He distributes the supplemental prey to the largest members of the group—the breeding females, I assume—and what scraps they leave behind are devoured quickly by the rest.
The raised platforms must be to keep the vibrations away from the ground so the caimites don’t eat their extra prey too early.
After the animals eat, Razul strides among them, affectionately rubbing snouts and tails. They sneeze in response, sending up little puffs of sand.
Razul’s sharp eyes spot a little black lump I would have missed, and in one swift motion, he plucks the parasite from between the caimite’s scales and crushes it. He finds two more little freeloaders amongst the herd, but the rest are clear. After that, he takes to the wing again, flying low over the sand to trace the caimites’ territory. He gathers up the partially rotted skeleton of a furry creature in a waxed canvas bag that blocks the smell, then stops by a watering hole, plucking a spiky purple plant and adding it to the trash parcel.
He flies these offensive materials to a compost pile, tossing the juiciest of the bones to a stark white carrion bird perching on a cactus nearby.
Razul works until the sun climbs to late morning and the day’s heat rolls in, at which point he carries me back to his house.
He slides my sweaty body into the green stone pool, leaning low over it to splash water on himself, washing away the sweat.
I stand on the bottom of the pool and reach for him, sliding my hands along his abs. They tense under my touch, and my fingers dig eagerly in, earning a shuddering breath from Razul.
He smiles down on me, then dumps a bucket of water on my head.
I sputter, shocked.
Razul pulls me over and massages soap into my hair, earning my forgiveness. After he dries us both off, he rubs me down with lotion. His hands feel so good on my body, always firm without being too rough. When he massages my breasts, I moan happily.
Then he repeats the process with a mineral paste that leaves my skin pasty white.
I haven’t seen anything like it since back on Earth—is it sunscreen? There was no need for it on the human city ships, where the atrium glass already blocked all harmful radiation.
He sprays a puff of that mystery substance under my nose again, soothing my sinuses. I won’t suffer even the slightest discomfort living in the desert, it seems.
I try my hardest not to sneeze, and when I fail, Razul laughs and ruffles my damp hair. He then carries me out to the riverside and sets me down in an area where plants that look like squat, chubby palms, barely taller than I am, cast an area of green shade.
The sand is soft under my feet, and Razul nods encouragingly, flicking a few of the fine grains playfully at my feet.
I take a tentative step down toward the river, and there’s no reprimand, so I sit down on a warm rock and stick my feet in the cool water.
It feels amazing.
I lie back and rub my arms against the soft, silky sand.
Then I hesitate; it’s going to be a nightmare getting this out of my hair later.
Which means Razul will have to comb my hair for hours.
Impulse overwhelms me, and a mischievous smile rises to my lips as I roll around even more enthusiastically in the sand.
Razul looks on with the affectionate patience of a dog owner watching their beloved golden retriever jump gleefully into a puddle of mud.
The affection of anowner.
I’mowned.
Warmth tingles at my core, and I wiggle into a beam of sun, letting the heat soak into my body.
I’ll need to be sure to reapply sunscreen after?—
Wait.
No. That’s not my problem anymore.
I take a nap in the sunbeam, and when I stir, cold anxiety flickers through my chest. I turn back—and Razul is there, still watching over me. He’s buried his beetle half most of the way under the sand, likely to keep cool since he’s in the sun, and he weaves some dried palm fronds together.
