Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 106646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
"Oh, you're so sweet to offer," D'see tells I'rec. She looks at me, though. "But I think I should stay in A'tam's hut." And she gives me a meaningful look.
"Why?" I blurt. "Mine is not a good hut." I think of B'shit and how she giggled as it shook when we mated. My heart feels as if it is being pierced with sadness. I miss her. I want to turn and leave the group and race to the clay-making cave, just to grab her by the arms and kiss her and tell her that she should be mine.
D'see moves to my side and whispers. "For our plan."
Oh. The plan to make B'shit jealous. I nod. "I guess…I will sleep with O'jek."
O'jek rolls his eyes. "Glad I get a say in things."
But D'see moves to his side and gives his arm a happy little squeeze, beaming. "You guys are so sweet to accommodate me. You don't know how much I appreciate it."
O'jek makes a grumbly noise under his breath, but his gaze remains locked on D'see. It occurs to me that she is working us all, twisting us around her small fingers and getting us to do what she wants, but I find I do not care. O'jek is happy, gazing at D'see. I'rec will be pleased that she has allied herself with us, and B'shit will be jealous.
I hope.
9
A’TAM
I try not to notice that O'jek's hut is far better than mine. The floor is even, there are no holes in the mortar that the moonlight shines through, and his fire pit is broad and even. D'see should be staying here, not in mine. I lie in my furs and I think about B'shit, about her smile, about how when she kisses, she makes this perfect little gasp when my tongue strokes hers. I like her stories about Earth, her awful mother that sent her somewhere called a board-deen-skool and her antics there. I love imagining a tiny B'shit, causing trouble and being stubborn, and when I can stand it no longer, I peel my furs back and quietly put my boots on.
Tonight, I will see if B'shit is making clay.
I glance over at O'jek, but he sleeps on. I get to my feet, letting my camouflage deepen in color until I am the same dark shade as the shadows around me. There is a cold breeze whistling against the door flap, and I wonder if B'shit will be cold. I move back to my nest of furs and pull the heaviest one off, slinging it over my shoulders like a cloak and heading for the door again.
O'jek sits up, looking over at me with sleepy eyes.
I freeze, wondering if I should make up an excuse of some kind.
But O'jek knows me well. He just studies me, and then says, "B'shit?"
I nod.
"Are you two mating in secret?"
There are rumors in the camp of such, but I do not confirm or deny it. Neither does B'shit, and that makes me wonder…does she want others to think we are together? Is that why she does not correct them? So I shrug and head out, letting O'jek wonder. I pick my way silently across the encampment. It is quiet and bitterly cold this late at night, loose snowflakes flying past and turning to wet drops on my skin. The banked fire is abandoned, everyone tucked under their furs. I head to the far side of the camp, where the sands turn abruptly into cliffs riddled with tiny caves amidst the tumbling rocks.
I see the faint light coming from B'shit's cave, and I do not know if I am pleased or frustrated at her stubbornness. It is a cold night, and if this snow turns into a storm, it could be dangerous for the humans. She should not be out here alone. I deliberately make my footsteps heavier, so she can hear me coming, and when I stick my head inside the cave, I clear my throat.
B'shit jerks in surprise, her hands flying into the air as she smothers a shriek. "You scared the shit out of me, asshole!"
"I was loud as I approached," I point out. This is another thing I worry about with B'shit. She grows so absorbed in her work that she never notices my arrival. "You should not be here," I tell her. "What if I was a tidewater kaari? You would be a tasty snack."
"Don't even start," she mutters, her clay-covered hands going back to the coils of pottery in front of her. She kneels in front of a flat rock that she uses as a table, and her candle flames flutter wildly on a lip of rock above her head.
She is not wearing a heavy fur, I notice, and I immediately take mine off. "Here. I brought this for you."