What would she do when Hun-Kamé regained his missing organs? This line of thought in turn made her consider his health.
“How does it feel?” she asked. “The ear.”
Casiopea touched her own ear as she spoke. The process of reintegrating it had appeared effortless, but it might not truly be so.
“What?” he asked.
“Does it pain you?” she said.
“No.”
“My hand hurts sometimes,” she admitted.
“Let me see.”
“It doesn’t hurt now,” she clarified. “But yesterday, it did. Like grit in your eye, you know? But not in my eye, of course.”
Hun-Kamé stood up and went to her side, lifting her hand and holding it up, as if to get a better look at it, even though there was nothing to look at. Maybe he could see the bone shard, hidden inside her skin.
“If it hurts again, let me know,” he told her.
She raised her head and stared up at him. He was still wearing the black eye patch.
“Is the opposite true? Does it hurt where your eye is missing?”
“The absence disturbs me,” he said, and the words were heavy, stones sinking into a river.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Since he was still holding her hand she gave it a light squeeze. She did not expect him to say thank you, since such trivialities were not very godly, but she did not think he’d frown like he did, staring down at her fingers.
“Why are you touching me?” he asked.
“Oh. Well…youwere the one who touched me,” she said.
“No. Just now.”
“Sorry.”
He’d set his hand on her shoulder before. It had not seemed an issue. She had not considered that reaching out for him might be offensive, a mortal coming in contact with the divine rather than the divine coming in contact with the mortal.
She attempted to draw her hand back, but he did not let go of her, and Casiopea wondered if they were going to play tug-of-war.
“You can let go,” she said. “I didn’t realize—”
“Such insolence.”
“Keep squeezing my hand then and complaining at the same time, you’ll see some real insolence,” she sputtered. It didn’t seem fair for him to start acting like she’d insulted him when all she’d attempted was to be kind.
Hun-Kamé laughed and released his grip on her. It was a full laugh: it bounced around the compartment like a startled bird. She smiled, responding to the display of mirth.
“Why do you laugh?” she asked. He had not done this before.
“You are a funny thing,” he told her. “It’s like having a playful monkey.”
It was not quite an insult. Itsoundedlike an endearment, but she frowned all the same. Her annoyance, however, did not last. She could forgive quickly when it suited her. Besides, he’d gone back to his seat and was again resting there quietly, so there really wasn’t much to be angry about.
She’d almost forgotten he was with her when he finally spoke.
