Текст книги "Barbarian's hope"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

12

HEMALO

Something smells foul, so foul it rouses me from my sleep and a ringing headache. I am disoriented, but even with my eyes closed, the smells and sounds are familiar. Well, most of the smells. I smell smoke through the stink, and feel the soft down of fur against my skin. I hear the crackling of fire, and Asha’s soft, tuneless humming, the rumble in my chest as my khui sings to hers—all of these are familiar and comforting.

But I open my eyes, because something about this is not right. My eyes slowly focus, and I see a rock ceiling above me and not a teepee. A cave. I am in a cave. How did I get here? I search my memories, but my last ones are of travel, and slogging through thick snow. Have I forgotten part of my trip? Is this why my head aches so?

My cock aches, too. I realize this even as it occurs to me that my khui is singing, and quite loudly. I look over, and there is Asha by the fire, a bundle cradled in her arms and a lovely smile on her face.

My mate. My sweet, beautiful, fiery mate. I am filled with a fierce joy at the sight of her happiness, but as I study her and the leather-covered bundle she cuddles close, fear shoots through me. Is that…our kit? I touch my brow. Have I fallen victim to the same problem that Pashov did? Have I been struck on the head and forgotten the last few turns? Panic surges through me, and I sit upright quickly. The swift action makes my head pound in response, and I press my hand to the base of my horns, groaning.

“Hemalo,” Asha murmurs in a soft voice. “Are you well?”

“I do not know…I… Asha, have I forgotten our kit? Have I forgotten seasons like Pashov did?”

She blinks at me, surprised, and then down at the bundle in her arms. Her mouth twitches in a smile, and she gives a slow shake of her head. “Do not panic. This little one is not yours.”

I frown. “Then whose?” I am surprised at the vicious stab of jealousy that takes over me. She is my mate. She resonates to no one but me.

Her smile widens, and she pulls the leather away, then holds the kit out for me to see.

It is not a sa-khui kit. It is…fluffy. It is white and downy and looks like a fuzzy ball of fluff with metlak eyes and a tiny metlak beak. It chirps and coos at me even as it clings to one of Asha’s braids.

“It is…a metlak?”

“A much cleaner one,” Asha says, tucking it back into the blankets with affection. “The poor thing was filthy when I found it.”

“What is it doing here?” I glance around me, curious. “For that matter, what are you doing here?”

“I am here because I came after you.” Her smile fades, and she will not look me in the eye. She focuses on the tiny metlak instead, dipping her finger in a bowl and then putting the fingertip into the metlak kit’s mouth. It licks hungrily at her, trying to feed. “And this little one was left here in this cave, probably by the metlaks that attacked you.”

“Metlaks attacked me?”

“You do not remember?”

I rack my brain, trying to recall. All I remember is walking and thinking of my mate. Thinking ravenous, hungry, needy things about my mate. “Perhaps…I was distracted?”

“One hit you on the head from behind. They knocked you out.” She strokes the fluffy face of the creature, gazing down at it before smiling over at me. “Does it hurt?”

It does. I touch my brow and find it covered with tight leather bindings. “I should have been more careful.”

“They are starving and clever, these metlaks. I do not think you could have imagined that they would attack you to steal your pack.”

She is right; that does not sound like typical metlak behavior. I frown to myself and resist the urge to rub my aching forehead as I move toward the fire to sit next to her. “Why did they want my pack?”

“I think they have been living in this cave.” She gestures around her. “It was a filthy mess when I arrived, and I found this little one here. They must have left it behind to go hunting, and I think when they saw you, they assumed you would have more food. The supplies here have been eaten or ruined.” She gets to her feet and hands me the bundle in her arms. “Hold him while I put fresh tea on for you.”

I take the metlak kit from her, trying not to frown down at it. It is clear to me that Asha is attached to the creature. I have never liked metlaks, and like them even less now that I have been told they attacked me. But looking down at the small kit in my arms as it yawns sleepily and waves a small fist, I see why she is doting on it. Though it is ugly and covered in fur, it is a helpless kit. Asha has too soft of a heart to do anything but love it.

As if she can hear my thoughts, she moves to my side and begins to fuss with the bandages on my brow. It puts her teats at level with my eyes, and I can hear the hum of her khui through her skin. She smells like soapberries and sweat and arousal, and my cock stirs in response. I force myself to remain still while she checks my brow.

“The wound has closed,” Asha says, pleased. “Good. It is swollen but should go down in a few days. You will need to get a lot of sleep. I want you feeling better as quickly as possible so we can return to the vee-lage.”

She is talking as if it is already decided, which surprises me. I did not anticipate my reunion with Asha to be so…calm. I expected fire and anger. “You wish to return to the vee-lage with me? You are not mad?”

“Oh, I am furious with you,” Asha says, her tone sweet despite her words. “But I am not going to yell and shake my fist at you today. Not when I thought I had lost you.” She chokes on the words and then swallows hard.

I reach out and caress her tail, dragging my fingers down the smooth length of it.

She jerks out of my grip, her tail flicking angrily. “I did not say I was not mad. Do not think I have forgotten. But I am not going to spew my anger when there is a little one and you have a head injury.” She casts me a heated look and then moves to the fire, grabbing her tea pouch and shaking far too many leaves into the water.

She is agitated, my mate. I hope it is because she worries over me. That is a nice thought. I cannot be mad at her subtle fury, though. This is the most…alive I have seen Asha in so many moons. Let her focus her anger on me. If it brings the spark back to her eyes, I will take it gladly.

The little one in my arms chirps, and I look down at it. It blinks at me, just like a sa-khui infant. Strange. I have never thought of the metlak as people, but I know several humans have convinced their mates that the creatures are intelligent. I do not know if I believe this, but I can see why Asha is fascinated by the kit. “It is much cleaner than its parents,” I tell her absently, thinking of every other metlak I have ever seen. To a one, they are filthy, smelly creatures.

“I gave him a bath,” Asha says, stirring the tea. “He smelled foul when I found him.”

“And it is a boy?”

She nods, and the soft smile curves her mouth again. “I have been calling him Shasak.”

I grunt. It means ‘little spark.’ “And what will you do with Shasak? Release him into the wild?”

“Of course not. He is a kit. He cannot take care of himself. I will keep him and protect him.” When I give her an incredulous look, she shrugs. “If Farli can raise a dvisti, I can surely raise a metlak kit?”

I…have no answer for that. The idea is strange, but the humans have put a lot of strange ideas into our tribe ever since they arrived. “If it makes you happy, then you should keep it,” I tell her. I will support her in this.

Her mouth twitches as she scoops tea into a cup. “I did not ask for permission. You are no longer my mate. You do not live with me. I can do as I please.”

My heart sinks at her smiling words, delivered with the force of a spear-throw. “I see.”

“You do not, but I do not wish to talk about it today.” She moves toward me and sits down with the cup of tea, holding it gently in her hands. “Tomorrow, I will be angry at you. Today, I am grateful you are alive.”

“Tomorrow, we will talk then,” I say, adjusting the kit against my side and taking the cup with my free hand. “Thank you for coming after me. If you had not, I might be dead.”

Her face tightens. “I know.” Her hand goes to my knee and she touches me.

Just once, but it is enough for now.

She does not hate me. She is upset with me, and I sense I have hurt her, but she does not hate me. I can fix this, then. Whatever it is, I can make it better between us. And then I can claim my mate once more.

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13

CLAIRE

“Bek,” I say, entering the hunters’ lodge. “What are you doing?”

He looks up from the spear he is sharpening, a frown on his face. “I am working on my weapons. What does it look like I am doing?”

I’m not fooled by his efforts to look busy. I know I saw him retreat into this house, and his tail is twitching too hard for me to think he’s just sitting here, relaxing and working on his weapons. I call bullshit on that. “Can we talk?”

Bek shrugs and returns to work on his spear, grazing his sharpening stone along the deadly point. “What is there to say?”

Is he kidding? I have a million things to say to him. Things like, “What on earth are you doing?” and, “Why are you giving me presents when we’re not mated?” and, “Don’t you realize I have a resonance mate and will never be with you again?” and, “I thought you hated me,” and a dozen other related questions that all bubble up in my brain. I cross my arms and study him, a bit flummoxed. I know Bek pretty well (being that we were lovers and all once upon a time), and I know that if I push at him and he doesn’t want to answer, he’ll just shut down entirely. I’ve got to steer away from accusing him. Bek has a lot of pride.

I think for a moment longer, and then decide to avoid subtlety. “Warrek’s a terrible messenger, you know. He totally gave you away.”

I half expect him to get annoyed, but Bek only smiles.

Then I realize it. “You sent Warrek deliberately, didn’t you?” The gentle hunter has zero malice in his body, but also zero subterfuge. Warrek would be the last person I would pick to do something sneaky for me. And Bek is too clever to let his plans go off the rails because of a buddy. “You wanted to be found out.”

Scraaaape. Scraaaaaape. He doesn’t look up from sharpening his tools, but his tail grows more agitated.

“Do you not understand the game?” I ask gently, since he’s not offering me much in the way of help. “Your secret gift person is Borran, right?”

Bek lifts his head and gives me a quick, irritated glance. “I know the rules. You have beaten them into everyone’s heads repeatedly.”

That’s more like the prickly Bek I know. “Okay, well, if that’s the case, why are you sending me gifts? You know I’m not playing.”

He focuses on his spear again, shaving off a long piece of bone. “I thought you deserved something for your hard work.”

I’m touched…and puzzled. And okay, I’m also a little concerned. Ever since I resonated to Ereven, Bek has left me alone. I haven’t missed our relationship, because it never felt right to me, and I’ve been so incredibly happy with Ereven. But to hear Bek say that makes me worry he’s wanting to get back together, and that could make things really darn awkward. “Ereven and I are very content,” I say pointedly, and pat my pregnant belly.

“I know.” He shaves another long piece off. It falls onto his thigh, and he flicks it away like it bothers him. “I have eyes.”

Oookay. This is going fantastic. I continue to rub my belly. “So why…?” I can’t quite somehow bring myself to confront him. “I mean…”

Bek sighs heavily, as if he didn’t set this up somehow. Like it’s somehow my fault, and I fight another stab of irritation at him. We always rub along like this, him and I. He gets pissy, and I cringe and avoid saying how I feel, and then we just annoy the crap out of each other until one of us can’t stand it any longer. So I’m relieved when he says, “I feel guilty.”

“Guilty? Why?”

He glances up at me and then gets to his feet, spraying bits of bone shavings everywhere. He grabs a stool from the far side of the room and moves it next to his spot, and then gestures that I should sit.

Oh. Is this explanation going to take a while? I hesitate.

Bek makes a frustrated sound and then points at the stool. “You are with kit. Be seated, or I will feel even more guilt.”

“I’m perfectly capable of standing for longer than five minutes,” I tell him, but I sit anyhow, and then add, “Thank you.”

He returns to his seat, brushing aside bone flecks before crossing his legs again and picking up his carving knife. “I am trying to share, and you are not making this easy.” When I say nothing to that surly statement, he adds, “I am not good at sharing.”

No shit, Sherlock. But he’s trying, so the least I can do is listen and not be mean about it. I don’t want to be mean, anyhow. I just want to understand. “I’m here now. Go ahead.”

I expect him to start carving again, but he pauses, looks thoughtful, and then glances up at me. “I feel guilt for how our pleasure-mating went.”

Oh. That’s not what I expected to hear. “It’s in the past.”

“It is in the past, true, but if I leave a thorn in my foot, it will still irritate and infect until it is removed.”

Fair enough. “I don’t think you should feel guilty. I just think we’re two people that have very different personalities and don’t know how to get along together. I don’t dislike you. I actually like you a lot and wish we were friends.” Saying all this feels so incredibly difficult. My shoulders are tense with worry, and I can feel the stress taking over my body, which is weird. It’s like I just lock up around Bek because I expect him to disapprove of everything I say. I guess it’s going to take a while for me to get over that, but I’d like to try. “I don’t hate you.”

“I do not hate you, either.” He meets my gaze, and the look on his face is very serious. “I feel I treated you badly. I was not kind and loving like Ereven is to you. I was just…frustrated.”

“We both were,” I say softly. “It wasn’t a good relationship.”

“I wanted a mate very badly,” Bek tells me in a low voice. “I have been alone for a very long time. I want a mate and kits. I thought being with you would give me that chance. But we did not have the bond that the others do. Resonance smooths the way when things are difficult, and we had no such thing to help us. I felt it was not right between us, too. It was not right, and the more I tried to hold you in place, the further away it felt you were moving. So I pushed harder and harder. I was not kind. And I lost you.” He sighs heavily and gives me a tired look. “I think about why you left. I do not blame you for leaving me and ending our pleasure-mating. I was short and impatient, and you needed understanding, and you did not get that from me. But I do wonder if I had been a better mate to you, would you have still resonated to Ereven? If you had been happy with me, would your khui have pulled you elsewhere?” He shrugs. “I wonder about this.”

I understand his frustration, but I’m glad that we broke up, because I have Ereven. Everything that was wrong with my relationship with Bek is right with Ereven. It’s hard to explain or describe, but it just is. I can’t say that to Bek, though, not when he is clearly still carrying feelings about how things ended between us. So I simply say, “I would like for us to be friends again.”

“I miss you,” Bek tells me.

I lick my dry lips and shake my head. “No, we are not doing this. I am happily mated.”

His expression grows thunderous. “I know this. I do not seek to come between you. You resonated to another. You will never bear my kits. You belong to Ereven, and he belongs to you.” He looks insulted that I would insinuate otherwise. “But it does not mean that I do not miss you.”

“Do you really miss me?” I ask him. “Or do you miss what you thought we had? Are you lonely for me, or are you lonely for a mate, any mate?” I’m a little surprised I’m able to speak so forcefully to him. “Because I remember what we had, and it wasn’t good. We were always unhappy with each other. I don’t want to go back to that.”

“I…” He frowns. “I suppose I am remembering the good times.” He stares off into the distance and then gives me a rueful look. “We argued a lot.”

“It wasn’t arguing. You’d get mad, and I’d shut down. Arguing implies I showed spirit,” I tell him. “Pretty sure I wimped out of every argument.”

“You did,” he says thoughtfully. “It was very annoying.”

“I’ll bet. Look, Bek…you’re lonely. I understand.” I smile at him to make my words easier. “But it doesn’t mean that we were meant to be mates. We can be friends, but that is all I want.”

He sighs heavily. “It is all I want, too. I just…I do not know why I did this. I am not trying to make you uncomfortable, Claire.” His expression is honest as he crouches low next to me. “You have been working hard for the tribe, and you want to bring nothing but joy to the others. I wanted to bring joy to you.”

He’s painting a pretty saintly picture of me, and I don’t think that’s true. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood, that’s all.”

“And look at the way you have befriended Asha,” he says. “You have a good heart. I thought you deserved a reward for being such a good human. So I made you gifts.”

I feel weird at hearing that. Like befriending Asha was some onerous task I took on. “Can you stop making me gifts? Save all that generosity for Borran and the gifts you’re supposed to give him.”

The look on his face grows stubborn. “I can give you gifts if I wish. It is my way of saying I am sorry for any worry I caused you in the past.” His gaze drops to my belly. “And the next gift is for your little one.”

That big noodle. “You’re going to make someone a fantastic mate someday.”

“Just not you.” He gives me a devilish look.

“Just not me,” I agree with a laugh. It’s weird, but I feel like I regained a friend just now, and it’s nice.

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14

ASHA

I do not sleep much that night. I worry that the metlaks will return and brave the fire and our scents and come after the kit. I worry that Hemalo will take a turn for the worse, despite it being a slight head wound. I worry the kit will wake hungry and need me. So I do not sleep. I tend the fire and watch Hemalo as he slumbers. I make more mashed roots for the little one and feed Shasak when it awakens. It does not cry like a sa-khui kit when hungry, which is odd, but when he looks up at me with big eyes and waves his fist?

To me, he is a kit. A small, hungry, needy kit.

Shasak wakes up just before dawn, and I have to clean his bedding and wipe him down. His fur gets filthy easily, and I see why metlaks smell so foul all the time. This one will not be as bad as his brethren, I decide, and when he is clean, I hug him close to my teats and rock him until he falls asleep again. The cave is quiet except for the crackling of fire, and it gives me much time to think. I think of the astounded look on Hemalo’s face when I revealed Shasak to him. He did not know what to make of the tiny metlak. I chuckle quietly to myself, thinking of his reaction. It was not the instant love I felt. More…befuddlement. I imagine he thinks it is like Farli’s pet, except worse. But this is different. The dvisti is an animal.

Shasak is…not sa-khui, not human, but a people all the same.

My khui begins to sing as Hemalo rolls over in the furs. His eyes are still tightly closed, but I can hear the gentle resonance coming from his chest. It ignites an ache in my body, and I have to fight the urge to crawl under the blankets with him and seek out his cock with my hand. Wake him up with a stroke of my fingers along the length of it, watch his eyes open sleepily to gaze at me with such hunger and lust that it steals the breath from my lungs. It is the resonance that makes me crave him, I tell myself. My heart is still wounded at the fact that he has abandoned me. He has not apologized for leaving me behind. He has not even seemed apologetic.

I cannot let my relief over his safety cloud my judgment. I followed him out into the snows because I wanted answers, and now he is here before me. I can get the answers I need. All I need to do is wake him up. I could lean over, kick him as he sleeps, and try to make him as angry and as hurt as I am. To let him know how it feels.

I do not, though. Instead, I watch him sleep, my heart aching and sad. I gaze at the bandages over his high brow, let my attention wander over the proud sweep of his horns, the pleasing length of his dark mane. The strong line of his jaw. His broad shoulders are hidden by the furs, but under them I know his stomach is hard with muscle, just like any hunter, and his cock is as large and pleasing as any. Even more pleasing to me, I decide, because he has very prominent ridges on his cock, and they slide into my cunt in the most perfect of ways…

I feel my cunt grow wet with arousal, and I sigh, pressing my thighs tight together. I want Hemalo, but I also want to know why he left me. I do not know if I can mate with him until I know the answer. Does he…not want me? I touch my mane and the ridges of my own jaw. Does he find the humans more attractive than a female of his own kind now that all of his tribesmates are mating them? Does my sa-khui nose bother him because it is not ridiculously small like a human one? Are my teats too flat compared to the puffy, fleshy ones of the humans? I glance down at my chest. It is a good chest, I think. My teats are large enough to feed a kit, but not so bouncy that they jiggle when I move, like Claire or Shorshie. I do not think I would like that very much.

But…perhaps Hemalo likes that? I hate that I am filled with so many questions. I should wake him and demand answers.

And yet…I am worried what those answers will be. What if he tells me things that wound my spirit and devastate me? I am terrified of what I might hear. What if it means we are to never be mated ever again? That we will only fulfill the call of resonance and then he will abandon me once more? What will happen to the kit we make between us? The worry gnaws at me until my belly aches with it, and I pick up Shasak and cradle him close to my chest, seeking comfort. Him, I do not mind waking up. Shasak is simple—he wants nothing more than to eat and sleep. I stroke his strange, furry face and fight down my scared feelings.

The fire flickers and begins to smoke, a sign that more fuel needs to be added. I pluck a dung chip out of a basket and add it to the base of the fire so it will smolder. I hold Shasak as I lean in over the fire, and as I do, I glance up at the entrance to the cave. I am not sure why I do, but when I look over, I see eyes shining in the slit between the cave wall and the privacy screen.

Something is watching me.

I get to my feet slowly, uneasy, and hold Shasak close. I know what is out there. I know whose eyes watch me from outside the cave but will not come in. The two metlaks that raided this cave and attacked my mate have come back. I feel a protective surge for Shasak—and a greater one for Hemalo. They will not hurt my mate again. I will not let them.

I keep my movements slow and creep over to the edge of the cave, where my belt hangs on a rock ledge. I pull my knife out of its sheath and clench it tight in my free hand. Let them come in.

Shasak chirps suddenly, and the sound is loud in the small cave. Hemalo stirs in his bed, and outside, I hear an answering chirp.

Hemalo’s eyes open, and he looks at me.

“I know,” I murmur softly, holding my knife high. “They have come for the kit.” I am angry at the thought. They left him here alone, filthy and unguarded. They do not deserve to have a kit. I can take much better care of him than they ever can. He is mine now.

Hemalo sits up slowly. He gets to his feet and then puts a hand toward me. “Give me the knife. You have the kit. Protect him, and I will protect you.”

I nod. In this, we will be a team. I hand him the knife and hold Shasak closer to me, stepping back to the rear of the cave. Hemalo stands before us, tall and strong despite the bandages on his brow, and for a moment I feel a stab of fear. If many metlaks wait on the other side of the privacy screen, he will need more than my small bone knife. “Be careful,” I whisper.

“I will protect you,” he tells me. “Do not worry.” He grips the knife tightly and steps forward, then pushes aside the privacy screen.

I suck in a breath.

The screen clatters to the side, bouncing against the cave wall. The two metlaks out in the snow cringe back and hiss at us, one scurrying behind the other. The larger one, I can see, only has one eye. “These are the same metlaks as before,” I tell Hemalo.

“Stay behind the fire,” he warns me, and brandishes the knife at them. “Back!”

They drop back a few steps but then wait, hovering patiently in the snow. The smaller one lifts its head and chirps, and the kit in my arms answers. The smaller one chirps again and takes a step toward Hemalo. She crouches low to the ground, her body language that of groveling and submission. But her gaze is locked on me and the kit in my arms.

She wants him back. I clench Shasak tightly to me. She does not deserve him back. Not if she left him.

“They are so thin,” Hemalo murmurs, shocked. “Is that why they came to the cave? Are they starving?”

“Does it matter?” I feel a sense of panic in my belly. Shasak is mine now. They do not deserve him.

Hemalo cocks his head to the side, studying the metlaks cringing at the entrance to the cave. “They are not leaving. They are terrified, but they do not want to leave. Odd.”

“Chase them away. Make them go.”

He glances back at me. “I do not think they are a threat. Remember what the human Li-lah said? They helped Rokan when he was injured. Do we have more roots left?”

I gasp. “I am saving them for Shasak. You cannot give them away.”

“Be sensible, Asha,” Hemalo says. He lowers the knife—but still keeps it out—and extends his hand to me. “Give me one of the roots, please.”

“No!”

“Either they are people or they are not.” He glances back at me, and there is reproach in his gaze. “Would you let Shasak’s mother and father die? Right here? Right now? When they are clearly risking their lives to get him back?”

But I do not want to give him back. I fight down the helpless fear and frustration I am feeling. Hemalo is right, though; I cannot say that Shasak is a person and then let his kin starve like animals in the snow. I move to the back and dig through my pack, pulling out one of the few roots I have. I do not have many and will need to go hunting for more, and am feeling protective of my small store. I hand it over to Hemalo anyhow, though, because I know it is the right thing to do. I hate that it is, but I cannot be cruel.

He crouches low, his tail perfectly still, and offers the root. The one-eyed one races forward and snatches it, then bounds away. The smaller one remains, chirping and cringing. She is not interested in food. She wants her kit. Her gaze remains on me and the bundle in my arms.

“This must be the mother,” Hemalo murmurs. “I think she is injured. Look at her arm.”

I lean over to see around him, and the female cringes back a step. It is clear she is favoring one side. I feel a surge of guilt as I watch her move. She is not using one arm at all. Is this why she left little Shasak in the cave? Because she could not carry him but was desperate to find something to eat? What would I have done in her situation? “Should we give her more roots?”

Hemalo looks at the huddled female metlak and then back to me. “She wants her kit, Asha.”

I feel like weeping. “He is happy with me. I can feed him.”

“I know,” my mate says simply. “But what would you do if someone took your kit?”

I think of my sweet Hashala, born so small and unhealthy. I would have fought anyone, done anything, climbed any mountain if it would have helped her. Hot tears spill from my eyes, and I hold Shasak closer. I do not want to give him up. I just want to love him and take care of him.

Shasak chirps.

The female echoes the chirp, edging forward another step. She reaches toward me with her good arm, and then draws back again, uncertain. She is brave, this female. She moves closer to the fire—and to the both of us—even though her mate has run off to eat. As she does, I see the fur on her bad arm is matted and filthy and crusted with blood. “We cannot send Shasak with her,” I whisper to Hemalo. “She is injured.”

“Then we must help her,” he tells me gently.

I nod, even though I feel like screaming. Shasak is so warm and heavy in my arms, the perfect size. He is a good kit. I do not want to give him back. Yet as the mother metlak stares up at me with big, liquid eyes, I know I will not be able to keep him. “How do we do this?” I ask.

“Give me another root,” Hemalo says, his gaze on the female.

I get another out of my bag and hand it to him. He offers it to the creature, but she only chirps and looks expectantly at me. Even her hunger cannot sway her from her kit. I have an idea, and I crouch on the ground, holding Shasak out. “Here,” I whisper. “Come see him.”

She creeps toward me, chirping hesitantly. As she moves, I can see her ribs through her thick, matted fur, and my heart aches. Why are they so hungry? Did the earth-shake send them far from their home, too? “It is all right,” I say in a low, soothing voice. “We are here to help.”

The female reaches for Shasak, even as Hemalo gets to his feet and moves to the fire. He gets a length of leather and dips it into the water I have warming in the pouch, and then approaches the female, squatting next to her. She cringes back, hissing.

I hold Shasak out again.

She reaches for the kit, and Hemalo reaches for her arm again. The female hisses once more, but does not run away. She growls low in her throat and hisses, but her long hands creep toward Shasak, and she touches him, making sure he is all right.

“Do not let go of the kit,” Hemalo murmurs to me as he begins to dab at the terrible wound on her arm. “If you hold him, I think she will stay long enough to let me help her.”

I nod, and my gaze meets the mother metlak’s. Does she understand that I am trying to help her? That I want nothing more than to love and care for her kit? Perhaps she does, because she does not snatch him from my grip. She strokes his fur and chirps at him, while Hemalo cleans the wound. Sometimes he hits a sore patch and she turns to hiss at him, but she does not move away.