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“Would you be able to give a message to the youngling, Molly, for me?” I ask.
“Of course,” Sally answers with a smile.
“Please tell her that I will look after her mother well, and that I look forward to getting to know her better when we return.”
“I will,” Sally says. She touches my arm in a very raskarran gesture. “Molly has many troubles and it may be difficult for her to adjust to another change in her life. I know I don’t need to counsel patience to a raskarran, but I will anyway.”
“I am good at being patient,” I assure her.
“We will guard your daughter well while you are gone, also.”
It makes me stand taller to have this female I have only just met address Molly as such. Sally may have lived many seasons here, grown used to raskarran ways, but in its own way this is cause for hope for me. Sally has come from the same world as the other females, likely had some of the same issues. That she has surmounted them and lives a full and happy life with her mate and her younglings says to me that this is possible for my Grace and Molly also.
“You have my sincerest thanks for this,” I say.
“Enjoy your time with your linasha,” Sally says. “Grace is a kind female, much concerned with looking after others. I am very pleased that she has someone to look after her now.”
The females wave to their sister as we leave, taking our first steps into the forest together. I am glad that they care so deeply for my Grace, but I confess, I am most pleased when the trees close in behind us and we are separated from the tribe. Alone.
I know there is a bounce in my step as I walk, my pleasure in being here under the trees with my linasha filling my body with lightness. Feeling daring, I put an arm about her shoulder, and when she does not protest, I draw her close to me so that we might walk together. Her pace is slow, and I can enjoy all the sensations of her body touching mine as we go, the scent of her filling my nose, without fearing distraction. I am sure to look down at her every so often, to check that she is still happy, still comfortable, and each time I am greeted by one of her smiles, which only lifts me further.
We walk until it is time to have our midday meal. Our path follows a small stream and there are many adequate places to stop for a meal break. I wait until we come across one with a djenti bush, so my Grace might collect some berries to treat any aches she may have. Shemza warned me that the females are not much used to walking long distances and need to build up their resilience after their mistreatment by their previous tribe.
My Grace takes a seat beside the stream, refilling her canteen and drinking from it in long, thirsty gulps. It is not so hot today, the big rains drawing ever closer, but she is pink in the cheeks from exertion or the temperature. I squat beside her, pointing to her feet then making the ‘good’ gesture that Shemza taught me before we left, raising my brows to make it a question. My Grace nods, but I gesture to the djenti bush in case she might need it all the same.
I take out two of the meal bars that I have packed. When we make our camp, I will check the area for any hunting. I am a warrior, and with the rains so close, the hunting will not be easy. But perhaps Lina will smile on me and grant us a juicy frenelle toenjoy. If not, I have supplies enough to last us, it will just not be such enjoyable fare.
My Grace nibbles on the meal bar I hand her. Her shoulders look loose and relaxed, which I take to be a good sign of her comfort. I eat my own food, and the salt of the meal bar has never tasted better than it does eaten now beside my linasha.
CHAPTER THREE
Grace
We don’t walk that much further after our lunch break. Another hour or two, perhaps. Certainly before my feet start to really ache, Calran turns to me, gesturing at the space around us, a question in his eyes.
I look at the clearing we’ve stopped in. It’s large enough to set the tent and build a decent fire with room to spare. The stream we’ve been following most of the way here cuts through the middle of it, giving us access to fresh water, but isn’t too wide to easily step over, meaning we can get to the other bank. There, the ground slopes upwards, becomes rocky. There are several cave openings, most too small for even a human like me to crawl inside, but the largest is big enough that Calran wouldn’t have to duck much to step through. The opening is steaming slightly, like the hot springs do back at the village, and I wonder if there is hot water somewhere inside.
All in all, it’s a perfect spot and I smile my approval to Calran, grateful that he’s taken the time to think through the details of this impromptu getaway. That he’s doing everything in his power to make it a success.
It just leaves me to follow through on my side of the bargain.
I’m nervous about it, but it’s not a consuming sort of feeling. I can ignore it well enough as I look for stones to contain the fire, while Calran makes the tent. Even when he pulls several furs out of his pack and steps inside to arrange them, I only have to take a couple of steadying breaths.
He’s not going to expect me to do anything this first day, I remind myself. He’s a good person. He’ll wait until we’re sleeping, until we can speak.
By the time Calran is satisfied with the tent, I’m finished with the circle of stones, starting to layer up leaves and twigs to get the fire started. Calran pulls a pair of flints from his belt, striking them until something catches, and before long we have a merry little fire burning. It’s not cold, but the warmth from the flames soothes my aching feet, so I take off my shoes, put my feet close to the fire. Calran smiles at me, but then hands me a small pouch of djenti berries he must have collected at lunch time. I collected some, too. The healer in me couldn’t pass on the opportunity. But I take his with a grateful smile and crush a few into my canteen, drinking deep.
Then we’re done with the jobs we needed to do, and nothing but time and each other’s company stretches out ahead of us. The nervous feeling expands in my chest, harder to ignore with nothing else to distract me, and I itch at it, as if I could scratch the fear out of me. When that doesn’t work, I turn to my pack, take out my cream.
Calran gives me a curious look as I open the lid, drawing it to my nose and breathing in the floral scent of this batch. I gesture for him to come and sit beside me, holding the creampot up for him to smell. He takes a deep breath and immediately sneezes, his much more sensitive raskarran nose struggling with the scent. He chuckles, then takes the pot again, breathing less deeply this time. He nods, but still looks confused as he hands the pot back to me. I smile, setting the pot down between us, then scooping out a little of the cream to massage into my hands.
Already, after just a couple of weeks of this treatment, my hands are less chapped, less raw. They’d been getting better since leaving my medic post after the lottery win, but the people who processed us, trained us for long haul space travel, who travelled with us - none of them were much concerned for our comfort. Our health, to a certain extent, but something as inconsequential as sore, tight skin didn’t factor.
But years of abrasion and irritation thanks to the carbolic acid spray we used to disinfect our equipment in the medic centre back home was never going to heal quickly. The sores went, but the tightness, the sensitivity remained. Shemza showed me the ingredients to create a moisturising cream to help it, and I’ve been perfecting the recipe - and the accompanying scent - ever since.
I smooth the cream over the backs of my hands first, then work it into the gaps between my fingers, round to my palms before rubbing the entirety of my hands together until it’s soaked in. Calran watches my hands as though they are the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, then gestures to the pot and to himself, seeking my permission to take some. I nudge the pot closer to him, and he dips in two big fingers, before beginning to massage the cream into his skin.
I watch him as he does it, letting my eyes linger on the play of his arm muscles beneath his tattooed skin. Like Rachel, the first sight of those tattoos struck a fear into me, but it lasted only long enough for me to have a word with myself, remember what Rachel said about Calran being kind. Now, I can see theappeal of them, why the warriors of the Cliff Top tribe might choose to mark their skin this way. The dark brown, almost black colour of the ink works perfectly with the green tone of his skin, the markings intricate and delicate where they wind round his wrists, his forearms, up to his shoulders.
