No sooner do I think it than a tiny light appears on the horizon. It flickers and then flares brighter, yellow in the dark night. I catch the faint scent of smoke.
A fire.
Pride bursts in my chest. My Jo-see is not so helpless after all. I approach, quieting my footsteps. I see the outline of the tiny cave - one of the hunter caves scattered like wind-blown seeds across the landscape - and she is at the mouth of one, feeding bits of fuel to her fire. I devour the sight of her small form. She looks healthy, wrapped in her furs, and when she stands, she seems tired but not shivering with cold.
After a moment, she pulls the privacy screen over the cave entrance, blotting out some of the light given off by the fire.
I am left out in the snow, pondering. With a fire, she is safe. Even the most aggressive of metlaks will not approach a flame, and this particular region has very few large predators. I am impressed that she was able to find one of the hunter caves, build a fire, and take care of herself.
My fragile Jo-see is stronger than I have imagined. And instead of storming into her cave and demanding that she return, I hunch in the snow and settle in for the night. I will put up a watch to ensure she is undisturbed. But if my Jo-see wants to go somewhere? I will follow until it is no longer safe for her, and then I will step in.
JOSIE
So far? I’ve got the hang of this survival-on-my-own thing. Yesterday, I hiked until I found a cave, made myself a fire (thanks to the firestarter necklaces that one of the girls insisted we all have), and spent the evening cozy and warm.
And okay, it was a little terrifying to be out on my own.
A lot, actually.
Despite being tired from a day of walking, I’d had a heck of a time falling asleep. The knowledge that I was the only one around for miles and no one knew where I was? It did a bit of a head trip on me, and I clutched at my furs, terrified. Every noise made me jerk awake. Add in the fact that I’m feeling restless and out of sorts thanks to resonance? It wasn’t a fun night.
At some point, I went to sleep and when I woke up, my fire was dead, there was frost on my furs, and my breath was puffing in the air like a cloud once more. I was also aching from resonance, my nipples hard and my pussy wet. Gah. Time to get up. I stretched and shook out my furs, doing a little jog to try and make my body focus on the day instead of sex. The furs were a little damp from yesterday’s travel, so I rebuilt my fire and spread them out to dry before heading on. If I started walking around lunchtime, it wouldn’t be so bad.
I feed more dried dung to my fire and wash my hands with a bit of snow, then take out a pack of rations. I help myself to a handful of the granola-like stuff, wrinkling my nose as I eat. The cootie has dampened a lot of my senses - smells are not as keen, and neither are tastes - but this particular sa-khui dish is still spicier than I like. I wash it down with the last of my water and realize I have no more. Time to melt some snow.
It’s a little intimidating to realize that I can’t depend on anyone else to help me. If I need water, I have to get it myself. Fire? I need to pick up supplies as I walk. I put the last few bites of my trail rations back into the pouch. Who knows how long it’ll have to last me? I’ve never hunted before, and the enormity of the task looms before me.
Well, I’ll just have to figure it out somehow, because I’m not going back.
When my furs are dry enough and snow melted for my water skins, I put out my fire and dress in my heavy furs again, then put on my snowshoes. I leave the cave and start heading toward the west. Harlow and Rukh had come from the west, and that was where the ocean was, so that is where I’m heading. She’d said the temperatures were milder there. I tug one of my gloves higher and figure mild is just darn fine with me.
The snow is thicker this morning, which means more must have fallen overnight. I trudge through the powder with my backpack over my shoulder. After an hour, I’m already exhausted and sweaty, but I keep going. This is what I want, so I’m going to have to suck it up. I need to enjoy the scenery - this is my chance to really see more of Not-Hoth than just the caves.
And Not-Hoth? For all that it’s cold and blustery, it’s also really beautiful. Hill after endless hill of white snow undulates before me. The landscape is dotted with the occasional feathery pink tree, and more of the shorter, frothier bushes, thick with piney-leaves. In the distance, there’s a herd of dvisti, their shaggy greyish-white coats making them look a lot like overgrown sheep with spindly legs. I suppose I should think of them as food, but right now I’m enjoying the scenery. The sky is overcast as usual, but that just means there’s no glare on the snow. In the distance, the purplish, spiky peaks of ice dance along the skyline, and I wonder if I’m going to have to cross them to get to the ocean. Gosh, I hope not. I’m not a mountain climber.
I head into a valley, following the easiest path to walk, and then over the next hill. Something shakes the ground and I freeze, looking around. There, in the distance, is a sa-kohtsk and its baby. It lumbers over the snow with slow, almost lazy motions of its long, skinny legs, and I find myself drawn toward it despite the danger it presents. It’s hideous. The hide is shaggy like the dvisti, but the legs are a tough, sinewy hide that leads down to flat, wide hooves. The head itself is the size of a car, and dotted with glowing blue eyes like a spider. Gross. As I watch, it moves its big head back and forth, as if tasting the air.
I wonder what something so big eats. Hopefully not ‘people’.
I follow it for a time, fascinated. I’ve never gone to the zoo and this is a lot like a big, icy, open zoo. I wonder if I could get close enough to touch one? The baby sa-kohtsk is bigger than I am, but still seems more approachable. I’m tempted to chase after it—
—Until the mama sa-kohtsk lets loose an epic stream of piss. Squealing, I trundle away from their trail as fast as I can in my snowshoes. Gross gross gross!
After that, I decide following animals is probably not the smartest thing. I also realize I don’t have a spear. I do have a small knife that I keep with me at all times, but it’s not exactly built for hunting, and I don’t really want to have to kill something with a blade the size of a pocketknife. How the heck did I forget to bring a spear? I’m kicking myself for that, and in addition to scanning the ground for dung chips for the evening’s fire, I look for something that will make a decent spear.
There’s nothing, of course. In the icy, windy landscape, the trees are whippy and frail, and the bushes aren’t big enough to provide much wood. This is why all the weapons back at the cave are bone, I remind myself. Of course, you have to be able to bring down a kill - a really honking big one - to find a bone big enough to make a spear out of.
Maybe there will be spears at Harlow and Rukh’s old cave. I’ll just have to make my rations last that long, and then I’ll be set. Encouraged, I pick up the pace a little and head over the next rise.
It’ll all work itself out. And for the first time in what feels like forever? My cootie is silent in my chest. I may be exhausted from traveling, I may be needy and sick with thwarted sexual desire, but my chest is all quiet.
I’ll take the small victories.
9
HAEDEN
Jo-see is much stronger than I have given her credit for. She is tired, but she walks a good distance every day, even when her snowshoes drag on the ground. She has been lucky in finding shelter — the first two nights, she found hunter caves and the third, she made herself a nest in the rocky shelter of a ledge out of the wind at the base of a cliff. She is smart. She is resourceful, too. I watch from a distance as she picks up dung as she walks, or scoops up snow and pulls her pouch under her furs to melt it.
She does not, however, look behind her.
This does not surprise me. Jo-see is the type to plunge forward in life. I am the sour one that looks behind. But if she looked but once, she would see me on the horizon, trailing behind her, watching to make sure she does not wander into a nest of metlaks, or that she is not hunted by a hungry snow-cat.
But no, Jo-see is smart and she is cautious, and I am proud of how well she is doing, even if she does not seem to want to go back.
She continues to head toward the mountains every day, always in the same direction. It is intriguing to me. Where is she going? What does she think she will find? She treads over hunting trails and goes over hills, and crosses over rocky outcroppings that make my body tense with the need to rescue her. But she is not being foolhardy. She is cautious. She pauses at every stream and checks for nelukh - the fish that humans call ‘face eaters’ - and sprinkles crushed berries upstream to get them to leave before she crosses. If she sees tracks of other animals, she changes her route.
I rub my chest as I watch her peek her head into another hunter cave. Last night she slept in the open and while she kept her fire going, it took everything I had not to step in and lead her toward shelter. I know these lands like I know my own tail, and I do not want to see her suffer.
But this is important to her, so I will follow her for however long it is necessary…or until my khui becomes unbearable. Even now, just thinking about her causes my cock to rise. When I know she is safe for the evening, I will rub myself until I come, but it does no more than whet the itch.