“What do you remember of the last few seasons?”
I shrug. “I do not feel as if I am missing anything. Clearly I am, but I cannot say what it is.” My memories feel like a jumble. Certain ones are clear, and certain ones are hazy and distant. As a people, we dwell on the here and now, so it should not bother me.
But the fact that I cannot remember Stay-see or her touch? It bothers me. It bothers me very much.
“Do you remember that Asha and Hemalo have broken? That they no longer claim to be mates?”
“Eh?” I try to think about this, but my mind is blank. “They are not?”
“They have taken separate caves.” He nods as if pleased. “I feel for Hemalo, but…perhaps Asha will return to her flirty ways. Remember how we used to stare longingly after her?” His mouth crooks into a smile. “She is not half so pleasant to be around, but she is female.”
All of the hunters in the tribe once panted after Asha. I remember Harrec was wildly attracted to her, and yet she resonated to another. Perhaps Harrec, my friend, sees this as an opportunity. It feels distasteful to me. Hemalo is a friend to both of us, and even if he and Asha have split, in my mind they are still together. “Will you pursue her?”
Harrec shrugs. “In time, if no one else appears? I suppose I must.” He bats a hand at my shoulder. “I have a secret hope that a new cave of humans will drop on our heads.”
“Mm.” I pick up the poles of my sled again and heft them. I check Stay-see, but she is still a fair distance ahead, her anger and worry over me having sped her steps.
“You watch her a lot,” Harrec comments, smirking at me.
I look over at him, trying to figure out where he is going with this.
He nods at Stay-see. “Do you not remember?”
“None of it.”
“You do not remember resonating?”
“No.”
“Or the birth of your kit?”
“No.” I am growing irritated at his questions. I have said I do not remember, have I not? What is he getting at?
Harrec makes a noise of agreement and is silent for a moment. Then he continues. “What about the foot and ball game we played last hawl-ee-deh?”
“I do not remember. I have said this.”
“Or…the time you shared your mate with me? In the furs?”
I growl low and stop in my tracks, sudden fury sweeping over me.
Harrec stops, too. He raises his hands into the air, grinning. “It is a joke, friend. Merely a joke. I was testing you.”
“It is not funny.” Another hunter walks up and gives Harrec a push on the shoulders, indicating he should walk. It is Bek. “Your jokes are as poor as your hunting skills.”
“At least I know how to joke,” Harrec counters, and he looks wounded at Bek’s criticism. “I am just trying to make my friend laugh again.”
We start to walk, and it takes several steps before my blistering rage at Harrec’s words begins to filter out of my thoughts.
Share.
My mate.
With him.
With another male.
My mate.
