“Grrrraorar!” I growl—a universal feline warning.
It works. The snow lynx freezes, then backs away.
“That’s a snow lynx,” whispers Neela. “She’s just protecting her cubs. Your growl was… impressive. At least I know now you’re not mute.”
She keeps talking, despite thinking I don’t understand her. It’s kind of adorable. And I definitely caught her comment about my… minimalist wardrobe.
To be polite, I put on the coat she made. She stashes the wet bundle in the snowmobile, and we head back.
About a mile from home, I signal for her to stop.
I hop off, ears twitching at a faint rustling sound. She starts to speak, but I silence her with a quick gesture.
Wait for it…
A small rodent with white fur cautiously pokes its nose out of a hole. Its curiosity is locked onto the vehicle and its driver. This creature has no basic survival instincts.
I’m the danger here.
In a split second, I lunge and snap its tiny neck.
Small prey, but it’ll do nicely to fill my stomach.
I’m practically drooling, but it’ll taste much better cooked.
But Neela’s horrified expression freezes me.
In a heartbeat, I’m no longer the intriguing guest on her couch—I’m a monster. A killer. Her eyes fill with tears, and she runs.
Great. Welcome to whatever weird community this is.
For a second, I want to bite into the damn thing right in front of her, just to make a point. But I hate getting fur stuck in my teeth.
She leaves me standing there like an idiot.
I walk the rest of the way alone, noting more prey along the way. Whether she approves or not, I’mnotliving off seeds. Sadjim are carnivores. Or at least we used to be. The protein bars from the Confederation are meatless but highly concentrated.
I skin the rodent, ditch the guts for the local scavengers, clean my hands with snow, and stash the meat outside.
When I step into the house, she’s in the kitchen, fuming. She doesn’t say a word. Neither do I.
But damn, I miss her chatter already.
I open my bag and pull out a compact foldable device: a solar oven. I take it outside, find a good sunny spot, and start cooking my meal.
Back inside, she’s stirring some ridiculously fragrant vegetable stew like she’s taunting me.
“I put your clothes in the garden to dry,” she finally says, not looking at me. “Same with your boots. Should be dry by tomorrow. In the meantime, you’ll have to wear what I made you. Also, take a hot shower. Change out of those wet pants. Unless of course, your hide’s thick enough to handle frostbite!”
Despite herself, she’s trying to make peace.
Fair enough.
I peel off my soaked pants and reach for the towel she left on the couch.
And that’s exactly when Kiran bursts through the door.
“Oh, come on! Seriously?!” he yells.
