“Now it looks like the beginnings of a hut,” Kenz’ox rumbles with satisfaction. “Not just a stack of firewood. Perfect.”
Being this close to him is unsettling in a way I can’t identify. His focus is mostly on the task, and he displays strength, precision, and skill with his hands. But I find myself noticing every small sound and movement. The contraction of his arm muscles as he swings the sword, the short breath he takes before each cut, the steady rhythm of it. I keep telling myself to concentrate onmy own work, to watch the twigs and not the man wielding the blade, but it’s as though the air around us is even thicker than before. Maybe because now I know what he can do with that tongue…
He straightens, wipes his brow with the back of his hand, and glances at me. It’s just a glance, intensely blue, a shared moment of satisfaction at the work we’ve done. But as it travels down my body, it feels every bit as physical as a touch.
I look away quickly, pretending to check the angle of the logs. The framework of the hut stands firm, and yet I feel unsteady.
Maybe it’s just the heat of the day, or the effort.
Maybe.
12
–Kenz’ox–
It’s as if I have a fever. I’m intensely aware of Theodora’s presence, her scent, her warmth, her movements, her shape, her shadow, the little sounds she makes while we work, her quick little glances…
Now that I know what she looks like under her garment, and how that smells and tastes, it’s all I can think of. I’ve Worshipped her! I never thought I would ever Worship. Truly, the Ancestors are gracious.
“That looks good,” she says when the main poles are ready. “Room for much meat inside.”
“Much,” I agree as I take hold of a pole and shake it. “It will stay up, too. Now for the walls.”
I’ve cut almost the entire length of abraskvine. It’s only as thick as one of Dorie’s fingers, but it’s long, strong, and stiff. “I’ll start at the top.”
I begin to weave the vine between the poles where they are tied together at the top, alternating over and under. Dorie does the same lower down, working her way around in the opposite direction from me. That means that we often have to work standing close together, with Dorie’s back pressed into my front as we pass each other. I can’t help occasionally grazing her hand with mine, and she seems to push her behind and hips into me more than necessary.
My loincloth bulges in the front again, and I’m sure Dorie has to notice, especially when it keeps catching on the framework of the hut. Her little glances from the corner of her eye have mirth in them, and I think she sometimes hides a smile behind a small hand.
When we’re done, the hut has tight, round walls and is only missing the outer layer of straw.
“Perfect,” I state. “It’s the nicest meat-drying hut I’ve seen.”
Dorie scratches her chin. “How we get the meat inside?”
My face drops. “We forgot the door!”
“Huh. Can’t cut a hole, because all hangs together and very firm. But not here.” She tries to push the vine strands apart in the middle, where her vine meets mine. She manages to make a small opening, and together we widen it a little.
“Curse our perfect workmanship,” I groan in mock annoyance. “Now we have to break part of it to get inside.” I don’t actually mind it, because working this closely to Dorie is remarkably pleasant.
“We just too good,” Dorie agrees. “Should have done bad work.”
“I think we’re too good at everything,” I tell her. “It’s a terrible way to live.”
“Terrible,” she says, and the ugly word sounds so strange coming from that beautiful little mouth that I have to chuckle.
“We should practice our terrible-ness.”
She gives me another little smile. “We really should.”
It doesn’t take us long to make a little door in the hut, big enough to get inside and hang any but the largest parts of meat I think we’ll ever have.
“What we put on the outside?” Dorie asks. “Grass?”
“We have a lot of it,” I point out and pull a handful from the ground. “It should be longer than this and placed into rows.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon making the grass covering. Aker’iz wakes up and demands her usual routine, and then I let her crawl around the clearing as she pleases. It means I have to constantly run to get her away from the fire, from the edge of the jungle, from the sharp-tipped spears, and from everything that could hurt her, which turns out to be almost everything.
