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I pause, because the beach is very quiet this day. Normally there are shelled creatures scuttling around on the sands, and distant birds calling to one another. Today, all is silent, and it pricks my senses and the feeling of wrongness grows greater.
She needs to leave this beach, I decide. We need to leave, too, but I would be a poor hunter and protector if I did not ensure a vulnerable female was safe. Today, then, I will speak to her. I will try gestures at first, but if she does not grasp them, then I will use words. It is against the rules for Outcast clan to speak to others, but she has an Outcast name, does she not? And there is no one here to punish me if I do speak to her. I glance out at the waters again, but the shore is the same as it has been for days, tinged with red and silent. I wish Ezz were here so he could tell me more about the old stories…
But if Ezz was here, he would not approve of our taking handouts from the other clans. He would not approve of me speaking to Steff.
It feels disloyal to even be slightly glad that he is gone. I miss my clan, but sometimes it is freeing to answer to no one but myself and my son.
Steff looks over at us as we approach, and a bright smile curves her face. She flashes her straight, white teeth, square but pretty, and her excitement is obvious. Her mane is pulled back into a braided tail, neat and tidy, and she wears different furs today than she did yesterday. She opens her mouth, raising a hand in greeting, and then snaps her mouth shut again, putting her fingers to her lips.
For some reason, I like that she wants to speak to me. I like the sight of her bright, happy eyes. I like her smile. It makes me want to smile back.
Pak happily skips up to the basket, releasing my hand as he does. He does not speak, but pushes Steff's hands aside with the confidence of a child who has not yet learned not to push. He opens the lid, peering inside, and Steff looks up at me, amusement on her face, and for a moment, it feels as if we are Pak's parents, sharing a moment over his antics.
My son makes a noise of excitement in his throat and then pulls out a dried fish. And then another. Another. Over and over, he pulls out more dried fish of all sizes. Food. She has brought us a great deal of food this day, enough to fill both my belly and Pak's. My pride flares, and for a moment, I am angry that we must resort to others giving us food instead of taking care of ourselves. I do not want a handout.
"Ino," Steff murmurs, and there is apology on her face when I meet her eye. Her voice is soft. "Ino wuttit lookslike." She gestures at the water. "No fish."
I do not know her language, but her last words are easy enough to understand. She feeds us because the waters are empty. Instead of making me feel better, it reinforces that there is danger, hidden danger, and we should not be here. "Put it back in the basket, Pak," I tell my son, speaking aloud in front of Steff. It does not count if I do not speak to her, I tell myself. That is different. "We cannot stay here. We will take it with us."
"Yes, Papa," Pak says, and immediately gets to work putting them back inside.
Alarm flares in Steff's eyes. She moves toward me, crossing the distance on the beach, her feet slipping as she does. "Waitno," she breathes, shaking her head. "Ucantgo."
"Female," I say, and the word tastes forbidden on my lips. I hesitate, then gesture at the water. "This is bad. We leave." I indicate her. "You leave."
Her small brows furrow as she watches me. "Donunnerstand." She reaches out and touches my chest, putting her hand over my heart. "Juth—"
All the words I am not supposed to say stick to my tongue. I stare down at her, foolish, because she has moved close to me and put her hand on my skin. She freely touches me as if I am important, as if I am not a filthy Outcast. It makes me feel…strange. I gaze down at her hand on my chest, warm and sweet, and it distracts me.
Would it be bad if I put my hand over hers? If I touched her the way she touches me? She is covered in furs, so I would not be able to feel her skin and yet…I would like to feel her heart beating under my fingers. I—
