Page 24 of The Hunter

He needed to go after her, needed to have her, but he could not. All he could do was let her go… And continue his fruitless attempts to convince himself that this was better for both of them. Continue pretending he could easily bear this ache.

Kir’ani vi’jatai.

My little thorn.

“What have you done this time?” Rekosh asked.

“Nothing,” Telok replied.

Rekosh chittered. “When it comes to you and Lacey, it is never nothing.”

Finally tearing his eyes away from the empty air Lacey had formerly occupied, Telok looked at his friend. The tall, spindly weaver stood with his head tilted to the side, his lower arms folded across his chest, and a knowing gleam in his red eyes.

Telok drew in a slow, deep breath and held it until his chest burned. Lacey’s scent lingered in his awareness. But that was to be expected, was it not? She was a spirit bound to his hearts, haunting him everywhere he went. There was no escape.

And some part of him thrilled in this torment.

“You are right, Rekosh. It is not nothing. It is…” Raising a hand, Telok beckoned the weaver closer.

Rekosh leaned in.

“None of your concern,” Telok snapped, emphasizing each word with a clack of his mandible fangs. He turned back into his den, letting the curtain fall into place, and strode toward the worktable.

Tools and materials lay atop it—a knife and a small axe for shaping wood, several stones and antlers for shaping the blackrock, lengths of thick silk thread and strips of leather for binding, partially honed spearheads and a few scattered trinkets. After two days of work, he’d not completed a single weapon. His thoughts had been…scattered, like fallen leaves left at the mercy of fickle winds.

Silk rustled behind him as Rekosh entered.

“So, you truly mean to hide away in here for another day?” Rekosh asked.

With great care, Telok laid the spear Lacey had given him atop the table. “I am not hiding. I am working.”

Rekosh chittered again, moving closer. “As I recall, that does not count as a valid reason. Not according to you and Urkot when last we were in Takarahl.”

“You were hiding.” Telok ran his hands over the spear, learning the feel of its shaped wood. “I am working.”

Stepping beside Telok, Rekosh hummed. “Strange sort of work.”

“It does not involve needle, thread, or loom, so of course it is strange to you.” Telok’s hand found the decorative braid. He couldn’t stop himself from stroking it with his thumb.

Rekosh reached out to touch the weapon. Fire flared in Telok, and he yanked the spear away before the weaver’s hand could make contact, a low growl vibrating in his chest.

A smug trill escaped Rekosh as he nudged Telok’s foreleg with his own. “So it is a gift from Lacey?”

Telok huffed and turned away to resume his examination of the weapon.

“Is that why you have been so powtee these last few days?” Rekosh asked. “The spears?”

“I am not powtee.” Telok traced the edge of the blackrock spearhead with a finger, pausing at the tip to glance at his friend. “What is powtee?”

Rekosh’s mandibles rose in a smile. “It is the human word for Telok.”

Telok hefted the spear into his hands. “Do not move. I must test the point.”

Throwing his hands up, Rekosh skittered aside. “It looks sharp enough to me.”

Telok cocked his head. “And powtee?”

“It means sulky, grouchy, grumpy.” Rekosh said the last three words in English, gesturing at Telok. “You.”