It will happen. I am confident it shall be so.
I lean in and grab one more bite of food and race away before my mother can pull my tail like a naughty kit. She will protest much, but when I leave I hear her chuckle of amusement. I head out of the main cave and step out into the snows, my boots sinking into the fresh powder deposited overnight. It is a light snow for the bitter season, but I know the humans despair of the endless cold. To hear them talk, snow is something that only comes for a few short moons. I snort at the thought. Madness.
Tee-fah-nee’s tracks are deep in the snow, as the small human feet sink deep and most avoid snowshoes unless necessary. She has not gone far, and I follow her trail around to the far side of the cliff walls, where she has been moving plants and lining them up in a row. She says she is fahr-meeng and it will be useful later. I do not know if it is true, but the humans have odd notions, such as eating roots. She is a hard worker, and clever, so there must be a benefit to her strange ways.
I see her kneeling in the snow a short distance away, digging with a stick. From here, I can see the beautiful color of her skin, like the richest of animal hides. Her mane is unusual in that it sprays out in tight spirals like the sweet-weed bushes that grow in rocky niches and make a pleasant tea. I like it, though. She is different but pleasing to look upon, and I like the flash of her blue eyes in her small human face.
I call out as I approach. “Ho, Tee-fah-nee. It is I, Salukh.” I raise a hand in the air in greeting as she looks up and shields her eyes. I am always careful to call out a greeting. Once I surprised her and her violent reaction was alarming. I do not wish to scare her again.
She waves a hand at me.
I head toward her, and as I do, I mentally encourage my khui. There is our mate, I tell it. See how lovely she is? How fragile? I need to resonate for her. I need to claim her, to protect her.
Tee-fah-nee is mine.
Resonate.
Resonate.
Resonate so I may claim her.
But my khui is silent, the traitor, as I walk up to her. Today is not the day, then. No matter. It will be tomorrow or the next. “Enjoying the snow?”
She makes a face at me and shakes her digging stick. “A fuht of it fell overnight and covered my plants. I don’t know how anyone gets anything done around here!”
“Mmm.” I crouch in the snow next to her, studying her set-up. She has a leather satchel full of what looks like dung and seeds at her side, and digs her stick into the snow. “What is it you do?”
“I’m trying to plant crawps,” she says in the strange human language. I learned the human language at the Elders’ Cave, so I can speak to her. The mental picture that springs to mind at the word is of plants grown in specific places for food.
Interesting. I have never paid attention to plants other than to occasionally gather them for one of my mother’s teas. I pick up one of the seeds and study it as she goes back to work. “What is it you do when you plant?”
She sits back and brushes her springy hair off her face. The small move is graceful and makes my cock ache with the need to claim her. Resonate, I demand of my silent khui. “Well,” she says. “Back on Urth, we had fahrms. They grew food for people who didn’t have the space to grow their own. We can make our own plants and store their harvest for the brutal season. I just need to figure out how to make stuff grow in all this snow. I mean, stuff grows in Norway and Siberia and stuff, right? And they grow here. So clearly plants can survive in harsh conditions. But I keep planting seeds and they’re not growing. So I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” Her mouth presses into a firm line.
I pick up one of the dvisti-dung cakes in her bag and examine it. We use them for fuel because wood is scarce further down the mountains. “So you wish to throw dung at them like a metlak?”
She chuckles, the sound sweet and throaty, and it ripples over my skin like a caress. “No. I’m trying to nourish the soil.”
“With dung?”
“With dung,” she agrees. She pulls out her digging stick again and begins to dig a hole. “Animal dung has a lot of noo-tree-ents for the soil. At least it did back home. You plant this with the seed and it gives it a boost.” She drops the dung cake into the hole, adds a few seeds, and then covers it with the mixture of snow and dirt.
“I see.” It’s a strange idea, but the humans have many strange ideas. “Do you wish help? I am a strong male and can dig the holes for you.”
“So modest,” she murmurs, her mouth crooking in a half smile as she looks over at me.
I am not modest in the slightest. I am strong and capable. My body is young and healthy. She should look at me with admiration. I pull my leather tunic off and rub a hand over my chest to see if she notices my fine form.