14
MEGAN
W e donโt go hunting the next morning, and I canโt say Iโm disappointed. I know my strengths, and
Iโm pretty sure hunting isnโt one of them, but I canโt exactly turn it down. Not after Cashol pointed
out how much I could โlearn.โ I feel as if heโs quietly chiding me for not pulling my weight, so I work extra hard while sitting around the fire, sewing tunics and working on belts for so long that my eyes get tired and the tips of my fingers blister and callus from holding a needle. I take my turn cooking and I scrub at laundry. I help Hemalo and Kashrem clean skins. I clean roots and dice them. I dry leaves for the hot tea
everyone loves.
And I never, ever complain.
The weather is super snowy for the next few days, and Cashol explains to me, with his big, goofy grin, that he doesnโt want to take me out on a day that itโs going to be unpleasant and nasty. Humans are delicate, he reminds me every morning, and must be taken care of. So we donโt hunt.
We donโt share furs, either.
Other than that first night of resonance, Cashol avoids privacy with me. He sets up his own set of furs across from mine and never does more than give me a quick peck on the forehead goodnight. Here I was thinking weโd had the best sex Iโd ever had, and certainly better than Iโd hoped when I got kidnapped from Earth, and heโs acting like heโs done with me. It reminds me of the guy I met at the club who slept with me and then disappeared when he went โout to get coffee for breakfastโ and never returned. I told myself that it didnโt matter. That it was just a one-night stand and my feelings werenโt hurt. Except they were, and that hurt lingered when I wound up pregnant. How was I ever going to explain to my baby that I didnโt know his dadโs name?
Not that it matters now, because that babyโs just a painful, sad memory Iโll carry with me forever.
It does hurt that Iโm here on a strange planet a million, billion, trillion miles from my own and Iโm still getting the cold shoulder. At first, I wonder if Iโve hurt Casholโs feelings. I do my best to be smiley and agreeable, and try to be the ice planet version of a happy homemaker. Cashol is cheery and sweet and funny just like usualโฆ and just goes to his own furs every night. I donโt understand it.
The next two weeks are the longest two weeks of my life. It snows every day. He goes hunting every day. I work until I canโt keep my eyes open, and smile and pretend to be a happy newlywed. I giggle at all the teasing the other women do, and inside, Iโm dying a little more every day. Whatโs so wrong with me that no one can love me? Whatโs so awful about me in particular that makes men run away?
I bury my hurt under a smile and keep going, because what else can I do?
I must be pregnant now, though. The resonance sounds my khui makes have softened and lost that urgent call. Now, I purr ever so slightly around Cashol, as if my khui is acknowledging his nearness, but thatโs it.
Thereโs no wild pressure to mate, no intense urgency, no frantic needโฆwhich means I must be pregnant.
Maybe thatโs why Cashol sleeps apart.
Or maybe itโs justโฆme.
โT ๎๎๎, I ๎๎๎๎๎, ๎๎ ๎๎๎๎ ๎ ๎๎๎๎๎๎๎,โ C๎๎๎ ๎ ๎๎๎ ๎๎๎๎๎ ๎๎๎ ๎ ๎๎๎๎๎ ๎๎๎.
Iโve just unrolled a length of leather straps for one of the belts Iโm working on and do my best not to frown at him. โDo what?โ
โHunting,โ he says agreeably, moving to squat by my side. Heโs all smiles this morning, his mood chipper at the crack of dawn. โRemember? We are to hunt together so I can teach you how to set traps and check them.โ
โHunting. Right. I forgot.โ I smile brightly even though I feel like screaming, and roll back up the leather for
another time. โWhen do you want to go?โ
โNow is a grand time.โ
โSure is,โ I chirp at him. โSo grand.โ
He gives me an odd look. โDo you not want to go hunting with me? I thought we might spend the day together.โ
Oh, so after two weeks of ignoring me and sleeping apart, now he wants to spend the day together? I donโt understand him, and I feel a stab of resentment that he thinks I can blow hot and cold like this. โIโm good.
Hunting will be fun. Let me get dressed.โ
I put on several layers of warm clothing as Cashol packs a bag, and throw on my heaviest boots. I normally wear โlightโ shoes inside the cave, but I have a heavier-duty pair for going out. Not that I go out. Even so, I feel uncertain as I tie another layer of wraps around myself and pull my hair into a braid. A quick glance over at
Cashol shows heโs not wearing more than a vest and the usual loincloth and leggings with his boots, as if this is a mild summer day instead of a snowy hellscape.
He beams at me, shrugging the pack onto his shoulder and grabbing his spear. โAre you ready?โ
I gesture at my layers. โI sure hope so.โ Thereโs really only one way to find out if itโs warm enough, and thatโs heading out into the wild with him.
โDo not worry,โ he says reassuringly. โWe will not go far.โ
I๎โ๎ ๎ ๎ ๎๎๎๎๎ ๎ ๎๎ ๎๎๎๎ โ๎ ๎ ๎๎๎๎ ๎ ๎๎โ ๎๎ ๎๎๎ ๎ ๎๎๎๎๎ ๎๎ ๎๎ ๎ ๎ ๎๎๎๎ ๎๎ ๎๎ ๎๎ C๎๎๎ ๎โ๎ ๎ When I think โnot far,โ I think maybe weโll head over to the next valley, or take a short jaunt over the nearest cliffs that this planet is riddled with. Cashol, however, sprints down trail after trail with boundless energy, his blue tail flicking. I struggle to keep up, having shorter legs and being burdened with heavy fur wrapsโฆand the fact that Iโm just not as athletic as he is.
โNot much farther,โ he says cheerfully, over and over again.
And yet we keep going. The snow gets deeper, the landscape changes around us, and still Cashol keeps on trekking, and Iโm regretting my decision to go out with him. The cold chaps my cheeks and my legs ache from waddling through the deep snow. My boots are soaked and my toes feel like icicles, and I feel a stab of resentment for Cashol every time he looks over at me and smiles. Doesnโt he realize how miserable I am?
Then again, probably not. Because I keep smiling despite my murderous thoughts. I act like Iโm having a great time. I canโt draw a deep breath, and I feel like Iโm ready to collapse, but I pretend like thatโs no big deal.
โDo you need to stop?โ he asks me when I lag behind him.
โNo, Iโm good,โ I wheeze. โWe can keep going.โ
He gives me an uncertain look, but I tromp on past him, determined not to be the problem. He jogs back to my side, and then points at a cluster of the pink, flippy trees up ahead. โI have a few traps set there. Let us see what we have caught, eh?โ
โGreat,โ I echo. And it is. Maybe if weโve caught something, we can go back to the cave already and I can relax. I donโt see why Liz wants to constantly go hunting with Raahosh. I much prefer staying at the nice, warm cave and working on craft projects. This fresh air was nice for about five minutes, and then the cold set in.
I just donโt think Iโm much of an adventurer, and I worry thatโs going to disappoint Cashol. He looks like heโs having the best time with me here at his side. He glances over at me and I beam at him, trying to look as if Iโm having a better time than I am. Itโs not his fault Iโm a couch potato at heart.
A wild, high-pitched shriek cuts through the air.
I gasp, clutching at Casholโs arm. โWhat the fuck was that?โ
He chuckles at my surprise, squeezing my gloved hand. โIt sounds as if we have caught something. Let us go and see.โ
My stomach clenches uneasily, but I nod. โAll right.โ
Cashol leads the way, with me using his spear as a walking stick and keeping pace a short distance behind. Thereโs a flurry of snow kicked up and then he bends down near a tree and gestures that I should join him.
โA nice, fat hopper. Still alive,โ he tells me. โDo you want to dispatch it?โ
I swallow hard and go to his side. Sure enough, thereโs one of those fat, bunny-like hoppers. Their fur is coarser and thicker than a rabbitโs and theyโre not as sweet faced. Theyโre also a lot fatter and remind me of a roly-poly snow badger, and the most โrabbit-likeโ thing about them are the large back feet so they can spring through the drifts of snow.
Theyโre good eating. In fact, the hunters bring them in all the time.
I justโฆnever had to look one in the eye before.
The hopper gives another screech of pain, twisting in the trap-line. Normally, Cashol explained earlier, the trap-line loops the caught animal around the neck and they end up strangling themselves. This hopper is unluckier than most, because itโs caught around one of his back legs and the snow around him is bloody from how much heโs twisted at his bonds, and his leg hangs limp.
Heโs trapped.
I know just how he feels.
โOne swift stab should do it,โ Cashol tells me helpfully.
I nod, the blood roaring in my ears. I can do this. I can do this. Everyone here hunts. Itโs the difference between life and death. I eat fresh meat all the time. Heck, I even eat it raw since my taste buds have changed since getting a khui. Iโve skinned things before. Iโve seen how the meat is prepared. I can do this.
I can.
I lift the spear, and my hands are sweaty in my gloves. Iโm breathing hard and so tired that my hands are shaking. The sooner I get this thing dead, the sooner I can go back to the cave and just crawl into my furs.
Even so, I hesitate. Iโve never killed anything. Ever.
I know it has to be doneโฆand yet.
Iโm not sure Iโm the one that can do it. I lift the spear, trembling, and stare down at the fat, fluffy, helpless creature as it lets out another too-human sounding cry of distress. If I want to be part of this tribe, part of this world, I have to fit in. Thereโs no room for weakness. No room for sympathy.
Itโs me or this stupid hopper.
I have to prove I can do this.
โMake it quick,โ Cashol encourages me. โYou can do it. My first kill was a hopper.โ
I hold the spear aloft, shaking. โH-how old were you?โ
โThree or four turns of the seasons. Make your movement swift and sure when you bear down.โ
Three or four? And here I am, a grown-ass woman and Iโm shaking like a leaf.
It gives one last, defeated little cry of pain and my throat closes.
Iโฆcanโt do this.
I toss the spear aside and shake my head mutely. Iโm not a killer. Iโm justโฆnot.
โYou cannot leave it, Meh-gan,โ Cashol says, his voice gentle. โIt will not survive with a wounded back leg.
The kindest thing we can do for it is to give him a quick, good death.โ
I burst into tears and storm away.
At least, I try to. Instead, I just stumble in the thick snow and end up planting face-first into the powder, which only makes me cry harder. I sob uncontrollably, aware that Iโm not just crying over that hopper, or having to kill it. Iโm having an utter breakdown because no matter what I do, Iโll never, ever fit in. I canโt be the person these people want me to be. I canโt be the mate Cashol needs, because Iโm not Liz or Georgie, and I just cry harder.
Behind me, the hopper lets out another cry, only for it to be cut short by the crack of bones. It goes silent, and then I hear feet crunching in the snow. Casholโs hand brushes over my shoulder. โMeh-ganโฆare you all right, my mate?โ
I just sob harder, sick at heart. Do I seem all right to him? Because I donโt feel all right. Iโm hysterical, and Iโm cold, and tired, and terrified, and I canโt even kill an ugly rabbit that probably would have bitten the shit out of me if I reached out to help it. The hopper isnโt the problem; Iโm the problem, and itโs becoming more and more obvious with every day that passes.
I donโt belong. Iโll never belong.
Even Cashol doesnโt want to sleep with me. One night with me, and heโd had enough.
