- Crat'ax-
I wake as the village comes alive. Men talk, boys laugh, doors open and close, feet walk on planks, pots clang. Pale morning light slips between the planks of the hut. For a long moment, I don’t move.
Callie sleeps on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, hair spilled across the furs in a dark, tangled fan. Her mouth is slightly open, breath soft and even.
Mated.
The word settles into me with a strange, steady weight. Nobody in the tribe has done that. Nobody in the tribe thought it was something that could happen.
Chosen. I shift carefully, feeling the ache in my shoulders and back.
It is a good ache. And it’s very earned.
I watch the slow rise and fall of her chest, and marvel that the night did not break her. That fear did not hollow her out. That she is here, warm, real, and breathing.
I resist the urge to touch her again, to trace the curve of her shoulder or the fragile strength of her neck.
Instead, I sit up. The smell of smoke and cooked seaweed drifts in from the central fire.
The world did not end in the night. That feels like a miracle.
I step outside the hut and deliberately leave the door ajar behind me.
Two men are already waiting, standing stiffly in the way of those who bring news they do not like to carry. Their eyes flick past me despite themselves, drawn to the sleeping shape inside. I do not block the view. Let them see. Let them understand.
“She sleeps,” I say quietly.
One of them nods. “We will keep this platform clear.”
“Good.”
They shift, uncertain. I never liked shouting men into motion when the chief is better suited for it. Instead, I ask the question that has been grinding at me since the sun rose.
“The dead Adropo. Has he been taken to shore?”
“Before sunrise,” Pret’ax says. “He was placed at the east back of the river, where his tribesmen may retrieve him. The chief says the Adropo will now not be allowed to take part in the day of trade.”
“That’s tough,” I ponder. “It was not the whole Adropo tribe that tried to abduct Callie, only those sent to trade with us. We should state that we will not allow any of them to trade, but we will accept other men from their tribe. We don’t want to make enemies of a whole tribe. And they have good rope, the Adropo.”
“Some have said the same. Perhaps the chief will change his decision,” Pret’ax says, trying to look through the door at Callie.
“The Lifegivers,” I say, getting an idea. “Have they been checked?”
“Yes,” old Gren’ix answers. “Yesterday at noon, as usual. Two boys checked, reporting everything in order.”
“I will go and check now. Only the Deep knows what the Adropo men might want to do in revenge for last night.”
They exchange looks. “The chief may want to?—”
“I will speak to him,” I say quickly. “The Adropo were on our turf. I will make certain they did not harm what keeps our tribe alive. It is fair that I should go. I brought Callie to our village, and so I am responsible. Somewhat, anyway.”
That earns another nod.
Behind me, Callie shifts in her sleep, murmuring something I do not understand. Both men glance past me again, their expressions softer now.
“She is… small,” Pret’ax says, as if still trying to place her in the world.
I laugh softly. “Only on the outside. Within, she has whole worlds. Tribesmen, women, are remarkable. But you will see it in time.”
