My mind is full of Tee-fah-nee and her warm skin and her small human body. The graceful way she moves. If I close my eyes, I can imagine her scent enveloping me. How fine would it be to be able to touch her? To lick her sweet body and bring her pleasure? I can hear mating pairs in the caves late at night, and I know it’s important to bring your female pleasure, preferably more than once. I want nothing more than to please her with my touch. My cock grows hard at the thought and I want to free it from my leggings and stroke myself to pleasure at the simple thought of her. I won’t, though. I’m going to save everything I am for her.
I am going to take her up on her offer, I realize. It does not matter that we do not resonate, or that four others vie for her attention.
She is mine and it is time I claimed her.
Renewed, I slowly get to my feet and move toward the herd. They have wandered away a short distance, their movements easy and unafraid. I eye the herd, looking for one of the weaker, an easy mark. I do not want sickly, because diseased meat is no good. Nor do I want a healthy buck or a nursing mother, because the dvisti tribe must stay full of young for next year’s meals. My gaze falls upon a shaggy mare at the back of the herd. She has a kit at her side, small and bleating. One of the mare’s hoofs is raised up out of the snow, and when the herd moves forward again, she limps behind, slower than the others.
She and her kit will be easy prey for the next predator in the area. She will fall behind the safety of the herd and the snow-cats will be on them, tearing them to pieces. This will be my hunt for the day, then. I ready my spear, and then hesitate. My gaze falls on the kit. It’s very small and young, and I think of Tee-fah-nee’s words. She likes the dvisti. They remind her of animals she owned back at her home.
I think of Sessah and the small two-tooth he feeds back at the main cave. It’s practically tame, scurrying up to any of the tribe in hopes of a handout. The thing is ugly and fat but Sessah adores it.
The kit bleats at its mother, searching for her udders. The female limps and shifts on her feet, nosing the baby away. She will not feed it while her leg hurts her, and it scurries around her, making hungry noises.
I creep up on mother and kit, keeping low to the ground. My movements are slow and patient, and it takes many long breaths before I make it close enough to launch my spear. The others in the herd are wandering further away, and still the female limps behind, her kit bawling its hunger.
I strike, racing forward. The dvisti herd panics and flees in a storm of hooves and angry braying, heading out of the valley. The female tries to limp after them, but she does not move fast. I’m able to move up on her quickly and throw my spear at short range, right into her neck. It gushes blood and she collapses to the ground, dead. As I walk up to my kill, the baby bleats and circles in the snow nearby, confused at the smell of blood. When it doesn’t leave and the herd does not return to round it up, my mind is decided. I dress my kill quickly and when it’s ready, I look around for the kit.
It stands nearby on thin, twiggy legs, blinking bright blue eyes at me. It bleats again and then races away a few feet, then begins to circle back toward its dead mother. I slowly remove my cloak and hold it out from my body, creeping up on the dvisti kit. “Come, little one,” I croon. “You will be a fine gift for my Tee-fah-nee.”
It whines at me and prances away, skittish.
I continue to move slowly, and when the kit does not flee, I fling my cloak over it and then pounce, neatly trapping it under the fur. It screams then, and bites at my hands when I wrap it in the cloak and tuck it under my arm. It’s a biter, and it’s in a panic. The breath hisses from me when its tiny teeth clamp down on bare skin.
I swear under my breath and hold it tighter as I get to my feet. The little creature kicks and bites me again, but I don’t release it. “You are for my mate,” I tell it. “Best you behave because it is a long walk home.”
It bleats plaintively in response.
Juggling my dual burdens is not the easiest task, because the dead mother is unwieldy and heavy, and the child is wriggling and angry. I eventually manage to tie the mother’s legs to my spear with one hand – my other arm holding the kit captive – and sling it over one arm. The child I keep tucked against my chest, and I ignore when it starts to chew on my hair.
If it must bite something, then it can bite my mane.
Chapter Five
TIFFANY
I study my rows of planted seeds, hoping for a sprig here or there. Right now, there is nothing, just an upraised row in the snow where the earth was piled back onto them. Frustrated, I move down the row I’ve marked with a few sticks, but there’s nothing to be seen. Surely plants here can’t be that different from plants on earth, can they? The snow is throwing me off, but it’s still water, and plants need water to grow. I shove my fingers into my glove and then kneel near one of the small mounds, digging. There has to be something. If there’s even a hint of a sprout on one of my seeds, I’ll have hope.