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Nothing's been the same for me since Daisy arrived. But I can't blame her. It's not even her presence that's a problem. It's the possibility that her arrival brings with it.
I move to the next tide pool, noticing that I'm far from the main encampment on the beach at this point. Everything has been more or less rebuilt except for the longhouse, because there wasn't enough wood left. The spot that it was is nothing but pavers and a hearth left from the flooring, and as I pass by it, I feel…odd.
Uneasy.
When we first got here, change was fun. When did I become scared of everything, I wonder, even as I pat my clothes for my weapons. They're there, the presence of bone knives and shivs comforting. Satisfied, I take my net and the crawling bag of shrimp over to the edge of the new tide pool. I shrug off the heavy cloak I'm using to keep warm, roll up my leggings again, and then get into the water, scuffing my feet along the rocky bottom of the pool to scatter the shrimp. As they dart through the water, I run my net through, scooping them up.
Even though this is a familiar chore, I can't shake the feeling of being…off. As if something's wrong. Like a bit of sand under my eyelid, just enough to irritate. Something is amiss today, and I can't shake the sensation. Wary, I glance out at the water, wondering if the shell-beasts are returning again. Devi said it wouldn't be a regular occurrence but more of a generational thing, and since the shell-beasts were huge, the generations were probably far between, but what else could it be? I scan the distant village, but everything looks as it always does.
So why am I anxious? My heart's pounding as if I've run a marathon, and I'm jittery. Did I drink too much shrimp tea earlier? I'm the local caffeine addict, but I know my limits, too, and I'm pretty sure I didn't overindulge. I toss my net onto the sands and hop out of the icy pool, quickly shaking my bare legs off and then wrapping up in my fur cloak once more. I shake my catch into the wriggling bag. Once I take them back to the camp I'll smoke them to cook them instead of boiling, but for now they're doing their best to escape.
"HO!" calls a voice in the distance. "Icehome, ho!"
I freeze, my heart pounding.
Someone's here. Is this the day? Is it going to be someone bringing a new stranger to the camp? A stranger named…Brad?
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
Won't happen, I tell myself even as I scoop up my gear and shove my feet into my loose boots. The odds of someone bringing Brad to Icehome Beach are millions to one. Billions to one. There's no way. And yet I'm panicking. The moment I have my boots on, I toss my shrimping gear back down on the shore and race toward the calling voices, because I have to know.
I have to know if my reprieve is over.
"Ho," calls the voice again, followed by a second, female voice. "Ho!"
A woman, too? I scramble across the beach, heading toward the sounds. They'll be coming from the cliffs, since that's the only way to get to our inlet other than taking a boat. I scan the rocky slopes, but all I see is snow. Frantic, panting, I race on as fast as I can, my legs churning up sand in my wake. Have to see, I chant to myself. Have to see, have to see. I've never run so fast or so hard in my life.
If Brad's with the travelers, maybe I just keep running.
A hysterical laugh bubbles in my throat at the thought, and I choke back tears as I head up the winding trails towards the cliffs. Just visitors. That's all it is. I shouldn't panic when the beach gets visitors. Just because I have never visited the other tribe doesn't mean they don't like visiting us. It's fine. It's fine. It's fine.
I see horns and fur-covered shoulders first. You would think that would calm me down, but I count heads instead. A smaller figure walks beside the horned one. No, two horned ones, I realize. One is at the back. There is a smaller figure at the first horned person's side, which must be one of the kits, and the person on the other side of him is heavily cloaked. Smaller, too.
My heart thunders. Not Brad. Please don't be Brad.
They see me and wave. "Ho, Icehome!" the horned man calls out, and I recognize that voice. Rokan, who has visited before. The little one at his side must be his oldest, and I rack my brain, trying to recall the name. In my panic, I can't remember, and I keep staring at the cloaked figure at his side. Human, I decide, and my panic rises a notch. Surely it's his mate. I still need to see the face to be sure.
