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“What did you do today?”
“Hung out with two wee brats. Just turned four. They said they were my brothers, Silann and Latjo.”
“Aye. You and Hisa loved the little ones. Always carried them around. Little buggers didn’t walk until they were practically adults.”
Her smile is wide. “I can tell they love her to death.”
“As they do you.”
“What else are we doing with the rest of this day now that you’re home?”
I don’t miss that. She called the village home, whether she meant to or not. “A warm day, so most will stay outdoors. We’ll eat outside the tent today, though we can stay near our own area if you wish. The others will congregate on the grounds outside the kitchens to roast meat.”
“Is it acceptable to stay separate from the clan?”
“Aye. There’s nothing really going on—no parties or gatherings. We just like to roast meat outdoors when we have prisoners. Makes them hungrier. They’ll be more willing to talk tomorrow.”
“You have them then?” she asks carefully, as if testing me.
“Of course, I do, wench.” I tweak her nose. “But as promised, I didn’t kill your males.”
Her smile is forced and I just want to make her forget that she thinks she owes them her loyalty. So, I bend down and swoop her up, making her laugh as I carry her into our tent.
Once inside, I lay her on the bed and then cover her with my body. She sighs against me and I understand.
It feels perfect to have our bodies locked together.
Her arms wrap around me like she’ll never let go. Outside, the sounds fade away.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For?”
“For not lying to me. Saying that they’re not here. Killing them instead of delivering them.”
I tilt her head to me. “I’m not lying to you now, anyasa. I love you. I would do anything for you and I just want you to know that.”
Her body relaxes just a bit. And I can’t have that, I can’t have my precious girl tense, so I make love to her for the rest of the afternoon—until she relaxes fully again. When we’re finally sated, we use the cold water to wash off, giggling like loons. We dress quickly and sneak the back way into the kitchens, making a game of it. She didn’t say that she wants to avoid the others, but I know it’s hard on her. It’s hard to have such conflicting emotions, to want to like the ones she meets despite thinking she shouldn’t.
We bring our heaping plates back to the tent and sit outside, listening to the drums and the laughter in the village. We eat our dinner as the sun sets, watching the sky fill with a multitude of colors.
“’Tis beautiful,” she gasps, as if she’s never seen a mountain sunset. And right now, as Jogug, I guess she hasn’t.
“There’s a beauty in the eerie shadowing of the cliffs and valleys, the trees, both deciduous and coniferous.”
“Almost unreal,” she says, holding her hand out and angling it back and forth to see the play of light.
We’ve been long finished with our plates, and I’m sure my scowl keeps others at bay, because every now and then I see someone look our way. In the past, they wouldn’t have hesitated to join us.
“Do they avoid us because of the way I look?” she asks.
“What? No, of course not.”
“I’m different from what they’re used to.”
“Aye, but they’re giving us time together. They want you to remember your life from before, but they also don’t want to put pressure on you.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
