Callie would appreciate it.
Urkot’s mandibles rose in a smile, and a trill vibrated his throat. He opened his bag wider and retrieved a pouch from within to tuck the little cube-shaped stone inside.
His hearts thumped with eagerness; suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to be through with his work so he could hurry back to Kaldarak and give Callie the crystal. He’d given her many stones and crystals over the last several moon cycles, and he never tired of the joy that shone in her smile and her eyes with each such gift.
Would she have a human name for this crystal, as she did for so many of the others he’d given her? Sometimes, she’d talked about the rocks excitedly, using many words he didn’t understand—and saying the ones he did understand almost too fast for him to follow. Yet her passion was always clear even when her language was not.
And her smile was so warm, so bright, that it never failed to quicken his hearts, to make his heartsthread thrum, to make him wonder…
To make him yearn.
He hadn’t allowed himself to do that in a long, long time. Hadn’t dared want, hadn’t dared hope, because he’d known thathe was undesirable. With a shorter, broader, more powerful frame, he was unlike most other shadowstalker males. Even before he’d lost his lower left arm, females had not looked upon him with favor. Especially not while Ketahn and Rekosh were nearby.
He’d never held any resentment over it; it was simply the truth of his existence. He had his friends. What more could he have needed?
Or so he’d told himself.
And then he’d met Callie…
Urkot’s life had ever been one of hard, unyielding stone, of deep, devouring darkness, of burdens carried in silence. Callie was so soft, so fragile, so radiant. She belonged in a much different world. She belonged above, where her radiance would rival that of the cresting sun, brightening the world with color.
Yet he’d seen how Ketahn and Ivy matched one another despite their differences, and over the last two moon cycles, he’d seen how happy Rekosh and Ahmya were as a mated pair.
He resumed his work, but he could not put an end to those thoughts.
Was it foolish for Urkot to want the same?
He’d found new family within his tribe and had made unexpected friends amongst the thornskulls. Here in Kaldarak, he’d found peace.
Was it not selfish to long for more? Would not the gods punish such greed?
Urkot and his friends had overcome many hardships, had endured great suffering, to claim the lives they had now. Better to enjoy these blessings than seek more. Better to protect what happiness they’d claimed than risk everything by pursuing needless hunger. His focus, his purpose, was his tribe. Their joy, their safety, their comfort.
And still, just the thought of Callie’s smile, of the way she wiggled her backside when she danced, of the curious, mysterious light that sometimes sparked in her eyes when she looked upon him…
Heat skittered beneath his hide, and something pulled taut low, low in his belly, making his stem twitch behind his slit. The sensation was potent enough that it caused his hands to falter. His hammer missed the chisel, clacking against the stone wall.
“Watch as I claim glory,” Jezahal called, his voice ringing through the chamber.
Urkot nearly offered thanks to the gods for providing a distraction from his thoughts. That inner heat did not dissipate, that tightness did not ease, but at least there was something else for him to focus upon.
He looked toward the three younger vrix, who had gathered at the far end of the chamber. Jezahal stood closest to the wall, in front of a crystal formation almost as large as his torso.
“Ourdaiyaasked for glowstones to make Kaldarak mirror the stars in the night sky. I will give glowstones worthy of being the moons for those stars!” With that declaration, Jezahal put his tools into motion. His hammer and pick set a frantic pace, their falls echoing to make it sound as though eight more vrix were working alongside him.
But the others had halted to watch the Jezahal. A different sort of tightness coiled in Urkot’s gut, cold and twisting, as he followed Zotahl and Tahlken closer to the younger trio. He slipped his tools into the loops on his belt, but their familiar weight there offered him no comfort.
“Take care, little broodling. This cavern does not yet have its ribs,” warned Zotahl, glancing at the ceiling.
That concern was part of Urkot’s unease. The thornskull delvers had only recently expanded the outlying passage enoughto enter this cavern, and they hadn’t yet installed log supports to brace the ceiling and walls.
“Easy, Jezahal,” Urkot said as his gaze settled on the cracks in the stone around the large crystal. “Do as Zotahl says and take care.”
Dostrahn chittered. “Three-Arm and old brittle fangs mean to deny the glory you would bring to Kaldarak.”
“Better your hands empty and your hide intact.” Urkot’s eyes traced a crack running down the wall and nearly a segment across the floor before he shifted them up to follow another deeper fissure that led toward the ceiling.
As Jezahal hammered and pried, bits of stone flaked off around the higher crack. “Fear will not stay my hands.”
