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“So beautiful,” I tell her, making the same rumble in my chest that I used to calm her before. “So perfect.”
I do not know if it is my words, or the rumbling, but one or the other is what my Grace needs to hear. With a cry, she reaches her climax, her body clenching and shuddering as waves of pleasure course through her. I continue to stroke her, trying to coax as much pleasure as I can from her, finding her lips with my own and claiming them as she starts to come back down.
“Oh,” she says. Then again, “oh.”
“You are surprised you have felt such things so soon, or that you can feel them at all?” I ask, continuing to kiss her neck, nuzzling my nose into her skin and breathing the sweet scent of her deep into my lungs.
“Both,” she says. “That was…”
“Good?” I offer, giving her a teasing smile.
I am pleased when she laughs, even if her cheeks darken and she buries her face into my chest as though embarrassed.
“It was good, yes,” she murmurs against my body.
“Good.” I wrap my arms around her, holding her close to me.
I am drawn out of the dreamspace by voices calling my name and Grace’s. I do not know how much time has passed, but guess it must be mid afternoon from the quality of the light bleeding through the walls of our tent. Grace rouses next to me, and I see a look of concern come into her eyes as she hears the voices. I reach for our bags, handing hers to her, before pulling on my own leathers and stepping out of the tent.
It is Anghar who is come, carrying his linasha on his back. He grins at me, giving me a cheerful wave.
“Do not be concerned,” he calls, still smiling broadly as he sets his Ellie down on the floor. “We have come to bring Grace back to the village, for Sally has started her labouring.”
Now I understand why his smiles are so very wide this day. It is a joyous thing, a new birth for the village.
“My Grace will be pleased you have come for her,” I say, gripping Anghar’s shoulder in greeting.
Ellie slips from Anghar’s side over to the tent, calling my Grace’s name as she goes. Anghar watches her a short way, then turns back to me.
“I hope you are not too displeased to have your sweet moon cut short.”
“If it must be cut short, then this is perhaps the best reason. It has been too many long seasons since I set eyes on a newborn youngling.”
“Some of us have never seen one before,” Anghar says, voice growing soft with wonder.
He is younger than me by some seasons, would have been perhaps four or five seasons when the sickness struck. In some ways, it is easier for the younger ones - they have few memoriesof what they have lost, have grown always knowing their lot. But more often than not, I am grateful for the memories I do have, even if they have the power to cut me. I would rather remember the beauty of my nieces’ faces than to be spared the hurt of having lost them by never knowing them in the first place.
Grace emerges from the tent, dressed and looking resolved, her healer’s confidence replacing the shy uncertainty she has shown around me. It knocks the breath out of my lungs to see the change in her, and my chest bursts with pride that I can call this magnificent female mine.
Well. Almost. I may not be able to say it quite so plainly yet, but I am sure my Grace will warm to the words, eventually.
And if she does not, that will not change the truth in our heartspaces. The words do not need to be spoken for them to be true.
She is mine. And I am the luckiest male to ever walk these forests.
“We will pack your camp up now and then we can hurry back to the village,” Anghar says. “I know the quickest paths from here.”
Ellie must have already relayed this plan to my Grace, for the two females have already packed most of the things in the tent. For the sake of speed, I collapse the tent down without packing it away properly, swinging my pack and the tent up over my shoulders. Ellie takes my Grace’s pack, leaving Grace unburdened. She looks confused for a moment, until I scoop her up into my arms. A slight sound of protest escapes her, but then she settles against my chest, her arms going around my neck, and we head back through the trees towards the village.
We arrive to a buzz of excitement. My Grace is immediately swept away to attend to her healer’s duties, and I watch her until she disappears inside the healer’s hut. My brothers are quick to surround me with more questions, but I fend them off, headinginstead for my Grace’s hut. I intend to unpack our bags, to ensure everything is tidy and clean for when my Grace finishes her healing work. Labouring is a long, tiring thing, for the healer as much as for the mother, and I would have my female’s comforts taken care of for her so that she need not do anything for the rest of the evening.
I knock on the door of my Grace’s hut, in case Molly is inside. When I get no answer, I enter, breathing deep the scent of my new home. It smells of my Grace’s hand salve and a feminine scent that is not all my Grace. The main room is tidy, except for some clothing thrown over the back of one of the chairs. Of the two bedrooms, one has the curtain ajar, revealing an unmade bed and baskets piled high with unfolded clothes spilling out from between them. Molly’s room, I guess, for my Grace is tidy and careful. I set down the packs I am carrying and close the curtain over it, wanting to respect Molly’s privacy, then head into my Grace’s room.
As I expected, her room is orderly, neat. I know I am right in my assumption that this room is hers because her scent permeates everything. For a long moment, I sit at the edge of her bed, the bed we will now share, and just breathe it all in. My throat grows thick with emotion as I run my fingers over the pelts we will sleep under, imagining all our nights ahead of us, bodies curled together.
I unpack our things, and when I am done with this, I head to the hut that was mine for a single night and bring my other things over. It amazes me how much delight there is in simply stacking my baskets next to my Grace’s, this small blending of our lives. An inconsequential thing, really, but a symbol of things of much greater consequence.
My mate. My linasha. It does not grow any less astounding to me.
