me.

I gladly hand them over to her. Josie’s having pregnancy cravings like mad and loves sweets. Stacy’s been trying to keep her supplied with things to munch on, but Josie’s been hoovering them up faster than Stacy can cook. “They’re all yours.”

“Oh, but it’s your gift. I only want a few.” She hesitates.

“I’m sure my gift-giver won’t mind me sharing with the tribe,” I say with a big smile, acting pleased that I’ve received another gift. In truth, it bugs me. I don’t like feeling beholden to anyone, and the fact that I’m getting all these gifts makes me worry what I’m overlooking. I’m afraid I’m going to turn around one day and someone will be there with their hand outstretched, expecting a favor or a gift of their own in return.

“I’ll get my skillet,” Stacy says with a grin, getting up from her seat by the fire next to her mate and child. “I suppose if we’re having a bonfire, we should have the Not-Hoth version of s’mores, too.”

Josie squeals with excitement. “Yay!”

“Who sings next?” someone asks.

“I will,” Megan says, standing up. She clears her throat dramatically and puts a hand out in front of her like an opera singer. “Me me me me me,” she sings, warming up. People giggle at her theatrics.

Her mate Cashol nods. “It is a simple song, but I like it. The words are easy to remember.”

“That’s not the song, babe.” She winks at him and then begins to sing the Hokey Pokey, complete with movements. A few people groan, but Esha and Sessah love it, moving along with Megan as she sings.

Stacy returns by the end of the song, and Georgie gets to her feet. “I just want to say how great the celebrations have been so far, and we have Claire to thank for it.” She claps her hands, and then everyone is clapping for me. It’s a gesture the sa-khui aren’t too familiar with, judging by the awkward smacks of their hands together, but the smiles and nods are universal.

“It’s nothing, really,” I say, feeling shy. “And Asha’s been such a big help.” I look around the fire for her, but she still hasn’t joined the group. Huh. I went to her house this morning, but Farli said she was sleeping in and she’d be along shortly. It’s been hours. Now I feel like the worst friend ever because I’ve been having fun and didn’t notice that she was missing. Is something wrong, I wonder? I look for her ex, but I don’t see Hemalo either.