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“A head injury might affect memories,” Shemza says.
“She thinks it is the length of time she spent sleeping.”
Shemza grimaces. “I cannot speak to the effects of that. It still feels impossible to me, even seeing it with my own eyes.” He turns to me. “Would you like some nesta seed tea to aid your sleeping?”
“Please.” I glance in the direction of the entrance to the hut, where it is bright daylight outside. “I can be lazy, but sleeping soundly in the middle of the day is a stretch, even for me.”
Shemza’s lips tilt upwards in a slight smirk, and he grips my shoulder briefly before heading out. I go to my Brooks, holding out a hand to help her up. She takes it, and I draw her gently to her feet, then to my side, wrapping an arm around her. I raise a hand to her temple, brushing a thumb over her brow as if I could chase away her pains with a touch.
Her eyes flutter closed, and I do not think it is just wishfulness in my heartspace that she leans a little closer to me. I can feel a trembling in her body, and while I wish I could say it is need coursing through her, I am not so vain and foolish. My linasha is deeply troubled.
And she has come to me for help. The other females will be here by evening and she does not simply hold on to speak to them, but rather asks to speak with me - this trust she is placing in me makes my heartspace swell.
“Come,” I say to her, guiding her movements with a hand at her back, gently drawing her out of the cleaning room.
She has changed her clothes, I note, washed under the strange hot waters. Her scent is shaped by the sharp smell of the soap the humans use, and I do not like it. It itches at raskarran senses, but I know the females favour stronger scents. Grace’s lotions for their skin always have strong smells, but at least those are of the flowers in our forest, not whatever this human soap stinks of. Something astringent and bitter. It is not unpleasant enough to drive me away from my linasha’s side, however, and when she remains close to me as we walk back up to the ground level of the hut, I slide my arm around her shoulder, my chest expanding as she leans into me a little.
We meet Shemza, who clutches two small cups of tea. I take one, pointing to it, then miming sleep, so that my Brooks understands what she is being offered. She smells the steam coming off the drink, then nods, taking a cautious sip. Nesta seed tea is not so powerful a draught that it can knock a grown male off his feet immediately, but as the drink fills my belly, I feel a pleasant, sleepy warmth come over me. Shemza nods, taking our cups when we are done, then heads back outside, leaving us alone.
I consider taking my Brooks to the room I have been using, but the bed in there is small and I am unsure how comfortable she would be to sleep in it beside me. Instead, we head onto the upper level of the hut where the larger beds are. To pass the time in the long days of guarding, we have cleaned much of the hut, changing the bedding since it was slept in last by our tribe brothers and sisters, replacing the coarse Mercenia made things with soft pelts for when Lorna travels to the hut to study thewritingsandmachines.I take advantage of this now, leading my Brooks to one of those large, soft beds, and settling on to it beside her.
I feel tired, ready to close my eyes and let sleep take me, but my Brooks has an agitated energy to her, her eyes wide and staring at the ceiling overhead. I can see her thoughts spinning in her headspace and know well how this is not conducive to sleep. Tentatively, I reach a hand out, stroking it over her arm before growing bolder and drawing her close. She looks at me, eyes slightly narrowed, but there is no fear in her expression, no concern. Just - well, I would call it confusion, as if she does not understand my actions. But she does not protest, so I move her onto her side, drawing her back flush against my chest so my warmth might soothe her, along with the steady beating of my heart. That soap smell fills my nose, making me want to sneeze, but I can smell her own scent beneath it, earthy and feminine and delicious. I nestle my face close to her neck, as if pressing my nose to her skin might mean the soap smell does not reach me. Of course it does, but my linasha’s scent grows stronger also, and contentment fills me as I breathe it deep.
My Brooks is still stiff, still agitated, so I make the low rumbling sound in my chest that we use to soothe, stroking my hand over her arm a few times before wrapping my arms around her. I’m losing the battle with sleep, my eyes grown impossibly heavy. I loop my tail around her leg so she is held by me in all ways. I hope it makes her relax. I hope it makes her feel safe.
More than anything, I hope that feeling follows her into our dreams so that whatever she might face in her memories, she will have that feeling to help her.
* * *
We are back in the white room immediately this time, no travel tent, no raskarran forest. I dislike this place with its bright walls and straight lines, but it is perfect for her to paint her memories on to, just as she described.
She is sitting across from me, her arms wrapped around herself, her head bowed low. As she comes into awareness, she looks up, meets my gaze. There is a look of determination in her expression, her lips pressed tight together. She still radiates a sharp sort of energy, but it is more focused now.
“I remembered some stuff,” she says. “Not a lot, not all of it. Flashes and pieces and feelings. I need to understand it, to make sense of it. It feels important. Big.”
I nod. “And you felt that the dreamspace would help.”
The next look she shoots me is surprisingly vulnerable. “I’m sorry.”
“Why do you apologise? I am glad I can help you in this way.”
“You may not be,” she says, looking down. “When you see these things I’m remembering.”
I go to her side, no furtiveness in my approach this time. Always I have been careful to be slow and cautious in touching her, but I sense that she does not need that now. She needs my strength, and I would give it to her. As much as she needs. I draw her up to her feet and wrap her in my arms, holding her close.
“Your pains are my pains, remember? Your hurts are my hurts. You have taken mine, examined them, told me your thoughts, and this has brought me much comfort and relief. I would do the same for you, my Brooks.”
I feel her shudder, but also how she shores herself up, stands taller within the confines of my arms.
“Okay,” she says, and there is strength in her voice also. “I think I need to go back to the beginning. To Brannigan.”
The room changes around us, and she turns, stepping out of my arms and into the scene with the stern elder female.
“Speak your mind, Brooks,” she says, and I recall the words from the last time we were watching this scene. How brave and honest my linasha was in the face of her elder’s disapproval.
My Brooks speaks her truth again. Instead of breaking the memory, this time it continues. I watch as the elder processes what she has said.
What was all that dedication, all that work for if Mercenia never really wanted me to serve on the battlefield, but on my back?
