When he sees my eyes on him, he trills something and coos at me.
I don’t know what the words are, but if it’s anything like what I’d say to the stray cats I fed, it’s probably something like,what a cute little thing you are. Enjoying the sun?
I beam up at him, stretching happily, then roll myself into the cool water.
It feels amazing.
The current is gentle here, so I can swim lazily upstream and stay in more or less the same spot.
A few many-legged amphibians scurry away when they see me, and tiny silver worms swim through the water. One of them nibbles my toes, and I laugh as it tickles.
Razul clicks his tongue, and I turn to look at him. He’s holding out a handful of that green citrus fruit I like so much.
It makes me realize how thirsty I am, and I clamber over to his side. As I approach, he repeats a phrase. It’s like a little song, a warm note with a click at the end. I think it’s his name for me in his language.
I’m surprised that I don’t wonder what it means—I hear the warmth in it, and that’s all that matters.
He holds his hand out, and I take a slice with my mouth. Only when I’m chewing do I realize I might’ve thought to use my hand for that, even just yesterday.
While I eat, Razul rubs more of that pasty white cream over my skin.
When the fruit is gone, I lick the lingering juices off Razul’s palm, then he nudges me back out to my little shaded area.
I sprawl on my back, staring up at the sky. Distant air currents carve the clouds into strange shapes, and they glimmer with flashes of iridescent color. I roll over to a cluster of reeds bearing white flowers to see if they smell good.
Pain erupts along my calf, and I yelp, recoiling.
Razul is on me in a second, firm pressure holding my back to his chest. I reach for my leg, but he pins my hand.
I do the most embarrassing thing, crying at the sharp, radiating pain. But I can’t help it.
Razul gently grips my ankle with his foot’s pincer, turning the source of my pain to the sunlight.
A dried cactus branch about the size of my hand is stuck to my skin by dozens of tiny barbs. It must have been hidden in the sand.
Razul speaks over me apologetically, stroking my hair. His hand shifts over my eyes with firm pressure, like when he applied the syringe.
My body relaxes, and I instinctively breathe deeper.
Then there’s a sudden surge of pain, and I cry out. The stinging lingers, but the barbs are gone. Razul massages behind my ears, and I relax again.
He carries me back inside and holds me in one arm—something he can still do just as easily, no matter how much weight I gain—and he washes my wound in the sink.
After that is another herbal-scented ointment, then a gentle wrap of clean linen.
Finally, he settles down with me in his bed, speaking apologetically again.
I want to assure him, so I reach for his translator—and he twists away that ear, giving me a stern look.
That inspires an impulse, and I reach out for his other ear, just tracing the shell of it with my fingertips.
Surprise flickers across his face.
I cup his cheeks in my hands, then run my fingers down his throat.
He smiles at me, patting me on the head.
Emboldened, I continue my exploration. I push upright, and Razul gently sets me down on the pillows. I slide my hands across his chest, then nuzzle my cheek against his neck.
