Ice Planet Honeymoon: Rukh & Harlow Page 3

  I don't know what to do. Sit and wait? Go after him?

  I consider my options for a few moments and then bank the fire. I wrap up in furs, grab my spear, and head out after him. I make my way to the cliffs, stumbling over icy rocks in the darkness. There's a small natural path that leads up through the cliffs to the rolling, wintry hills above that become mountains. I go up a few steps and then pause, listening. There's a noise of something walking on the sands, the crunch of footsteps.

  Rukh?

  I head back down the path toward it. "Is that you, Rukh?"

  The sound gets louder, and then I pause. There's a dark shape on the sand that is not Rukh. Not in the slightest. In fact, it looks like a crustacean of some kind, but it's the size of an Earth crocodile…or bigger. It's got two tentacles with eyes on the end, and they swivel toward me.

  I let out a horrified squeal and stumble backward, clutching my spear. The thing scuttles away, as if it's just as scared of me as I am of it.

  I stare after the creature, heart pounding. My hands are slippery on my spear, and the wind picks up, blowing my hair in my face. A helpless feeling overtakes me. I don't know enough about this world to handle my shit alone at night. What if that crab wasn't the biggest thing on this beach at night? What if the next one doesn't run?

  And I don't know where Rukh is. What if I head into the mountains and I never find him?

  Beyond frustrated, I retreat back to the safety of my cave and build up the fire. Our supplies of the dung chips are going to disappear quickly, too. That's another thing we need to hunt.

  None of that matters if Rukh doesn't come back, though. I can't do this on my own. I can't live on this beach alone. I need my mate. Hot tears leak from my eyes as I lie next to the fire and wait for my mate to return.

  When I wake up again, it's morning.

  No Rukh.

  The fire's completely out, and no amount of poking the coals makes it revive, which is just frustrating. It means I have to build one from scratch, and part of me wonders why I even bother. Rukh hasn't returned. He's left me. I'm sure it's not on purpose—he wouldn't do that—which means only one thing. Something bad has happened to him and he can't return on his own.

  I have to go find him, then.

  I braid my hair and put on my leathers. I wrap extra leather around my boots, reinforcing them, since the mountains are colder and rocky, and the snow can hide all kinds of dangers. I double-check the point of my spear to make sure it's sharp and grab my waterskin and the last of our dried rations. I'm not coming back until I find Rukh. "I'm coming, baby."

  The moment I step outside the cave, though, I stop.

  Two dead dvisti are neatly laid out a short distance away.

  I approach them, puzzled, but they are definitely dead. There's ice crusting on their fur, with slashed throats and bellies from hunting. I kneel next to one, and it's been bled so the meat will stay good. Rukh must have done this, and the thought fills me with relief. Dvisti don't come down on the beach. In the few days since we've been here, I've seen the occasional one up on the ridge, but they don't come below. I guess it's too hard on their feet.

  Glancing up, I scan the beach, but there's no sign of my mate. "Rukh?"

  My voice echoes on the cliffs. There's nothing but silence.

  I get to my feet and follow the tracks of footprints in the sand, but they lead back to the cliffs and disappear. He went back out? Without waking me? Without talking to me? I don't understand.

  Why wouldn't he come and wake up his mate? Kiss me hello before running off again? I totally understand if there's a lot to be done and he feels the pressure to provide. Maybe he senses a storm is coming and wants to get a lot of meat preserved. He's used to being on his own. He knows what has to be done to make it in this harsh environment.

  Even so…I feel a little abandoned.

  This is all new for me, and I'm lonely. Yesterday, I was so terrified something had happened to him that I couldn't think straight. I had to throw myself into chores or else I'd lose my mind with worry.

  Instead, he's just out hunting…and I guess he doesn't want to be disturbed by his mate.

  I chew on my lip, worried. Am I too clingy? Is that why he's run off into the hills? Does he need a break from me? The thought cuts like a knife, and yet…it makes sense. Rukh is used to being alone. Of course he'd find my constant presence a bit annoying. He's probably going off on his own to get a breather, and I need to just accept it.

  We're in this together. He's my mate, and we just need to get used to how the other operates. When he comes home, I'll try to be less clingy and needy and more independent. I don't want him to feel smothered.

  I'm still hurt, though. Oh sure, some of it's hormones, but I guess when I envisioned us living on the beach together, I had an idea in my head that we'd be…together. But maybe his idea was different.

  Frustrated, I grab the first dvisti by the leg and start dragging it back to the cave. There's no time to mope. I've got to process this meat and get the skin off of it, and there's no one to do it but me. Hurt feelings won't give us food to eat in the brutal season, so I'd better hop to it.

  5

  RUKH

  When I return to the cave that night, I have another dvisti and this time, two dead snow-cats. I am also scratched, bloodied, tired, and want nothing more than to hold my mate. But this is not enough fur to keep her warm, and the colder weather will be upon us soon. I will not have my mate shivering when I can hunt meat and take the furs from animals, so I must keep going out

  I drop my kills a safe distance away from the cave and arrange them so Har-loh will know it is me. Even though I know this is necessary work, I hate being apart from her. I wish I could slide under the furs with her and drink in her scent, touch her until she wakes up and reaches for me. I wish I could go to sleep with my arms around her. I wish for a great many things, but wishes will not keep my Har-loh warm. With a frustrated sigh, I turn and head back to the hills again.

  HARLOW

  Rukh's been here again.

  I want to scream with frustration when I see the new kills lined up a short distance from the cave. I can't believe my mate came back—again—and didn't say shit to me. He didn't even bother to come into the cave. I laid out a fine covering of sand across the entrance to check for such a thing. If he came in—even just to look at me—it'd show a footprint or two. Sure enough, it wasn't touched.

  I'm moving quickly beyond hurt into anger. I realize he's used to being on his own, but what the fuck? Did I say something to make him angry? Or is this just him needing even more space? How long will this go on for?

  I have no answers. I can't even write him a note in the sands. We can barely talk to each other, much less communicate in other ways. I have no choice but to wait this out. I can't even go and find him now, because the meat he's bringing in has to be processed. I have to chop it up, remove all the usable bits, cut it into strips, smoke or dry the meat, and clean the usable organs. The hides are sitting rolled up, and I need to scrape those, too. There's not enough hours in the day, and I worked until I fell asleep by the fire last night.

  And now I get to do it all over again.

  I stare, exhausted, at the kills. The sa-khui have caches in the deep snows where they keep their meat. I can't drag these things into the mountains, though, and a pit here on the beach would just get eaten up by crabs. It wouldn't stay cold enough, either. It all has to be cooked and processed and…I just want to cry.

  With a weary sigh, I drag them toward the cave.

  Another problem crops up, of course. I run out of fuel for my fire. The dung chips that are so plentiful in the mountains are non-existent here, and there's nothing for me to burn. All of the meat is going to go to waste unless I figure out something. I gaze at the charnel house of my cave around me, looking for something to burn. There's bloody meat everywhere in varying stages of drying. There's long chains of intestines hung, and the stripped animal heads glare at me from nearby, waiting fo
r their brains to be used to work the skins. Six months ago, the sight of this would have made me run away screaming at the horror. Survivor me knows it's all useful, though. Messy, but useful.

  I'm fucked if I have no fire, though.

  I drum my fingers on my filthy hip, trying to think. Okay, if I don't have fire, how else can I handle this? How did old timey humans preserve meat?

  Salt. Salted meat.

  "Bingo," I say to no one, and head down to the shore. I can wet one of the furs in the ocean water and lay it out to dry, I think, and scrape the salt off of it as it dries up. Not the fastest method, but maybe there'll be a salt deposit of some kind on the beach that I'll be able to use.

  There isn't, of course. But there is a gigantic, half-rotted log.

  I stare at it in wonder as it lays at the edge of the tideline. The trees here are all flimsy, ridiculous little things that can't be used for regular wood. The only real firewood grows high, high in the mountains, I'm told, and it's so remote that going there for wood isn't even an option. But this hunk of wood looks like a chunk of tree you might find back on Earth. It's thick…and with luck, it'll burn.

  Ignoring the sand-scorpions scuttling nearby, I move to the tree trunk. It's still a little wet, but with luck and some quick thinking, maybe I can make it burn. It's too heavy to lift, though, so I spend most of the afternoon rolling it, little by little, toward the cave. When it's close enough, I dig a fire pit, use my precious dried out seaweed reeds as starters, and start a slow, smoky fire on the beach and drape meat nearby to dry.

  I'm exhausted, but I'll have to stay up and watch so predators don't come steal the food. Maybe I'll even catch a glimpse of my mate.

  6

  RUKH

  Two more dvisti are mine by the time I decide to head back to the beach, where my pretty mate is safe. There is a large herd of the fat creatures tantalizingly close, but I can only handle so much as I am alone. I haul the two carcasses back with me—one over my shoulders and another in my arms.

  I am tired and I have not slept in days, but every kill I bring in is more meat for my Har-loh, more furs to warm her. So I must keep working. Two more, I think. No, four. Better to be safe and have extra furs in case the weather is exceedingly cold.

  As I approach the beach, however, I see an orange, flickering light. A fire. It is outside the cave instead of inside, and my heart pounds with worry. Why is the beach on fire? I move closer, rushing, and it is only by sheer stubbornness that I do not fling down my kills and race toward my mate. I know if I put them down, some scavenger will come along and snatch them. It is a fire pit, I realize, as I jog toward the light. A fire pit with someone sitting in front of it.

  It is not until I am directly upon the fire that I realize it is my Har-loh.

  She has fallen asleep sitting up, a stick in her hand as if she drowsed while poking the fire. Strips of meat are spread atop the surfaces of many rocks and hung carefully from the shaft of her spear high above the flames. There is a great deal of meat, and all of it smells good. A short distance from the fire, however, I see crabs and crawlers and all kinds of things waiting to snatch a bite. That must be why she has stayed out here.

  Her eyes do not open when I approach, nor when I set my two kills down. Her face is drawn, with dark circles smudging her face. She is dirty, too. Dried blood crusts her clothing and there are rings of grime underneath her nails and smears of blood on her face. This is not like my Har-loh. She loves to be clean. It was one of the first things she taught me, and she is always quick to bathe.

  Why has she not bathed now? Is she injured?

  Worried, I drop to my knees at her side and study her face. Her speckles are as bright as ever. That is a good sign, I think. But she is thin, and I do not like how she has not roused even though I am in camp, making noise. "Har-loh," I murmur, brushing my fingers over her cheek to wake her. "Har-loh."

  She jerks awake with a funny little snort, her eyes unfocused. Her gaze settles on me, and her mouth parts in surprise. "Rukh. Yerbak." Then, she bursts into noisy tears. "Wydijooleaf me?"

  "Har-loh?" I caress her cheek, worried. She weeps at the sight of me? Is she tired of having me for a mate because I cannot provide enough for her? The thought is like a blow to the chest, and I suck in a miserable breath. I wish I had the words to ask what is wrong, but all I can offer is a simple one. "No?"

  "Wutdoes datmeen?" she sobs. But she reaches forward and runs her hands along my face, as if touching me with the same concern that I touched her. "Har yew okay? Hurt?"

  We can do word noises tomorrow, I decide. I do not like how tired she looks. Too sleepy, and she could fall into the fire. I get to my feet, gathering her against me. "Har-loh cave?"

  "Oh." She shakes her head, even though she is wobbly with exhaustion. "No. Wehafta stayen protek dameet." She prods me to release her, and when I do, she gestures at the strips covering all the surfaces. "Food."

  Aaah. I understand now…and she is right. It will require a lot of effort to pull everything inside so the predators do not snatch it from us. She is smart to sit out here with the food, but she is cold and tired. At least I can help with that. I sit down by the fire again and indicate she should sit next to me. To my relief, she comes to me immediately, pressing herself against my side and snuggling in. I wrap her cape around both of our shoulders and hug my mate close.

  She sighs happily and slides her cold fingers against my stomach. "Weel tokabuddit inda mornin."

  I think she tells me I am wise and clever for deciding to guard the food. Pleased at her praise, I press a kiss to her bright mane and stare into the fire. Her hands clutch me tightly, one curling around my tail as if she wishes to anchor me against her. It makes my cock uncomfortably hard, but I do not wake her for matings. Har-loh needs sleep. I hold her and watch the fire, and even though I am tired, I do not drift off. I can stay awake for a very, very long time if I need to, and right now Har-loh needs sleep more than me.

  I watch over my mate until the darkness turns to a pale gray and the skies lighten. The twin suns will be up soon. If I am to find that dvisti herd again, I should leave before long. It is difficult, when all I want to do is hold Har-loh and watch her sleep, knowing that she is safe and comfortable and rested.

  But holding my mate does not feed her, and so I quietly tug her hands off of me. I slip out of her grasp and get to my feet. I am sore, I realize, and there are a few scratches from one of the fiercer snowcats along my shoulder that ache this morning. I rotate one shoulder, testing my stiff muscles.

  A hand goes around my tail, grabbing it and holding it still.

  I look down and my sleepy-eyed mate is gazing up at me. "Where dyew tink yergoin?"

  She is beautiful, and even though I am tired, my cock stirs at the sight of her. I tap her cheek with gentle fingers and then gesture at the hills. Her brows furrow together, and I think she does not understand, so I point at my spear.

  Har-loh gets to her feet and moves to my spear. She grabs it…and then flings it away from us. It skids into the sand a short distance away and I look at my mate in confusion. Why did she do that?

  She points at me. "Yewnmee needta tok."

  "Har-loh." I move to go pick up my spear, but she makes an outraged noise and steps in front of it before I can. "Har-loh meat." I point at the kills I brought in last night, because I remember the word for food. "Meat, yes. Fur, yes. Har-loh, yes."

  Her gaze goes to my catches, and then she shakes her head. "Staaaah," she says softly. She gestures at the ground, and it takes me a moment to realize that she does not wish for me to go. She wants me to remain here with her.

  "Meat," I say again, but I worry she does not understand. "Yes meat." I point at the animals. "Yes. Yes. Yes." I make a gesture for an enormous amount of meat. "Har-loh meat." I pat my stomach, indicating I want her to have a full belly. "Mmmm."

  Her hand goes to her mouth, and her lips twitch. I would much rather she smile and laugh than weep, and I smile back at her.

&nb
sp; "Rukh," she says softly, taking my hand. She pauses for a moment, studying our surroundings. "Iyam tieherrrd." She pauses, and makes a great big yawn. "Tired." She points at the meat, and with each strip, she says her name again. She points at the fire and says her name. She points into the cave, and then gives me another weary look, then yawns again. "Har-loh tired." She moves toward me and brushes her fingers over my face. "Rukh tired."

  I make a noise of frustration. How do I make her understand that it is my responsibility to make sure that she is fed and warm? That I am a poor mate if I cannot keep her comfortable? I indicate the hides on the animals. "Fur. Har-loh fur. No brrrr." I mock-shiver. "Rukh mate, Har-loh fur." I nod, as if this answers everything.

  She shakes her head again. "Stay," she says in the soft voice again. "Tired. Rukh tired. Har-loh tired. Fur later." She moves toward me and wraps her arms around my torso, pressing her cheek against my chest. She is warm and soft, and I am a weak, weak male. Stay at her side? I would like nothing more.

  I pet her mane, loving the nearness of her, of the press of her skin to mine. "Lay-turr?" I echo. I do not know this word, but I suspect it means tomorrow. That we rest today and tomorrow I hunt again.

  "Later," she agrees.

  Very well. A day of rest, then.

  7

  RUKH

  It is not a day of rest after all. The moment Har-loh and I eat a bite and wash it down with water, my mate gets to work. I thought that by leaving her behind, she would relax and sleep by the fire, waiting comfortably for me to return. This is not the truth, though. When I go into the cave we have claimed for ourselves, I see dried meat on every surface, the hides rolled up and the heads rotting in the corner of the cave. When I return to Har-loh's side, she is already hard at work, butchering the dvisti. She uses her small stone knife to hack it apart and to peel the skin away. She slices open the gut and pulls out the organs, then takes them to the water's edge to clean them out and hangs them to dry, too.