I’ll pay half that,” Titus says.

The stable owner sighs and nods. The two men clash horns briefly, which I’ve learned is how a deal is sealed.

Titus pulls out a handful of coins and slaps it into his upturned palm.

“Can we really afford a horse?” I whisper into his ear.

“We are not buying a horse,” he says.

When the stable owner returns, I can’t help but burst out laughing at the animal he brings out.

It looks almost exactly like a giant guinea pig–one the size of a very large horse–but with huge, perky ears that look like the ears of a corgi. The thing looks at us, and its pink little nose quivers, its whiskers wiggling.

Titus holds out a hand toward its mouth, and a big tongue like an anteater’s slides out of its mouth and wraps around Titus’ hand. Its big ears lower down almost 45 degrees as its tongue tightens around Titus’ hand, then it uncoils and pulls back inside its mouth.

It lets out an excited squealing sound which is just about the exact sound I’ve have guessed a horse-sized guinea pig would make.

“Now you,” Titus says.

I step forward and hold out my hand, and the tongue whips around my fingers. The texture is rough like sandpaper, but I still smile up at the animal as it “licks” me. It squeals again, a bit more excited than with Titus, and pulls its tongue back in.

“What do we do with this, exactly?” I ask.

“It’s needed to cross the desert,” Titus says, which doesn’t answer my question at all.

“What is it called?” I ask.

“A sandsucker,” the stable master says. “You never been to the desert, barbarian girl?”

He looks me up and down, licking his lips as he does.

I’ve noticed since Titus “bonded” to me that men still look at me in a way that suggests they want to do more than just look. He explained to me, however, that nearly all of the sexual appetite and instinct toward sex is tied up in the nose and scent. It’s strange to see men looking at me and liking what they see, but simply having no actual sexual urge because the bonding changed my scent in some way. I suppose it would be like, if on Earth, I was looking at a guy who looked like total crap, but smelled good. I’d appreciate his smell, but I wouldn’t want him to touch me.

Still, I’m thankful for the safety and protection it provides, and I shake my head to the stable master. “There’s a lot left to see on this world, I suppose.”

* * *

I soon learn why it’s called a sandsucker. After travelling for an hour or two, the shrubs die out, and cacti start to replace them. Still, it’s not a desert like I think of a desert, because it’s cold. I was vaguely aware that Antarctica is technically a desert, but it doesn’t look like one. This desert looks like the deserts I’m used to on Earth, and it feels just as dry and devoid of moisture, but it’s cold.

I’m wearing a thick cloak made of the skin and fur of some animal I’ve never seen alive, one I’ve forgotten the name of, and it keeps me reasonably warm. Still, I can feel the warmth seeping from me whenever there is a gust or even a breeze. I soon realize that I can use the sandsucker’s body to block the wind from hitting me, so long as I reposition myself. Its legs, just like a guinea pigs, are so short and low to the ground that the mass of its body works as a perfect shield against the wind.

“We can’t ride it?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “It would not carry us long, even if it would be willing to try.”

I stroke the sandsucker’s fur. “That’s okay, Pookie.”

“What is Pookie?” Titus asks.

“It’s what I’m naming him.”

“How do you know it’s a him?” Titus asks.

I shrug. “I’m not going to crawl underneath and check. Pookie is a gender-neutral name anyway.”

“This sandsucker is a tool,” Titus says. “It needs no name.”

I reach my hand around his thigh and squeeze his cock beneath his loincloth. “You mean to say you’ve never given your spear a nice little nickname?”

He grabs tight to my wrist, and he holds me there so that I cannot let go of his cock. “What is a nickname?”

“It’s a name...like, my real name is Elspeth, but–”

Now he pulls my hand off his manhood and growls at me. “How can you keep this from me? You’ve lied to me about your name?”

“Titus,” I say. “I’m not lying, it’s a nickname. Elspeth just sounds so weird and awkward, even though it’s my name. I’ve gone by Elsie for so long that I think of it as my name. I never even thought to mention what my legal name is...on this world I have no use for it.”

“Elspeth,” he says. “I will call you by your real name.”

“Titus,” I say, reaching up to squeeze his shoulder, “Please don’t.”

“Elspeth,” he says, with no sign of humor on his face.

“I can’t tell if you’re being a jerk to poke fun at me, or just being a jerk.”

“I am Titus,” he says. “You are Elspeth. We are what we are.”

I roll my eyes at him.

“And my spear,” he says. “Like this sandsucker, is just a tool. It needs no Nick’s Name.”

“Nickname,” I correct.

“Now that I understand what is a nickname,” he says. “I have decided I do not believe in them.”

“That’s why you’re calling me Elspeth now? We’ve known each other for however many weeks or months it’s been–and you’ve called out “Elsie” however many times while we are making love...and you can seriously just turn on a dime and call me something else now?”

“It’s your fault,” he says, “For hiding the truth for so long.”

I roll my eyes, again, and sigh very loudly, pushing him away and walking faster to catch up to Pookie. Then, just as I get up behind Pookie’s big fluffy butt, he stops suddenly, and I run into him face first.

He’s soft at least, but he’s big and massive, and the impact still hurts my nose.

“Damnit,” I hiss, “What gives, Pookie?”

“Don’t call it that,” Titus grunts.

“Not listening to you,” I say.

I walk around to see if something’s wrong with Pookie, and then I see that his tongue is sliding into the sand. He shoves his down onto the sandy ground, and his big fluffy butt sticks up into the air.

“Is he okay?” I ask.

“It,” Titus says. “Is hungry.”

“What is it eating?” I ask.

“Worms,” Titus says. “Its tongue is good at finding them, and the worms are dense with nutrients and water. They find the water deep within the sand, and the sandsucker finds the worms.”

“Good for Pookie,” I say.

“Good for us,” Titus says. “Because we drink Pookie’s milk.”

“Ha!” I thrust a finger at him. “You just called him Pookie!”

The thirst grows within me as we walk. I’ve always lived in the Northeast United States, where it’s rarely dry. The closest to a desert I’ve ever come is Denver, and even there I remember feeling like my lips were constantly cracked. I was always the kind of women who drank more Diet Coke than water, and the humidity usually made that no big deal. Now, in this impossibly dry air, I feel as if my entire body is drying out from the inside. My lips crack, my eyes sting, and an intense weariness soon overtakes me, eclipsed only by my need to drink.

“Titus,” I wheeze. “I’m so thirsty.”

He bops Pookie on his big butt, and Pookie lets out a loud, “Wheeeeeep!” sound before stopping and splaying its legs out onto the ground.

Titus reaches a hand out to the side of Pooky’s belly and beings to scratch. Pookie lets out a deep, sonorous purring sound, then rolls all the way over onto its side, exposing its underbelly to us.

“Pooky is a girl,” I say.

“I told you we drink its milk,” he says.

He holds his empty leather canteen out toward one of Pooky’s big, swollen nipples and squeezes it into the container.

I’d normally feel grossed out at this, but the sound of that liquid splashing into the canteen has me captivated. I’m too thirsty to care how gross the concept is. I just want to drink.

Titus hands me the canteen, and I chug it without even smelling it first.

The taste is sweet, almost like soy milk, but it doesn’t have that stale, artificial not-quite-milk feel that soy milk has. It’s thicker and chunkier than I’d prefer, but as I drink, I feel the energry coming back into me. As soon as it quenches my thirst, I realize that I’m starving as well. The longer I drink, the less hungry I feel, and soon the canteen is empty.

“More? He asks.

“You can take some first,” I say, though I do want more.

“I won’t be thirsty for some time,” he says, and he snatches the canteen from my hand.

He squeezes more milk out for me, caps it, and hands it to me. “You can sip on this as we walk.”

“Sandsuckers are easy to get onto their side,” he says, patting Pooky on the back, “But it’s much more difficult to convince them to stand back up.”

He pushes at Pooky’s back, her fat rolls swallowing his hands as she shoves. Pookie lets out a type of woo woo sound that sounds almost like she’s laughing at Titus.

Titus pulls out his skull spear, and I grab his arm. “Titus!”

“I’m just going to slap it with the handle,” he says.

“You’re not going to slap her,” I say. “Be gentle. Honey catches a fly better than vinegar.”

“I’m rarely hungry enough that I need to eat a fly,” Titus says, “And when I am so hungry, I can catch them with my bare hands–or sometimes directly into my mouth–no bait is needed.”

I sigh loudly and step in front of him. I put a hand onto Pooky’s back and pet her gently. “Okay girl, I know you wanted to take a nice long rest, but we need to keep going. We’ll get a good full sleep in after a while.”

“It cannot understand you,” Titus says.

I ignore him and keep petting. I talk to Pooky in a baby voice, and I rub my cheek against her soft fur. “Come on girl, stand up.”

Suddenly I feel the fur move against me, and I back up to see Pookie rolling back up onto her feet. She shakes the sand off her fur in a big cloud of dust, then makes a chipper cooing sound, letting us know she’s ready to go.

I look back at Titus with a wide, satisfied grin.

“Coincidence,” he says, holstering his skullspear.

I see Titus’ whole body stiffen, and he pulls the spear back out at once. I turn around and see a cloud of dust in the distance, growing and fading like a wave. The sun hits something within the wave of dust, and it gleams like chrome.

“What is that?” I ask.

“A floatcycle,” he hisses.

Before I can ask what the hell a floatcycle is, he’s grabbed me and slung me over his shoulder.

He carries me in front of Pooky, until I can no longer see the wave of dust.

“You must hide under the beast,” he says, his voice urgent and forceful.

“Under?” I ask. “She’ll crush me.”

“Under its ample deposits of fat, which are soft enough to not crush you, but large enough to conceal you.”

Before I can protest, he coaxes Pooky to lie back down, and then he lifts a huge roll of her fat like a curtain, shoving me beneath it. He snatches the canteen of milk from my hand.

“Hey!” I shout.

He lets go of the fat, and it drops, covering me entirely like a soft, warm blanket.

“Do not make a sound,” I hear his muffled voice shout to me through the thick roll of fat.