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Remembering her facing up to the merka beast, only her tiny blade in hand, makes my chest burst with equal parts terror and admiration. Handing her the spear felt as natural as being beside her. She fought well, despite not being of these trees. She is a warrior of great skill, and pride in her fills my chest, chasing out the fear.
“Hurt?” I ask, recalling one of the few human words Sally taught me before my travels with Sam.
I point to the scratches across her chest where the lashes of the merka beast caught her. They have the look of marks that a younger warrior might wear with pride - to show he is blooded, that he has fought and prevailed. Not serious injuries, and she does not seem troubled by them. But the sight of her blood against her torn clothing makes my protective instincts sharpen with need to care for her.
My Brooks looks down at her injuries, her hand going to the tears in her top. She hisses a little as her fingers brush over the cuts, but this and a slight grimace are her only real reaction. She turns to the djenti bush, ducking down to grab some of the healing berries. Tugging at the neck of her top, she pulls it down far enough that the wounded skin is exposed, and squeezes the berry juices directly onto it. It is not the best way to use the berries, but the wounds are only shallow, not the kind to need much aid with healing. Boiling the berry juices down into a thick paste will not be necessary to see them fully healed.
She hisses again as the healing pain bites into her, but it passes quickly. Ducking back down to the stream, she scoops water to her chest, rinsing the sticky berry residue and much of the blood away. When she rises, pulling her top aside to inspect the wounds, all that is left are two red lines across her skin. The boiled down berry paste would have healed even these away, but from the way she massages her fingers over the skin, I can tell the markings do not pain her.
I point to her and give her the good hand gesture, making it a question with my expression. My Brooks arches an eyebrow, but nods.
“Ahmfine,” she says.
I do not understand her words, but it makes me smile to hear her voice. To share in this interaction, no matter how limited.
I gesture down at the merka beast. I have said my prayers of thanks to Lina for the bounty the creature provides. They are not good eating, but some fresh meat is better than none at all, and the pelt will be useful to the ever-growing tribe. Perhaps Carrie can turn the leather it will make into clothing for one of her sisters, or perhaps one of the hunters can use it to mend a travel tent. Whoever it goes to, we are much in need of resources, especially with many more sisters to soon join us. It is important that we deal with the body, separate out the parts and store them for transport.
I could carry the creature back to the Mercenia hut, bringing my linasha with me. But I am uncertain how willing she would be to follow me. Just watching me now, she still shows many signs of wariness - her shoulders tense, her eyes narrowed, her hand close to the pocket where she has stowed her knife.
Besides, now I am out here with her, no other raskarran nearby, I find I like the idea of some time in solitude with her. Getting to know her. Learning her interests and desires.
Not younglings,the voice continues to needle.
I bat the words from my headspace as though they were a buzzing insect set on irritating me.
“Food,” I say, indicating the merka beast again.
My linasha makes a displeased face, and I cannot help but grin in response.
“I would prefer to be feeding you the tender meat of an ensouka, also, linasha,” I say to her. “But that will have to wait until we are back with the rest of the tribe. I am no hunter - that would be my brother, Rardek. I probably should have been a hunter, also, but we were born just a season apart and we were terrors together when we put our headspaces to it. The elders sought to separate us so that we might concentrate better on our assigned tasks. I am the older, and slightly bigger also, so I was given warrior duties.”
I look to my Brooks. If she were like Sam, she would tell me something in her own musical tongue, not caring that the two of us cannot understand one another here in the waking world. But my Brooks is not like Sam. She is more quiet, more careful and considered. Good qualities in a warrior, and even though I would delight in seeing her relaxed and calm around me, the warrior in me admires the warrior in her deeply.
Unable to stop myself, I reach out to her.
It is a mistake. Immediately, she retreats, her hand sinking into her pocket. Fingers closing around the handle of her little blade, no doubt. I draw my hands back, hold them up in submission.
“You do not need to fear me,” I tell her, headspace scrambling for the human words I know, trying to arrange them in useful ways to communicate with her.
Then I remember one that we spoke many times to the human females in the early times of their joining our tribe. Before they could see from our actions and characters the truth of their situation.
“Safe,” I say to my Brooks. “You safe.”
She watches me closely.
“Safe?”she repeats, making the word a question.
I nod my head, tapping my fist to my heartspace in oath. I do not know if humans have some similar gesture, or if she just intuits my meaning, but she relaxes back down. Still wary, still guarded, but no longer on the edge of running.
I take a seat on the ground beside the merka beast. I need to take out my knife to start skinning the creature, and I am cautious as I do so, keeping most of my attention on the merka beast, while being sure to keep my linasha in my awareness. Just in case she changes her mind about running. I am relieved when she lowers herself to the floor, sitting on the other side of the creature from me as I start to slice into its pelt, separating skin from the meat and bones beneath.
“Yoonohotherhumans,”she says.
I sense that she is trying to keep her voice flat, even, but I can feel the interest she is trying to cover with a casual tone.
“Humans, yes. Many of them.”
“Yes?” She repeats my word. “Whadosethatmeen, ‘yes’?”
