15
MEGAN
I weep uncontrollably, burying my face in the snow like a child.
“Come, come,” Cashol says in the gentlest voice. “Your tears hurt my heart, my mate.” He rolls
me onto my back, and when I can’t bear to look him in the eye, scoops me up and carries me, bridal style. “Let us get out of this snow and get you near a fire.”
I shake my head, because I can’t imagine being carried back to the cave like a baby after one freaking day of hunting. No one will ever let me live this down and the tribe will make fun of me. “Please don’t take me back just yet.”
He considers for a moment, then changes directions, heading farther away from the main cave. “There is a hunter cave in this direction. We can rest there.”
“Thank you,” I tell him as I shift in his arms. I notice he’s got his spears and his pack on his shoulder, and I feel like such an ass for letting him hold me. “I can walk.”
“No.”
Surely he can’t mean to carry me the entire way to the cave? “Cashol—”
“I said no, Meh-gan,” Cashol repeats, tone firm but gentle. “Allow me to carry my mate.”
I let him carry me after that, because I really don’t want to pick a fight over something I don’t want to do. I’m achingly tired, and very aware at how out of shape I am compared to him. He’s just bounded over these snowy hills like they’re nothing, whereas it feels like an utter slog for me. It’s just another thing for me to worry about.
Like, what if the rest of the tribe feels I can’t keep up and they leave me behind to die?
A fresh round of tears erupts and I bury my face against his neck.
“Please, do not cry, Meh-gan,” Cashol murmurs as he walks. “I cannot stand it when you weep. If it was possible to let the hopper go, I would have, but it truly was not fair to release him wounded like that.”
I just cry harder, because he really thinks I’m upset about the hopper. That I have such a tender heart that I can’t handle killing things. Which…I do. But the tender heart is not the problem as much as I’ve been thrust into a society that I don’t fit into, and I worry they’ll find out I’m dead weight and get rid of me. I’m not as full of perseverance as Georgie, or as athletic as Liz. I’m not as sweet as Nora or as chatty as Josie. Ariana doesn’t fit in well because she cries a lot, and I’ve seen the exasperated looks people toss in her direction.
I don’t want those looks directed at me.
Each time I fail at something, I feel…awful. Worthless. And it just adds to the stress of fitting in. But I don’t want Cashol to know that. I don’t want anyone to know that I’m struggling. I just want to blend in and be happy.
So I swipe at the tears icing up on my cheeks and try to smile. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
“You are not fine,” he argues, and I can hear the worry in his voice. “I did not realize you hated hunting so much. I feel responsible. You should have told me you did not like it and we would have done something else together.”
My lower lip wobbles and now I feel even worse. He just wanted to spend the day with me? Here I’ve been thinking mean thoughts about him dragging me through the snow and he thought we were supposed to be having fun together. I burst into fresh tears and he holds me tighter.
“We are almost there,” he reassures me. “All will be well.”
That makes me smile, just a little. As if everything can be repaired by dragging me to a cave somewhere. If only it were that easy.
Sure enough, within the next few minutes, he grunts an apology as he sets me down, and then enters the cave to check it out. When he’s assured that all is well, he pulls me in with him and then sets me down in front of a dark firepit. “You sit,” he demands. He pulls a rolled up fur out of the back of the cave and drapes it over my shoulders, then pulls a bag of herbs from his pack. “I will make tea.”
“I can make tea,” I offer, reaching for the pouch in his grip.
He smacks the back of my hand. “What did I just say?”
I stare at him, astonished, and then let out a watery little giggle. “Did…you just smack me?”
“You are not a very good listener, Meh-gan,” he chides me, squatting by the firepit. “When I say I will make my mate tea, I will make my mate tea.”
“I just…don’t want to be helpless. That’s all.”
“There is a difference between being helpless and letting someone do things for you,” he says as he puts tea over the cold firepit and then fills the pouch with water from his skin. He sets to work making a fire, building it faster than I ever could, and I realize it’s yet another thing I’m not good at—making fires. Another thing in the endless list of tasks I need to learn.
Just seeing that reminder makes me feel overwhelmed all over again.
Cashol glances up at me, and then shakes his head. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“You have the hopper face again.”
“Hopper face?” I sputter. “What’s a hopper face?”
“The one you made just before you started weeping.” He gives me a wary expression. “Are you going to weep again?”
“No….maybe.” But I smile a little. “So what’s the hopper face look like?”
Cashol looks up from the fire he’s feeding small bits of fluff to. He squints at me, and then his mouth positively contorts as he mimics me, and it’s so ridiculous and overblown that I burst into laughter.
“I do NOT look like that!”
“You do,” he assures me, grinning. “I could not tell if you were going to sneeze or weep.”
I laugh harder, because okay, maybe I do look like that. “You shouldn’t be teasing me about that.”
“Why not? I like your laughter far more than your tears.” He leans in and blows on the fire, stoking the flames higher, and I watch his tail move back and forth with far too much interest. Since when do I find tails fascinating? Yet I can’t seem to stop watching his. It’s a bit like a cat’s, but sometimes it flicks and curls in a way that no cat’s ever could, and I’m utterly transfixed. Maybe I just need to get laid more if I’m obsessing over tails.
Of course, the one that’s supposed to be sleeping with me won’t, and that thought makes me gloomy all over again.
“I think that is good for the fire,” Cashol announces. “We will stay here and warm up, and then return home
later.”
“Sure.”
If he notices my lack of enthusiasm, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he’s quiet as he moves to the back of the cave and grabs his bag, pulling the dead hopper out and hiding it against his chest as he moves to the front of the cave to bury it in the snow—this place’s version of frozen food. It’s kinda sweet that he thinks I’m distressed over hoppers. It’s just the straw that broke the camel’s back, showing me that I’ll never be able to swing it here.
He returns a few moments later, and then moves to my side, pulling at the laces of my sodden boots. “We
will give these a chance to dry, too.”
“Okay.”
I remain still as he pulls my soaked boots off my feet, and my toes are pale white and cold, and I shiver, sticking them as close to the fire as I dare. I know the cootie will take care of any frostbite, but it’s still unpleasant to think about. I glance over at Cashol, and he’s taking his own boots off, so I guess I’m not the only one with wet feet. I watch, lost in thought, as he props a spear against a crevice in the cave wall and lowers the head of it to the top of the tripod over the fire, creating a clothes-line that he drapes with our wet leathers. “That’s smart,” I comment.
“I am full of smart things,” he says cockily.
I know he’s being like that just to make me smile, but it’s working. “Full of something, all right.”
He just grins back at me, all boyish enthusiasm, and then sits down next to me and immediately plops one ginormous foot into my lap.
I sputter in surprise. “What is this for?”
“You are going to rub my foot, and I am going to rub yours.” Cashol nods at me, that playful expression on his face. “You like a foot rubbing, do you not?”
I’m not sure if he’s asking about giving or receiving. I eye his enormous foot and then hesitantly put my hands on it. Am I weird if I find his feet incredibly attractive? Because having one right in front of me just emphasizes how perfect I find this particular body part of his. Not that all of him isn’t incredibly appealing. How funny that a month ago I would have said that Cashol was probably the lowest on the totem pole of looks in the tribe, but now I can’t see anyone but him. I love his big nose and wild grin. I love his long face and the way he looks slightly disheveled all the time, as if he’s a whirlwind that’s paused only for a moment. I love his big feet and his broad shoulders…
And I wish like hell he’d touch me again.
I rub my thumbs into the underside of his foot, trying not to fall back into that deep slide of anxiety that threatens to overwhelm me. It does no good to be sad about things. I just need to find a way to make myself indispensable. Then, everything will work itself out.
I eye the big foot in my lap, curling my hands around it. “Your feet aren’t cold at all.”
“Yours are like ice,” he mutters, rubbing briskly. “It is like I am hugging frozen meat.”
I giggle and slide my hands over his enormous foot. He’d at least be a size sixteen if we were back home, I think. Ginormous feet, and they match the rest of him. I run my fingers over his three large, strange toes and then rub the arch. “I guess I am lucky, then. I don’t mind touching yours.”
He groans when I hit a particular spot, eyes closing. “I think I am lucky, too.” He’s barely rubbing my own feet, but I don’t mind, because he’s holding them and his big hands are warm, and that’s good enough. When I chuckle, Cashol glances over at me. “I am glad to hear you laugh again. I have missed hearing it.”
I manage another smile, but I don’t feel this one. “I haven’t had much to laugh over, I guess.”
“Why are you sad? Can you tell me?”
The knot returns to my throat, and I stare down at his perfect feet, wishing I was in the right frame of mind to appreciate getting to put my hands all over them. “I just…feel like I’m failing at all of this.”
“All of what?”
“Living here. Killing things. Making fires. Being a good tribesmate. I worry…” I pause, and then push on. “I worry that I’m going to be a burden and people aren’t going to want me here.”
Cashol scoffs. “That is a silly fear.”
“Doesn’t feel silly to me.” I shrug. “Why wouldn’t the tribe decide I’m not worth it? You did.”
He’s silent.
