Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Tonight was nice. After dinner, we sat around the fire and just talked. I asked him about his earliest memories, and I went over mine, too. He told me of some of his fights, and we discussed other skills that might be hiding in my memories. I’m excited to try to make skis, but Skarr doesn’t want a pair for himself.
“I like my feet on the ground.”
“You mean two feet deep in snow?” I teased.
He made a face at that.
But it was nice to just sit and talk the two of us, with no expectations for more than conversation. To be open and honest with each other instead of skirting around things. We haven’t yet talked more about resonance, or babies, or if we’ll seek out the healer. There’s time for all of that. For now it’s just nice to exist and not feel like I’m doing everything completely wrong.
I lean in and blow on the fire to build the flames, and accidentally knock my fire-poking-bone with my foot. It clatters on the stone floor, and I wince and look over at Skarr again.
No response. Not even a twitch.
For some reason, that worries me. I get to my feet and creep over to his side of the hut, shivering. The floor is like ice, the air ridiculously frigid. If I were back home I’d say a blizzard came in and we’re several degrees below zero, but it’s hard to tell without thermometers. I kneel next to Skarr as he sleeps and peel the layers of covers back. He’ll be annoyed I’ve woken him, but better safe than sorry. He rests inside the cocoon of blankets, one hand palm up next to his face.
I gently brush my fingers over his hand.
He feels like ice.
“Skarr?” I whisper, taking his hand in mine and squeezing it. “Are you okay?”
He doesn’t stir. My khui is humming at his nearness, but the hum isn’t the normal, frantic one. It’s slow and measured, and Skarr’s song is so faint I can barely hear it. I reach out and tap his cheek with my cold fingertips, expecting to meet warm skin.
He’s colder than I am. There’s no warmth to his flesh.
“Skarr?” I grab him and shake him, panicking. His head falls back, lolling, and I whimper. He can’t be dead. He can’t. I can hear his khui. I push him onto his back and press my ear to his chest. He’s still wearing multiple layers of clothing under the blankets, and yet it doesn’t seem like enough. His heart is beating, but the steady thump of it is sluggish, and I’m reminded that he’s part ssethri, and they’re cold blooded. I don’t know how that mingles with warm blood, but clearly not well.
He needs warmth.
I immediately grab my furs from my side of the hut and pile them atop him, then slide under the furs. Pressing myself against his side, I wrap my arms and legs around him, trying to share my warmth. It’s like hugging a corpse, and the only thing that stops me from panicking is the slow, slow thump of his heart under my hand and the even slower song of his khui.
“Wake up,” I whisper in his ear. “Please wake up so I know you’re all right.”
Skarr continues to be limp in my grasp, and I fret that I’m not getting him enough body heat. Does he need more, or am I too late? Should I undress to share skin-to-skin warmth? After a few moments of indecision, I decide yes, I need to undress him. I roll him onto his back again and tug at his leather clothing, pulling ties open and revealing cold green skin. I manage to get his thick overwraps and tunic open, but I can’t get the clothes off his arms without flipping him again, so I abandon them for his pants.
I blush as I undo his belt and tug the pants down his legs. His groin is smooth, no sign of two cocks anywhere, and I remember how they seemed as if they sprang into my hand when I touched him. Lizards back home don’t have dangling dicks (at least not that I’m aware of) so it must be tucked inside his body somehow.
Once he’s as naked as I can get him, I toss his leathers aside and then strip mine off. I press my bare body to his, wrapping a leg at his waist and rolling our joined bodies onto the side again, with his back to the fire and his front pressed to me. This is better, I think. I hold him tight, sliding my hands underneath his open tunic and caressing his back. My khui is loving this—the purr grows louder with every breath I take, but I’m far more concerned with Skarr waking up than with fulfilling resonance.