Once I’m dry, Razul tucks me into my basket in the kitchen. He leaves me with a bowl of neatly sliced berry halves—each and every one checked for quality—and I end up with their dark magenta juice covering my face, hands and breasts by the time the bowl is gone.
Razul wipes me clean with a damp cloth, then I curl up in my basket and nap.
He returns several hours later to feed me more fruit, surprising me with another pill. I hardly even wonder what it was; I trust him completely.
I stir hours later to the cool light of dusk.
Razul isn’t in the kitchen.
I crane around, looking for him, but there’s no hint of his ochre skin or iridescent green.
Unease fills me. I don’t like that he’s not here, but I’m not supposed to leave my basket.
I lean out as far as I can, carefully balanced on the edge.
The woven cactus creaks underneath me, suddenly tipping over.
I yelp and throw myself backwards, only barely managing to stay in the basket.
There’s a scuff of scales, then a puff of sand suddenly erupts from the floor.
When it settles, a tiny caimite stands there, looking at me. It’s only three feet long, like a miniature version of the adults, albeit with extra bulgy eyes. It’s…verycute.
Still, its mouth is lined with sharp, interlocking teeth, and I’m sure it could rip off my limb in a second.
I keep tightly tucked in my basket as the crocodile-like caimite slithers over on its six legs. It rears up, tilting its head and sniffing at me.
It sneezes again.
The dust reaches my nose, and I sneeze back.
We both blink at each other, startled.
Then the caimite thumps his tail against the ground happily.
There’s a distant, deep rumble, which the little reptile turns toward, as if it’s a summons for him. It probably is.
He turns back to me with a little half-sneeze, then dives under the sand, sending it rippling as he easily swims away.
I’m reminded of the danger of my new life. But I don’t feel afraid. Razul’s basket kept me safe, like he said it would.
Every little detail has been considered.
I snuggle down into the soft blankets beneath me and wait for him to return.
It doesn’t take long.
Razul strides into the kitchen covered in dust and sweat, and his spiced scent washes over me, smelling of comfort and home.
He steps over and ruffles my hair affectionately, making that noise that’s my name in his language, then turns away again, washing his hands in the kitchen sink.
My heart tightens. He has more to do. I should be patient.
But then his words echo in my mind.
You deserve to be impossible to please.
A whine forms deep in my chest.
