Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I miss my mate.
Ignoring the grief rising in my chest, I put on a brave face. “Was Pacy bad today?” I hold my arms out for him.
He clings to Kemli’s tunic and hides his face, which makes the older woman beam with pleasure. “Not at all. He loves visiting! And he was so good! He sat in my lap all afternoon, and we watched the dvisti herds move through.”
“I’m so glad he behaved. I know he gets restless.” I smile at my little son. “Has he eaten?”
“He has been chewing on fresh meaty bones to get his little teeth ready for good meat.” She smiles at me, and indeed, there’s a long, rounded vertebra in my son’s hand, still slightly bloody. As I watch, he pushes one end into his mouth and begins to gum it.
Yeah, so there are some aspects of ice planet life I’m still not a hundred percent all-in on. I inwardly wince at the sight but don’t pluck it from his hands, because it would offend Kemli. “You’re good to take him, Kemli. I appreciate the break.”
“But of course. He looks just like Pashov at this age.” She pokes Pacy’s nose and beams at him when he giggles. “Handsome and full of smiles.”
My own smile grows tight. Normally I love hearing Pashov-as-an-infant stories, but right now, I just can’t.
Kemli isn’t stupid, though. Her smile becomes bittersweet with understanding, and she looks over her shoulder. “Is my sled still nearby? I have something for you.”
“For me?” I’m surprised.
“Yes. Come.” She hands Pacy to Farli instead of to me, and waves me forward.
I follow, curious. I should feed Pacy to get the milk out of my breasts, but Farli’s surrounded with people and they’re all gathered near the fire. My baby isn’t going anywhere. I follow in the path Kemli wades easily through the snow, and when we get to their half-dismantled sled, she begins to pick through her herb satchel. Pashov’s mother is the tribe expert on herbs and plants, and I’m not surprised when she pulls something out of her bag and hands it to me. I am a little surprised to see it’s a horn, though. A small one, with a bit of leather stuffed into the end. “What’s this?”
“A balm for your face,” she tells me. “Animal fat with a paste of dranoosh leaves boiled in.”
I dab my finger in the yellowish sludge and then sniff it. It smells awful, but I’m not going to tell her that. “My face?”
She nods. “Pashov says human skin is too soft for this weather. That your face gets red and hurts. He does not like to see you hurting. He asked if I had anything, so I boiled that this morning and let it set.”
I’m surprised, not only at her thoughtfulness, but at Pashov’s. “I…thank you.”
“Of course.” She rubs my arm, her voice lowering. “You are hurting, aren’t you? How can I help?”
I have to blink rapidly to fight back more tears. “My face?” I repeat stupidly.
“Not your face.” She taps at my chest. “Here. I know you struggle. I care for you as my own little Farli. I see how the two of you act together, and today, you seem distant.” Her proud face is full of worry for me. “Forgive a nosy old female.”
“You’re neither nosy nor old,” I tell her, sniffling. She puts an arm around me, and I lean against her. God, it feels so good to be hugged. To be comforted. Of course, then I feel like an even bigger asshole, because I know Pashov would comfort me. “It’s just…really hard.”
“Of course it is,” she soothes, rubbing my back.
“He doesn’t remember anything of me. Of Pacy. It feels like we’re starting from scratch. I don’t want that. I want what we had back. I miss my mate.” I hear my voice, and it sounds petulant. “Sometimes I think it’s him, and then…”
“And then he says something and you realize he does not remember?” she guesses.
I nod, swiping at my runny nose. She nailed it.
“I share your pain, Stay-see. I worried at his bedside for all those long days and nights that Maylak worked on him. We shared our grief. We hoped he would wake up and waited for that moment. Sometimes it seemed as if it would be a dream to see him smile again.” She hesitates, then gives me another hug. “Is it not enough that he is alive and well?”
“I tell myself that.” I clutch the little horn of face-balm in my hand tightly. “Sometimes I feel like I’m being unfair. That I’m not giving him a chance. That it’s my Pashov despite everything and I’m being ridiculous.” I think back to last night, to the sex we had that was so good…and yet so wrong. It was like having sex with a completely different person, and it hurts me deep inside to think about it. “I don’t know what I should do,” I tell her. “How would you feel if your mate woke up and had forgotten everything you had ever shared? All your memories, your habits, your name…your kits you had together?” Just saying it makes me hurt all the way down to my bones. “That when he’d look at you, he’d see nothing of what you shared?”