K’THAR

I have been away from my mate for days, and never have I felt the absence of another so keenly. It makes my temper short and my mood irritable. This is not a good thing when you are traveling through the jungle with an injured tribesmate, a kit, and a nightflyer that refuses to leave his favorite perch: my head.

The weather is hot and feels more humid than before. The food is scarce, and the only nuts we find are withered. The eggs must be kept for Z’hren, so we eat nothing but a few leaves and tender shoots as we walk.

J’shel carries N’dek on his back and we keep to the ground. There are hungry kaari about, but we are safe with our camouflage. I carry all of our small clan’s goods on my back in a woven pack—stored eggs, our few nuts, and scraped leather hides. Flint tools. And I carry Z’hren, who wiggles and fusses and wants to rest. I give him an empty nut pod and let him chew on that to soothe his tears, but we are all weary and the travel is slow because we cannot move quickly. Not weighed down as we are.

Fat One screams his delight as we approach the shore and the stone huts of the clan of the Tall Horn. He flaps his wings and digs his little claws into my mane, and Z’hren giggles and reaches for him.

“I see the huts,” J’shel calls, N’dek on his back. “Almost there.”

Even though I am tired, I am more than ready to see my lovely L’ren again. These days without her have been far too long, and I crave her more than my belly craves food. I know she is wise to stay with them, where she can help Tall Horn recover, but I ache for her. Even more, I worry they have not kept her safe…

I am not prepared to see the hide tents of the clan of the Shadowed Cat at the edge of the jungle, though. We pass them by and I exchange a look with J’shel, a growl low in my throat. Shadowed Cat keeps to themselves on the far end of the jungle. I can only think of one reason why they would come to Tall Horn’s territory.

They have come to claim a female. Or both.

Bitter anger flows through my mind and I have to fight back the snarl in my throat. L’ren is my mate. It does not matter that I have not claimed her yet. Her khui sings for me. Her body yearns for me. I am the one that will fill her cunt with my seed. I am the one that will plant a kit in her belly.

Mine.

Z’hren notices my mood change. His small face screws up and then he blasts my ears with a sharp wail of anger. Against my hip, I feel his leaf wrap get wet and I bite back a sound of disgust, yanking it off of him and tossing it into the ferns.

His cry catches the attention of others, though. In the distance, I see several hunters in the shallows, pulling at nets, and two more lingering by the fire. I do not see my L’ren or her friend, and my heart thunders in my breast with fear.

Then, the woven cover to one of the huts lifts and a figure comes racing out. I recognize the dark brown mane, dark like rich earth, and her warm skin, her two small arms and her delicate body. L’ren races toward me with welcome on her face.

My khui, so quiet these last few days, begins to sing loudly at the sight of her.

“Yrbk!” she cries at the sight of me. “K’thar!”

She comes to my side, all smiles and happiness. I gently cup her cheek and when she tilts her face up to me, I sense she wants another ks. I am pleased, and I give her a light brush of my mouth over hers, a hint of what is to come. “My L’ren,” I murmur, examining her face. She looks well, her swollen lip healed from the last time I saw her days ago. Her skin is darkened from the sun, but she does not look thin. R’jaal and his tribe have been taking good care of her, it seems.

My mate takes Z’hren from my arms, cooing at the kit, and smiles up at the sight of Fat One, still perched atop my head. “Ybrotrryun?”

“Someday I will know what you say, my sweet mate,” I tell her with a sigh. “Come. Let us go to the camp.” I gesture at the fire ahead.

She greets J’shel and N’dek as we walk, but I only have eyes for her. She wears the garments I wove for her many days ago, though they are looking tattered, and she has fashioned coverings for her feet, of a sort. They are made out of leaves and only cover the bottoms. Peculiar. Is she shy about showing those around the others as well as her teats?

The humming of my khui reminds me that I have not yet mated her. It grows stronger and stronger as she walks beside me, and hers joins in song with mine, as if our hearts are pleased we are back together, as well. L’ren gives me a sideways glance full of promise and I think, perhaps, that I am not as tired this day as I thought.

I get rid of my packs by the fire and as I do, Fat One hops down and moves to settle on L’ren’s shoulder. She has a bowl of food—naturally—and offers the kit a soft bite and then gives a bit of raw fish to the nightflyer. She pats one of the stones near the fire and indicates that N’dek should sit with her. My heart feels as if it will burst with pride—she is such a good mate. She thinks of others first.

My cock feels as if it will burst, as well.

A’tam, one of the hunters from Shadowed Cat, comes to my side and offers an arm clasp in greeting. “It has been a long time since I have seen you, my brother.”

Are we brothers, then? It is an interesting choice of greeting, but a welcome one. “Our small clans have not had much reason to hold a challenge gathering,” I admit, greeting him. “But I am glad to rest my eyes upon you this day. Your clan has come to help Tall Horn?”

“We came to help ourselves to your females,” he admits baldly, his grin wide. “But when we found out what had happened, we stayed to help out.”

I grunt, biting back the possessive snarl rising in my throat. It will do no good to snap at him. L’ren is mine and her khui sings to me. It does not matter that A’tam is perfectly made and has a well-formed face that I’chai exclaimed over many a time. At least, I hope it does not matter.

I glance down at my mate, seated nearby, and she jiggles Z’hren on her knee, making him laugh, and then reaches up to caress my hand, as if she needs reassurance that I am there. And my heart grows warm again. There is no need for jealousy.

L’ren is mine in spirit and in body.

“Your luck is a stream that has run dry, my brother,” I tell him. “Both females are claimed.”

He sighs heavily and hangs his head. “I know. My luck is a dry riverbed indeed.”

“You do not say how you knew of the females, though,” I point out.

His mischievous smile returns. “We like to keep an eye on the other clans. You never know what you will find out.”

Indeed.

“T’chai lives,” A’tam continues, glancing back at one of the huts. “Though he has been ill with fever and has not yet awoken. His strength is gone.”

I nod, though I am pleased to hear he yet lives. We cannot afford to lose more. Not after the loss of I’chai. “He will recover. He has much to live for.”

“More than some of us,” A’tam agrees wryly. “And yet we carry on.” He glances down at L’ren. “Do you know where she is from? Are there more like her?”

“Our words are limited,” I admit to him. I have not thought much about where she came from. All that matters to me is that she is here at my side. For a moment, I feel ashamed. Perhaps I should have asked more. Perhaps there are others missing her in some distant place. Perhaps she wishes to return there.

The thought makes me clench my fists. She is mine. If she leaves…my spirit will die.

“Well, we are all here,” A’tam says, spreading his arms wide. “It is much like a challenge gathering, is it not?”

It is, indeed. But a challenge gathering is to celebrate, and there is not much to celebrate this day. A’tam is a male of high spirits, though. He reaches down and takes little Z’hren from my mate’s arms and tosses the kit high, making him giggle.

“Eezgnnabrf,” L’ren says in a warning tone.

“What does she say?” A’tam asks, tossing the kit again. Z’hren howls with laughter, delighted. One little hand goes to his mouth, and in the next, he spits his dinner all over A’tam’s smiling face.

I burst into laughter. “I think she was warning you of that.”

“Too late,” A’tam says, chuckling and handing back the kit before wiping his face off. “I go to bathe in the shallows, my lesson learned.” He gives us a rueful grin and trots off to the water’s edge.

“Here, I shall take him,” N’dek says, reaching for Z’hren and pulling the kit into his lap. N’dek wipes his face with a leaf and then gives the little one a shiny shell to play with.

L’ren touches my arm, and when I glance down at her, she looks thoughtful. “What is it?” I ask.

“Talk?” she asks, and then gestures at her mouth in case I did not understand. “L’ren talk K’thar.”

“Go on,” J’shel says. “We will settle ourselves in.”

When N’dek nods as well, I allow my mate to drag me by the hand to the water’s edge. She sits me down and then gestures that I should wait here. As I try to figure out what she wants, she races off towards the huts and returns a moment later with something in her hand. I am even more surprised when she gestures that R’jaal should join us, though he seems equally confused.

She sits down in front of me, her leaf-wrapped item in her lap, and clasps her hands, clearly trying to think. After a moment, she takes a deep breath and smiles at me, an unspoken question in her eyes. With her finger, she begins to trace patterns into the sand.

“What is she doing?” R’jaal asks, squatting next to me in the sand.

“I do not know,” I admit, trying to figure out the pictures she makes. Once again, I am frustrated by our inability to communicate properly. I want nothing more than to have a conversation with my sweet mate, but we do not share enough words yet.

She has drawn something that looks like…a wing? A half circle of some kind? A slice? L’ren draws a tiny circle on the slice and points at it. “K’thar. N’dek. J’shel. Z’hren.” She draws another tiny circle at the tip and then points at it. “T’chai. M’tok. S’bren. R’jaal.”

Then, she gestures at the entire slice and gesticulates at the jungle nearby. “Salldis.”

I study the picture, wanting desperately to understand. The look on my mate’s face is intent, and it is clear this is important to her. She is trying to tell me something. But what?

Frustrated, she points at the first circle on the slice again. “K’thar.” Second circle. “R’jaal.” She thinks for a moment and then points at the far end of the slice. “I’rec?”

She speaks of our clans. I study the pictures she draws, and when she gestures at the jungle again, it dawns on me. I tap the “slice” on the sand. “Is this the island? Our home?” I point at the inside. “Water? Sea? And this here is the interior? The jungle? Island?”

Her eyes shine with excitement. “Yes! Island!” Her words are repeated in my language—badly—but it is clear we are making progress. She looks so pleased at me that my khui starts rumbling a song.

R’jaal makes a noise of impatience in his throat, clearly irritated.

Her hands flutter and she starts to gesture again. Instead of just the slice of land that is the island, she drags her finger along in the sand, completing the circle.

“How does she know?” R’jaal asks, his tone low and worried. “She speaks of the land that disappeared when the Great Smoking Mountain died.”

I do not know. If my L’ren was here somehow…but no. My clan—all clans—know every leaf on this island. If another people had been here, we would know.

She pats the center of the circle. “Hot,” she says in my language.

Perhaps she has forgotten the word for sea. I tap the center. “Water.”

L’ren shakes her head and looks frustrated. She makes a strange noise with her mouth and then flutters her hand. “Hot.”

When we continue to watch her curiously, she makes a puffing sound with her mouth and flutters her fingers outward. Realization comes to me. “I think she speaks of the Great Smoking Mountain.”

R’jaal frowns. “But it is gone.”

I rub my chin, thinking of the steam that pours constantly into the waters at the far end of the island. “I am not so sure.” I tap the circle. “Great Smoking Mountain? Much fire?”

“Fire! Yes!” She looks excited. “Big fire.” She gestures at the ground. “Move.”

“Is she saying the fires cause the earthshakes?” R’jaal gives a snort of disbelief.

I want to dismiss it, as well. The ground shakes because that is what the ground always does, just like the wind shakes the leaves. But I am curious, though. My mate knows strange things. I point at the far end of the “island” in her drawing, where the smoke burns against the sea. “Fire here.”

She shakes her head and circles the whole thing. “All fire. All here. Vol-kay-noh.”

I do not understand her last word. “The Great Smoking Mountain is gone.” I try to smooth away the rest of the circle she has drawn. “Gone.”

She shakes her head again, emphatic. “Fire. Much fire. Tomorrow?” She shrugs. “Tomorrow tomorrow?” Shrugs. “Much fire.”

I nod slowly and turn to R’jaal, who still looks confused. “She says that there will be fire again. She does not think the Great Smoking Mountain is dead.”

“All vol-kay-noh,” she repeats, and circles her entire picture again. “All fire.”

I frown. “Great Smoking Mountain was here,” I tell her, pointing at the far side of her picture. “Gone.”

She shakes her head. “Not gone.” She circles the entire picture again. “Vol-kay-noh. Here. Here. Here.” She points at different parts of her drawing. “All here.” She cups her hands. “Fire in vol-kay-noh.” She makes a gesture of the cup overflowing.

I feel a chill move over me and I am reminded of those horrible days of smoke and char and death so many moons ago. “She knows of what she speaks,” I tell R’jaal. “And if she is right, we are not safe.” My mate keeps gesturing, indicating that her cupped hands are the inside of the circle, and I realize what she is saying. “The entire island is part of the Great Smoking Mountain,” I tell him, my mind churning with the realization. “We are on the side of it.”

“Bah. If that is the case, where is the rest?” R’jaal seems unconvinced.

“It is hiding. Or it is under the water, where the fire steams as it meets the shore.” I rub my jaw. “If she is right, we are not safe. Nowhere in our world is safe.”

“Safe,” L’ren repeats, picking up on a word she knows. Excitement flashes on her face. “Yes! L’ren home safe.”

“Where is your home?” I ask, fascinated.

She thinks for a moment, and then draws a long, long line in the sand. “Water,” she says, and repeats the word as she drags her finger. Then she points to a spot a short distance away. “Here.”

“Across the waters?” I ask.

She nods and then shivers, making a big gesture of it.

“Cold place across the water?”

L’ren looks pleased and nods again, her smile growing. I love that I am able to understand her, even if R’jaal is giving both of us skeptical looks.

“If there is such a place,” R’jaal asks, “Then how do we get there?”

My mate pulls an item off of her lap. She holds it out to me. “Rft.”

I examine it, but I am puzzled. It looks like a few sticks with grass weaving the ends together. I am not sure what she wants with it. After a moment, I hand it back.

L’ren makes a frustrated noise and then takes it from my hand. “Rft.” She puts it on the water, and as I watch, it floats and bobs on the gently rolling tide. “Rftouttsee.” She picks up a small shell and holds it up. “L’ren.” Puts it on her bundled wood. Picks up another shell. “K’thar.” Puts it on the wood. “Allgo.”

“You want us to float there?” I ask her, surprised. Our people have never crossed the water. It is far too dangerous. “There are many creatures that would attack us.” I make a show of fangs and mimic claws. “Many serpents.”

“Big rft,” she agrees. “Big big. We go.”

“Dangerous,” R’jaal states with a shake of his head. “We would be risking our lives to what? Try and cross the great waters of the sea atop floating wood and hope we do not get eaten?”

L’ren clasps her hands under her chin, giving me a hopeful look. I will follow her anywhere, but I do not know if I can convince the others. Unless…I study my mate’s pleading expression. She desperately wants me to listen to her. “Your clan,” I ask my mate. “Many females?”

R’jaal goes still, all attention.

Her eyes flash with understanding and a smile curves her mouth. She nods. “Female. Female…” she holds up her hands, counting. “Female.” After a moment, she holds up four fingers. “Male.”

“Sixteen females to four males?” R’jaal makes a sound of astonishment in his throat. “Their clan is smaller than ours and they have so few males. How can they survive?”

“Perhaps they are in trouble, too,” I tell him, thinking. Before the death of the Great Smoking Mountain, all of our tribes combined numbered over a hundred and there was food and game for all. Now we are fragments of what we once were. Maybe it is the same for her clan. “Perhaps she came to our land looking for help.”

“Food,” L’ren emphasized. “Females. We go.”

“Their females might need mates,” R’jaal says slowly, as if he wants to convince me. “We should consider this.”

I just grin at my clever female. She knows just what to say to convince R’jaal, it seems.

Myself…I will follow her anywhere.

R’jaal gets to his feet. “I must talk to the others. See how they feel about the idea of going to a strange, dangerous land. They might not feel the females are worth it.”

I hold back my snort of derision. To have a mate and give her kits is the greatest thing a hunter can hope to achieve. To have a full belly as well? They will endure the cold, and gladly. “You should go and discuss it with the clan of the Tall Horn. I know Strong Arm will follow my L’ren. They will trust her because I do.”

“You would risk their lives to cross the waters?” R’jaal looks surprised.

“Are we not at risk here?” I ask him. “If what she says is true, every day is a gamble. If my L’ren can come here, we can go to her people. Two shattered clans can make one great clan.”

“Mmm.” He gazes down at L’ren’s hopeful face. “We shall see. I will talk to my clan, and to Shadowed Cat.”

“Good,” I tell him, getting to my feet. My tail flicks with an eagerness I cannot seem to conceal. I extend a hand to my mate, and she puts her fingers in mine trustingly.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

I pull L’ren against me, inhaling her scent, feeling her soft, fragile body against mine. Our khuis sing louder, their song insistent. “I am going to claim my mate.”

His eyes narrow as he gazes at us, and I see envy cross his face. “Very well. Take her far enough we do not hear her cries and mistake her enjoyment for pain.” It is clear he does not wish to hear our mating.

“I know of a place,” I tell him. “We will return in the morning.”

R’jaal grunts and heads off, away from the beach and back towards the small cluster of huts and the fire there. He is jealous. That is fine. I want that jealousy to fuel his choice. If what my L’ren says is true—and I have no reason to doubt her words—then we are in danger here, and her land of lonely, mateless females will be eager to have us arrive.

It is an enticing thought…for them, perhaps. My L’ren is all that I need. I cup her face and brush my thumb over her full, soft mouth. My sweet, clever mate. How I have longed for her these last few days. The taste of her cunt still haunts my dreams. “Do we mate this night, or do we tease once more?” I murmur.

She leans in to my touch and nips at the tip of my thumb with her teeth, eyes full of hunger.

It is time to find out.