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Three days pass. Then three days more. Skarr continues to move in different circles than me. We don’t run into each other on the beach.
And all the while, my dreams get filthier and filthier.
After a week of avoiding each other, I wake up just before dawn, aching and aroused. In my dreams, Skarr opened his pants to reveal a line of cocks going down his leg, and I rode every single one of them. It’s a ridiculous, stupid dream that shouldn’t make me wet, but it does. My khui throbs and hums constantly, and I know it’s not helping. I get to my feet and put on my shoes, but when I come out of the tent and see a cluster of people by the fire, I don’t want to join them.
I don’t want to sit by the fire today. Or anyone, today. I just want to be left alone.
So I move to the first person I see that’s preparing to go out hunting. It’s Penny and her big mate, S’bren. She’s got snowshoes in one hand and a spear in another, watching as S’bren straps their toddler into a carrier on his chest. I tap her on the shoulder and give an anxious smile of greeting. “Hi. Do you know if anyone has skis I can borrow?”
Penny blinks at me in surprise. “Skis?”
“Yes. Skis.” I keep my voice casual, as if it’s no big deal to ask for something so I can go off wandering the hills by myself. I’m not worried about danger. I can take care of myself, and in one of my dreams I’d been cross-country skiing through those mountains I’ve dreamed about. “It’s something I’ve done before. I’ll be fine.”
But Penny just gives me a long, thoughtful stare. “Skis.”
“Yes.” Why is this a big deal?
She turns toward Harlow—the freckled redhead—who is beside the fire. “Why don’t we have skis?”
“Skis?” Harlow seems just as surprised.
“Does no one here ski?” I ask in a timid voice. “I thought since there were snowy mountains…”
Penny turns back to me and gives a helpless shrug. “I think most of us are from the south or not sporty. No one has skis.”
Well, that seems rather ridiculous to me. “Oh. I can make some.”
Harlow moves toward us, a thoughtful look on her face. Nadine—one of the women here and a hunter on her own—also seems interested. “I think Liz probably tried to make skis once but no one had any skill with them,” Harlow continues. “But it wouldn’t hurt for us to learn if you know how to use them.”
I just nod.
Nadine wiggles her eyebrows at me. “I am all about some ski action. Can I help?”
“Sure.” I smile at her. Maybe this is what I need—a distraction from Skarr and his avoidance of me. A new task to keep me busy and out of camp so I don’t feel the ache of him missing.
After all, it’s silly to miss someone that’s been thrown at you. I should be glad that he’s not here.
ChapterTwenty-One
VIVI
“We might have to try a few different sorts of materials before we find the right one,” Nadine says to me as we hike through the snows. Her dark skin glows against her pale leathers, and she looks radiant with excitement. “I’ve got three different things in mind at the moment, so we can gather a little of everything and experiment.”
We’re at the rocky base of the mountains a few hours away from camp, and the landscape changes dramatically, just as I remember. The cove of the beach is protected by high cliffs, but once you get past those, the cliffs continue to scale up and up, the snows growing deeper and the winds more bitter as you get to the base of the mountains proper. I’m starting to get used to the cold weather, and thanks to the khui and my new, better-fitting clothing, it just feels brisk and refreshing instead of life-ending.
It’s so nice to be away from the camp, too. Everyone has been lovely and so helpful, and I’m glad we’re at the village instead of living alone in the mountains. I’m not ungrateful, but the introvert in me loves the peace and quiet of this particular day.
Going out with Nadine also shows me that a competent woman is trusted out on her own. I wasn’t sure, because some of the men have been extremely protective of their wives, but this morning, Nadine twisted her thick hair into a knot at her nape, handed her baby to her mate, gave them both a kiss, and then headed off with me, no questions asked. It’s clear she knows her way around the mountain trails, too. She uses the end of her spear like a walking stick and pokes at drifts before she steps forward, and her pack is full of supplies in case we get into trouble—rope, extra knives, fire-starters, and food. She also knows the locations of things called “hunter caves.” From the sound of it, they’re safe “pit stops” where extra food and weapons are kept in case someone’s stranded in bad weather.
It’s all practical and smart and feels vaguely familiar, and I wonder if I grew up with someone that practiced this sort of thing. A survivalist. An image of my father flashes through my mind again—sandy hair and dark eyes, pointing out tracks in the mud and joking about the number of flies caught on the fly paper in the cabin.
It fits. A survivalist. Today though, the strange bits of memory don’t make me sad. They feel comfortable, like a favorite shirt.
Nadine leads me along the paths through the cliffs, pointing out landmarks so I can tell where I’m going in the future. I have no doubt I’ll be doing this on my own soon enough. I can’t wait to go out and have a peaceful day alone in the snows, enjoying the beauty of nature before I have to return to the noisy hubbub of camp.
“We’re going to head to a spring first,” Nadine tells me as we hike along. “There’s these fish that have lightweight but really hard reeds on their heads. Devi says it’s some sort of cousin to keratin, like your fingernails or a horse’s hooves, and if those will work, it’ll be easy to get everyone outfitted in skis. I figure if nothing else, we can use them for ski poles. You’ll know we’re getting close to the spring when you smell it.”
“Smell it?” I ask, curious as I step into the tracked path she’s made for me.
