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Her lips part just a little, and she seems to be considering something deeply. Again, thoughts of human kisses pass through my headspace, my blood heating in my veins as I picture my lips against hers.
Then she frowns, and I worry at first that she might have seen some of my thoughts in my expression. But she cants her head to the side, looking past my face to my temple, before pressing up onto her knees and brushing her fingers over the side of my head.
Where she hit me with a table leg two short sunsets ago. Where I probably still have a mess of dried blood tangled with my hair.
The pink of her cheeks deepens. I know human females look this way when pleased or embarrassed, and I think my Brooks must be the latter, for she can barely meet my gaze.
“Do not be ashamed of your fierceness, linasha,” I tell her. “It pleases me.”
I tap the side of my head, then make the good gesture, pointing my thumb to the sky.
Her gaze meets mine again, and there is a squirming sort of discomfort in the way she looks at me, the way she holds herself.
“Ahmsorry,” she says. “Ahdiddentmeen…”She pauses, swallows. “Well, ahdid. Budahdiddentno…”She makes a frustrated huffing sound. “Ahmsorry.”
And then she gestures for me to lean forward. I do so, shooting her a confused look. She just scoops some water into her hands, raising it over my head and letting it fall into my hair. The cold of it against my neck makes me gasp, but then her fingers are rubbing at my temple, working into the spot where she struck me, and I have to bite back a different sort of gasp. It is a cleaning touch, help in return for the help I have given her, but that is not what my cock thinks. I am painfully hard, and glad that my crouching position hides this from her.
She sits back, granting me a brief reprieve as she works the geberren root into a lather. Then she is back, massaging it into my hair, then rinsing it out with the blood. I hold very, very still, trying not to breathe her scent too deep into my lungs, lest my resolve to give her the space and time she needs wavers, and I resort to grabbing at her like some wild, untamed thing.
After a long, blissfully torturous moment, she sits back on her heels, apparently finished rinsing the blood from my hair and skin.
Slowly, I scoop my hair into my hands, wringing out the excess water, buying my cock a little time to deflate. When I can sit up without showing her the full force of my barely contained desire, I do so, giving her a grateful smile. I only hope it does not look too strained. She nods, then grabs her clothes from the bank. Dresses.
I glance at the sky overhead. We were awake early, but already some time has passed. Soon, I think, soon it will come time to sleep, and I can be in dreams with her again.
And perhaps there, she will feel safe enough that we might touch.
* * *
I do not rush to pack up our camp. It will be another few days before anyone coming from the village arrives, so there is no need to hurry back. Selfishly, I am enjoying having my linasha to myself. But I do not wish for her to think that I have no desire to return, so after a late breakfast of merka beast meat that I think my linasha enjoys, despite her misgivings, I make a start on packing everything up so we can begin our return journey.
Dealing with the merka beast carcass takes the most time, but I do not wish to waste any of the meat. Some on the outside burnt under the heat of the fire as the rest beneath it roasted, but there is plenty left on the bones, even after our breakfast, to keep us fed for another few meals. I strip the meat, storing it in a small food pouch. The pack I am carrying is fortunately a hunter’s pack, and contains plenty of spare bags for storing kills, so I add the bones to the one already containing the pelt, before sealing the top carefully so that any viscera and gore I have not managed to clean off does not escape. That done, I dismantle the tent, packing that also before hefting our supplies over my shoulders. My Brooks has her own bag, and she picks that up, nodding at me to let me know she is ready to leave this place.
I walk slowly, mindful of her feet in the uncomfortable Mercenia boots. I remember how badly the other females suffered as they walked in them, how grateful they were to have them replaced by raskarran made boots. Regularly, I stop to check that she is not hurting, that she does not need treatment for torn, abraded skin at her heels.
So we do not make much progress. Already the sun is heading on its way downwards when we arrive at the place where my Brooks made her first camp. We could push on for a time, but it is a good place to rest, plenty of wide open space for the tent and a djenti bush nearby to treat any hurts she might have. I gesture to the space, then make the sleep gesture. My Brooks raises her eyebrows at me, a hint of suspicion coming in to her expression.
“Ahcankeepgowen,” she says, but her words are ever incomprehensible to me.
After a moment, she sighs, and sets her pack down, before dropping to the floor herself and pulling off her boots, inspecting her heels. I feel a sense of satisfaction when she pulls her boots back on a moment later, apparently uninjured, and I am glad to have taken things so slow.
I set the tent, set a fire, warm some of the merka beast meat in a simple broth with some roots I find beside the river. It is hardly delicious fare, but my Brooks eats heartily, and pleasure soars in my heartspace to see it. She is a capable female, not as defenceless as some of the others. A survivor, I have thought before, and I think it again. I am filled with awe in her, but at the same time, my warrior’s heartspace cannot help but find pleasure in providing for her, though I know she does not need it so much as her sisters.
I hope she will not mind entertaining these foolish feelings. That she will not dislike my raskarran ways. The other females certainly do not seem to, though I am reminded again just how different my Brooks is.
Better, a small, smug voice inside of me says, and I would feel bad about this piece of foolishness in my spirit, but I know my tribe brothers have all felt the same about their own linashas. Whoever Lina chooses for us, she chooses well, and so we are all inclined to believe our linasha better than any other.
It occurs to me as we wash our dishes in the stream together, that I have not thought once since waking of the younglings my linasha does not desire. It is hard to be consumed with grief for a blessing not given when your heartspace is full of the ones you have, but it is more than that. Without the little voice speaking to me about punishments and my lack of worthiness, it is easier to believe that this is just a misalignment in our headspaces right now. That in the future my Brooks might look on me and decide that I would make a good father to her younglings. That perhaps the circumstances of her life having changed so much might change the course of her feelings also.
But if not, there is a contentment to be found between just the two of us, I think, as I finish scouting the area for any signs of danger, finding none. Heading back to the tent, I smile as I step inside to find my Brooks settling into her pelts. I do not think it is my wishful hoping that she seems to have put less distance between us this night.
Yes, there is a contentment to be found between us that could satisfy me well.
* * *
The next two sunsets pass much the same as the previous one. We spend our time in the dreamspace training, moving from spears to blades as my linasha’s interest shifts and develops. She is keen to learn warrior skills, and I delight in teaching her. She learns fast, and though she is small compared to me, she knows how to find an advantage and press it. For all Mercenia sounds cruel and terrible in many ways, my linasha has at least been well trained for her role as warrior for her tribe.
We do not make any progress towards different kinds of touching. I wait for my linasha to suggest that we rest, or change the scenery back to the travel tent, or perhaps my hut. For her to come close to me in a way that is not combative. Give some sign that she might welcome an approach. But she does not, and this is fine. She was to be forced to bear younglings, and this must have also involved forced mating. Her feelings around the act must be difficult and confusing. I would speak to her about it, but I do not want to give her the impression that I am over eager, or growing impatient.
