I nod. “Yes. We can do more lessons.” Just not about kisses. Not getting anywhere near kisses.
The gardening book offers some safe photos, so I point at the obvious objects that will apply to our daily life. He won’t give two shits about weeds or fertilizer, but the wordssunandtreeandflowerare universal enough.
He points at an elderly woman gardening in one picture. “Dakotah?”
Jeez. That woman’s at least seventy if she’s a day, complete with gray hair and a floral grandma gardening scarf on her head. “Woman.NotDakotah.”
“Wommn,” he echoes, studying the picture. He flips through the book to another page, his clawed fingertips cumbersome for finer movements, and finds another photo. This one is of ayounger woman spreading mulch. He points at her. “Wommn not Dakotah?”
I nod. “Woman.” Flip back to the prior page to the older woman. “Woman.” I point at myself. “Woman.” Point at the first picture again, then the second. “Not Dakota, not Dakota.” Point back to myself. “Dakota.”
He considers this, then asks, “Ribbit no wommn?”
How do I answer that? She’s female, true, but is she a grown woman at the age of fourteen? The mother in me who’s raised her for the last eight years says absolutely fucking not. It was only yesterday that she was my little baby with pigtails and gap teeth. But how to give nuance to something like age when our words are so limited? “Dakotah woman, Rabbit girl,” I decide on. “Girl.”
Now to find a book with a young girl on it so I can show him the difference between the two.
Murr digests this information, then says, “Dakotah kith Ribbit.”
Did I? I’m sure I did. “Yes.”
I’m also pretty sure I know where this conversation is going.
“Dakotah kith…Murr?”
Yup, there it is. “No. Kith is special. I mean,kiss. You don’t kiss people just because they ask nicely.” Or because they have a pretty mouth. Or anything like that. “Kisses have meaning.”
“Meeng,” Murr says, and then gestures I should repeat myself. It’s clear he’s not following. His gaze is on my lips again, as if he wants to understand…or maybe he just wants to know what it feels like. It’s probably just curiosity, right? A human custom he doesn’t quite understand, since he doesn’t really seem to grasp our language, or smiling, either. When he laughs, his body shakes with amusement, but most of the time, no sound comes out. It’s like he’s having to learn so many things brand new, which is baffling.
But if that’s the case, then it would make sense that he’s curious about a kiss, right? I’m sure I’m reading too much into it.
I try to explain to him (using a cat that wanders past with her kitten as an example) that Rabbit is my kitten, more or less, and that mothers kiss their babies. As if to prove my point, the cat immediately sits down and starts to groom her kitten, washing the little face with her tongue.
The light clicks on for Murr. He lifts his hand and licks the back of it, then gestures at me. “Dakotah Rabbit?”
Was I grooming her? With a kiss?
Okay, maybe the light didn’t click on after all. “Not exactly.” I drum my fingers on my mouth, thinking. I’m just making this worse. “Maybe?—”
There’s a metallic crash outside.
Murr’s smooth golden eyes immediately shift to pitch black, and he tenses.
Oh shit.
CHAPTER 22
DAKOTA
I’m notsure what to be more afraid of—the dangerous black eyes of the dragon-man sitting in front of me, or the noise outside that tells me the nomad has returned. I knew it was just a matter of time.
Murr surges to his feet.
I jump to mine, too. “No! Don’t attack!”
I appreciate his protectiveness, but I’ve learned through experience that the best confrontation is no confrontation at all. Someone could get hurt. Our home could get destroyed. He could be coming back to apologize.
The latter seems unlikely, but I don’t want to take chances. Plus, what’s to stop Murr from losing his mind and attacking us afterward?
