Without even thinking about it, I directed Yeralk to land. Nazreen must have somehow sensed me coming. She suddenly tilted her head back to watch my descent. Even from a great distance, I found her sight stars seared me.
I did not land too close, not wanting to startle the brolka that had apparently made Nazreen’s lap its home. Once on the ground, I dismounted, letting Yeralk do as he pleased for the moment. He walked to the edge of the gently lapping water, dipping his head towards it to drink.
“Good morning, Gahn Thaleo,” Nazreen said, watching me. One of her hands was planted beside and just behind her hip on the ground as she leaned back slightly. Her other hand was idly stroking the wool of the brolka that had claimed her legs. The thing was entirely draped over Nazreen’s thighs, limp with bliss.
I had a stunning desire to replace the brolka there. To experience the quietly burning ecstasy of something as simple as laying my head in Nazreen’s lap on a sunny day. I shook off the urge immediately. Then I approached her, standing in front of her, my claws a mere breath away from the strange, flat bottoms of the shells she wore upon her feet.
“You can sit down, if you like,” she said, tipping her head to the side to indicate the place beside her. “But I suppose you know that. You’re the Gahn. You don’t need an invitation to sit down somewhere in your own territory.”
She was right, of course. It was the very thing I’d made note of myself during the vaklok. That I had the right to sit anywhere, with anyone. And I had chosen the place beside hers.
But still…
Still, the invitation made something inside me hitch. Just a few days ago, I was not sure Nazreen would have ever offered me such a thing. I took a moment to brace myself against the gravity of her. So powerful that if I seated myself beside her now, I might not ever get back up again.
“I spent all morning and this portion of the afternoon sitting on Yeralk’s back. I will stand for now,” I told her.
She blinked, her gaze going down to the brolka, the fine wool she fingered.
“Suit yourself,” she said.
I suppose she expected me to move on from her after that, for she did not speak again. In the warm quiet, sounds of splashing and laughter from the others drifted to us. Dappled light dusted Nazreen with silver and gold and green – her sight stars so dark when she looked down that way, but blazing when she looked up, and the sun hit them.
“You have passed your morning pleasantly?”
Her head jerked up. I was correct. She had expected me to leave her and say no more. I should have, in all honesty. I had many things to do. But I did not find myself capable of it quite yet. It had been such a long day already. And being here with her made everything feel suddenly so much…
Noteasier, precisely, because nothing that I felt for or around this new woman was easy.
Not even better, really.
Suddenly, it hit me with the force on arrow through my arm.
When I was with her, I did not feel like a Gahn.
I was merely a man. And there was such a wildly terrifying comfort in that. It was a strangely heady sensation. One I sometimes caught whispers of when leaping onto Yeralk’s back for a free fall into the aching sky. A feeling of weightless exhilaration. Of freedom.
But with her, it was not a whisper. It was a driving wind that, now I’d named it, I had no power to escape.
“Yes, we have,” Nazreen said, blithely unaware of the tempests raging through my insides. “Linnet’s around here somewhere. I really enjoyed chatting with her.”
“Did you?” I asked, feeling surprised by this. I had great respect for Linnet. But she could not ever be called a genial conversationalist, even by the most generous of judges.
“Yes, I did,” Nazreen said, her eyes on mine once more, as if challenging me not to believe her. “She had lots of good things to say about you, you know.”
Now I was even more surprised. That Nazreen had enjoyed speaking with Linnet. And that such an enjoyable subject had been, at least for some of the time, myself.
Perhaps Nazreen now realized what she’d just admitted to. Soft colour suffused her cheeks, a blooming warmth that made my claws twitch and, rather shamefully, my cock thicken with hot need.
“I didn’t mean that I was having fun gossiping about you or anything,” she said quickly. “Most of our chat was about other stuff. Like the brolka. And the fact that Linnet named her own braxilk after herself, which is both hilarious and impressive to me.”
“But she also spoke of me.”
“Yes. She said you’re a great Gahn. I don’t think she likes a lot of people, but I get the impression she certainly likes you. Probably more than her own grandson, in all honesty.” I felt suddenly grateful to Linnet, because I could tell that Nazreen put great stock in the old woman’s opinions – even the opinions about me. “And she talked a lot about how strictly you follow traditions around things like the Vrika,” Nazreen added.
“Yes,” I said. “I do.”
My scar ached.You are nothing but your tribe.
