Even I didn’t believe that lie.
Chapter 4
Becken
Iarrived at the sorhox pens an hour before dawn, my breath clouding in the frigid air. The overcast sky dimmed the stars above, with a few dark clouds gathered on the western horizon. I prepared the morning feed, moving in the pre-dawn darkness.
Azool snorted when I approached his stall, his small form barely reaching my waist despite being the size of a human pony. At one month old, he was growing fast, but the loss of his mother during birth had left him dependent on bottle feedings. My Aunt Inla helped with that, taking turns so I didn’t have to handle it all by myself.
“Morning, little one.” I ran my gloved hand along his side, checking his condition. His dark green hide felt warm and healthy, and his eyes tracked my movements with sharp intelligence. “Hungry?”
He bumped his head against my hip, knocking me sideways. The strength in his small frame never failed to impress me.
The larger sorhoxes shuffled and snorted in their pens, demanding their own breakfast. I worked methodically, distributing feed while keeping an eye on the path from town.Carla had promised to meet me at dawn, and I’d come early to ensure everything would be ready.
Not because I wanted to see her. The work required it—so I told myself.
Yet when she appeared on the path, my pulse quickened. She walked with confident steps despite the early hour. She’d traded yesterday’s holiday sweater for a practical Western shirt and dark jeans tucked into boots, covering them with a coat she’d left unzipped. She’d pulled her hair back in a simple tail, and she carried her tablet in one hand, a covered mug of coffee or tea in the other.
She looked like she belonged here, which was a problem. She didn’t. Couldn’t. She’d be gone in a month.
“Morning.” She stepped inside the barn, her cheeks pink from the cold. “I see I’m still not early enough to beat you here.”
“The sorhoxes don’t sleep in.” I waved for her to join me.
She gave me a small smile. “Thanks for letting me help with the feeding routine.”
“You wanted to understand the operation.” I led her toward the main pen where most of the adult sorhoxes waited. “This is where it starts.”
For the next hour, I walked her through the feeding process, explaining how each sorhox had specific dietary needs and hierarchical positioning. She asked smart questions, taking notes on her tablet. Several times, our arms brushed as we moved among the creatures, each brief contact sending an unwelcome awareness through me.
When we reached the last stall, her expression softened. “Who’s this little guy?”
“Azool. His mother died during birth.” I checked my watch. “He’s due for his next feeding.”
“He’s big for a baby.” She leaned against the stall door, keeping a respectful distance.
“He’s small for a one-month-old sorhox. He’ll be twice this size in six months.”
Azool stared at Carla, edging closer to the stall door to investigate the newcomer.
“He seems interested in you.” I prepared his bottle, measuring the special mixture and adding water, shaking it after. “Want to try feeding him?”
Her eyes widened. “Are you sure? I’ve never fed anything larger than a cat.”
“He needs to get used to different handlers if we’re going to incorporate him into the tourist program.” The excuse sounded weak even to my ears, but she nodded.
“Tell me what to do.”
I passed her the bottle. “Hold it at this angle. He’ll push hard, so brace yourself.”
She positioned herself at his gate, but when Azool lunged for the bottle, she stumbled backward. I moved behind her, my arms coming around to steady her hands on the bottle. My chest pressed against her back as I guided her grip.
“Like this,” I said, my voice embarrassingly rough. “Let him take it but maintain control of the angle.”
Azool sucked eagerly at the bottle, pulling hard enough that both our arms extended.
Carla laughed, the sound vibrating through her body and into mine. “He’s strong.”
