BROOKE

The vibe around camp is super weird.

I can’t tell what it is, but we all seem to be tense. Well, no, that’s not right. I know we’re all tense because we’re waiting to see what changes the pod people bring. Harlow and Mardok are stressed, but I think it’s more about the ship than anything else.

And Taushen? Taushen just acts like he’s too busy to talk to me. It’s completely and utterly frustrating. I’ve tried to approach him to talk about that night, and to see if we can just be friends, but he’s either rushing off to go hunting, or mending his weapons and talking near the fire with Rokan and Hassen.

It’s almost like he’s deliberately avoiding me. It shouldn’t hurt my feelings, but it does. I kind of hoped we could at least be friends, but I guess that’s too much to ask, after all. It pisses me off, mostly because I feel like things are spinning out of my control and I don’t know how to fix it.

So I do what I can. I’m a hairdresser, so what I can provide that’s useful is limited. I can’t hunt. I don’t know how to work the computers on the ship. I’m terrible at mending weapons and not great at cooking or watching the fire. There’s always someone around that can do those things better than me, and every time I try to help out, I get a “Here, Buh-brukh, let me do that.”

But I make sure Harlow, Farli, and Liz all look fierce with intricate braids. A woman that feels pretty is a powerful woman, after all. As I braid, I listen as Harlow complains about missing her son and worry over the new baby and her concerns over the ship we’re going to destroy. She worries over Rukh, too. Poor Harlow’s just got a lot on her plate. Liz is less complainy, but she wants to tell me all about her girls at home and how Aayla’s a fierce little huntress like her mom, but Raashel prefers to learn in classes with Ariana and she wishes she had books for her to read. How she and Raahosh are ready for another kid, maybe a son this time, though she’d like another girl because hers are so fantastic. How she worries that the newcomers are going to overbalance things and upset our tiny ecosystem in the village. Farli worries over Mardok and how he’ll take the destruction of the ship, and it’s clear she cares for him intensely. She doesn’t know how to help him with his grief over missing his friends and their terrible fate, and she worries she’ll say the wrong thing and make it worse. I cluck and make appropriate sympathetic noises, letting her lead the conversation.

One of the things a hairdresser’s good at? Listening. So I let them pour it all out on me while I braid, and in the end, I hope I’ve done my small part to ease their minds. Sometimes it’s good to talk to another woman about your problems instead of your man. Your man is going to want to fix it. Another woman will listen sympathetically while you bitch and will take your side, no matter how wrong or crazy your side may be.

When I’ve finished with the ladies, I tie my own hair back into a pair of short braids, imagining how bad my roots must look at this point. I need some ice planet hair dye, stat. Well, maybe not “stat.” I guess it’s lower on the priority list than, say, food, shelter, and safety.

I weave cord near the fire as some of the others—including Taushen—head off to clear a nearby cache of its frozen meat. The newcomers are sure to be hungry, and Vektal wants to make sure there’s enough for all. By the fire, Ereven is stirring a pouch full of greasy paste of what will eventually be trail rations. His messy hair flips down over his shoulder and falls forward for what feels like the dozenth time, and he flicks it back over and over. It bugs me enough that I get to my feet and move to his side, tapping his shoulder. “Want me to do your hair?”

“Do my hair?” He gives me a curious look. “What will you do to it?”

“Just braid it to keep it out of your way,” I tell him, gesturing at his horns. “Probably do a gathered braid between those bad boys and then weave it in to a longer French braid. It’ll be manly, I promise.” When he hesitates, I put a hand on my hip and give him my most winning smile that’s eased many a nervous customer. “Oh, come on. It’s just a braid. If you hate it, you can take it out. And I’ve done lots of guy hair before.”

He grins. “Very well, but if it looks ridiculous, you must remember so we can tell my Claire all about it.”

I chuckle at that unexpected response. “I’ll do you one better. If it looks completely silly, I’ll recreate it when we get home so Claire can have a good laugh.”

His face lights up at the thought of making his mate smile, sweetheart that he is, and I move behind his back, careful to watch his head movements so I don’t get stabbed in the tit with a horn. Farli’s done that to me a few times on accident and it wasn’t pleasant. I drag my hand through his thick hair, finger-combing and feeling out the length. It’s clear to me that Ereven cuts his own hair, because his ends are jagged like they’ve been sliced with a knife, and they’re cut in all different lengths. Heavens. I would cringe if this came into my salon, but it’s clear that Ereven isn’t big into style. That’s all right. Something simple, then, that gets the job done but won’t take too long and isn’t overly fussy. He’s already twitching like a five-year-old getting his first haircut.

I separate a section of his hair and then begin to plait, weaving easily. The sa-khui hair is thick and coarse, almost like a horse’s mane, but still manages to fall and style beautifully. I’m kind of envious of it. It’s so much easier to style than my own flyaway hair that has to be cut just so or it looks raggedy. “Your hair is fantastic,” I admit to Ereven as I tie off his braid. “All done.”

“Eh?” He touches it and then swings his head from side to side. “Much better. Do I look foolish?”

“You look very handsome,” I tease. “Claire would be proud.”

“Can you do mine?” Zolaya asks, moving to examine Ereven’s hair more closely.

“Like his?” I ask.

“No, do mine better.” He grins at Ereven, who pretends to kick him.

I giggle, gesturing at the ground before me. “Have a seat and I can do your hair. Better.” I tease. “So much better.” I wink at Ereven to let him know that it won’t be better, after all.

My skin prickles with…something. I glance over. Taushen’s off to one side, his spear in hand, a backpack in the other. He’s watching me as I run my fingers through Zolaya’s hair, and Ereven says something silly. The look on his face is downright thunderous.

It’s almost like he’s…jealous.

Gah. I really do need to talk to him. I open my mouth to say something, but he turns and storms away, snow flying in every direction as he stomps.

Okay. I’ll talk to him later, I decide. When he returns and he’s worked off whatever pissy mood he’s gotten himself into.

* * *

I don’t see Taushen for the rest of the day. Everyone works feverishly all day, and I braid more cord than I’ve ever braided in my life, so much that my hands hurt by the time the suns go down. I’ve also braided the hair of most of the guys in the tribe, who appreciate my skills. Bek and Raahosh just give me strange looks when I ask them if they want their hair done, I’m too chicken to ask Vektal if he wants me to style him, and Taushen is nowhere to be found. I hang around the fire that night, even if I don’t feel very social, and head off to bed, wondering. I hope he’s okay. Maybe I shouldn’t worry, but I can’t help it.

Taushen’s probably the person I’m closest to right now on this planet. Given the fact that he hates me, that’s a sad statement if there ever was one.

When I wake up the next morning, though, the large group is scattered. The only one at the fire is Hassen, and he stands up when he sees me. “Good, you are here.”

“I’m up, yeah.” I’m also mystified as to why it’s good that I’m here. Does someone need their hair braided? I mean, it’s not like my skill set is vital to survival. Having fantastic hair isn’t going to solve anyone’s problems. I don’t get why he looks so pleased to see me. I glance behind me, just in case he’s not talking to me at all, but nope, I’m the only one here. “What’s going on?”

“Vektal wants you to go to the fruit cave with one of the hunters and gather what you can for supplies.”

Oh, the fruit cave? I guess I’m going to the damn thing after all, after avoiding it before. Still, fruit-picking will at least let me be useful instead of sitting around here with my thumb up my ass offering braids. And I’m pretty sure we have enough rope to tie up a hundred people at this point, so I’ve tapped out my usefulness. “Okay. Should I get my bag?” I hitch the fur wrap tighter around my shoulders, wondering if I need to layer, but the day is warm…for an ice planet.

“No, you will not be staying overnight.” He gestures off in the distance. “He waits for you over that ridge.”

He? “Who?”

But Hassen is already walking away, hefting a heavy basket of frozen dung chips—the fuel for most fires—under one arm and lugging it into the ship. Oh well. I guess I can find out. I bend down to lace my boots a little tighter and then slog through the snow in the direction Hassen pointed me.

I’m not entirely surprised to see Taushen waiting for me, a pack slung over his shoulder. I should have guessed that fate was going to stick us together. He scowls at the sight of me, looking me up and down, and just his pissy expression makes my back stiffen. He doesn’t have to look so…annoyed at my presence. Like I chose to go with him? But I paste on a cheery smile and bound to his side. “Looks like you’re my fruit-picking partner, huh?”

Taushen gives me a short nod.

“Well, let’s try to have fun, okay?” I beam at him, but he only gives me a wary look. Wow. What’s crawled up his butt?

“Come. Try to keep up.” He turns his back to me and starts to stride away, forcing me to jog behind him to keep pace.

Oh, this is gonna be fun.