Page 39 of The Hornet’s Hucow Pet

As the next wave approaches, I press my forehead to hers. She tries weakly to pull away, but I don’t allow it—I firmly grip her neck to hold her in place.

Searing pain tears through my body, as if every panel of chitin is being grasped and wrenched apart while knives sink into my flesh.

I force my breathing to stay even, to ride out the wave.

Nova lifts her head as it passes. “You shouldn’t…”

“Does it lessen your pain?”

Nova’s eyes waver, so blue and bright, as she considers lying. “Yes… it does.”

Her honesty is the most precious gift.

I caress her cheek. “Then I should, and I will.”

I sing to her again, and her wariness softens. One day, I will find a way for her to find true comfort without this backlash. Until then, I’ll bear the pain with her.

As the next wave approaches, I lead Nova into a slow, deep exhale. She obeys exquisitely, and the searing wave passes faster than it might have otherwise.

Soon, the worst of it is over. Nova relaxes into my touch, body staying soft as we endure the rest together.

I settle Nova into another nest of blankets—the last clean ones I have—and assess what’s become of my house.

The floor of my workshop is drenched in fluid and covered in eggs.

Sylvus could have warned me.

In areas, the wood and pulp are already starting to soak up the moisture, weakening their structural integrity.

It might be easier to just build a new house. I strongly consider it. But the view and the crook of the branch here are particularly favorable, so… cleaning it is.

I punch a hole in the side wall—it’ll be the smallest of the needed repairs—and use a wooden panel to scrape out as much of the mess as possible. From there, I pull back all the curtains and open all the shutters, letting in fresh mountain air.

My wings buzz, fanning air through the room and hastening the drying.

While I wait, I get to work chewing fresh wood to make pulp. It’s not my favorite activity, but it’s necessary. The wood’s flavor causes my mouth to secrete a special kind of saliva that will aid in breaking down the pulp and giving the final product structural integrity.

I smear the resulting mash on the areas that need repairs, and it quickly hardens and binds to what’s already there.

A few hours later, when Nova stirs again, the workshop is mostly repaired. I’ll need to come up with a solution to keep from ruining it again…

Nova sits up, combing her hair back with her fingers. She stretches, adjusting to being able to move her body again. There’s relief, but also a small tinge of regret. I smile to myself, proud to see her begin to accept my doting.

“You must be hungry,” I say, scooping Nova up and carrying her to the kitchen.

“Starving,” she admits.

I keep her busy with more coffee as I prepare fruit and nuts for her. While she eats that, I cook down some vegetables in a solar-powered heat pot, knowing the fiber and vitamins will do her well, but will be too much for her to digest raw.

When I hold out the end of the spoon to her, she obediently eats from it. She doesn’t remind me that she can use her hands—in fact, the thought of feeding herself doesn’t even occur to her.

Good. She’s adapting well.

“How does your body feel?” I ask her.

“Alright,” she says, too quickly.

“Hm. That’s not a very useful question, is it?” I give her an admonishing look, then grip her chin firmly, pressing our foreheads together. Her hips and head already ache again, but it’s not as bad as when she first came to my office.