She shakes her head and makes more sounds, gesturing wildly and pointlessly in the process. I reach down and try to pull her up by her elbow, but she bats my hand away. I growl under my breath and check the sky. It doesn’t look like it’s going to start raining again, and it’s still early in the day. I suppose if she really wants to poke around in the clay, I will let her.
I sit on the rock next to her and watch as she squeezes and smooths the clay into a rough ball and then starts poking her thumbs into the center of it, making a hole. She continuously makes sounds as she pokes and prods at the stuff. For the most part, I ignore her—choosing to work on another flint knife instead. I sit close to her and occasionally glance at her out of the corner of my eye as I work. She seems to be very intent on whatever she is doing with the sticky clay.
At one point, she starts digging more of the clay out of the side of the inlet with her fingers and a small, round rock. I watch for a moment and then look around the shore for a better, flatter digging rock. I find one that is perfect and come back to her side.
I have no idea what she is doing or why, but I help her anyway. With the flat rock, I sweep over the bank of clay and bring a large slice of it closer to her. Beh claps her hands together and makes more noise. She’s smiling, so I think they must be good noises. She seems pleased, so I watch her go back to whatever she is doing with the clay while I finish my knife. By the end of the day, I have two good ones along with several chips that will be serviceable during the winter as well.
It is time to go back, and when I reach over to tap Beh, I see she has formed the clay into shapes. There are two round, hollowed out cups and two flat, round shapes. She is still smiling and seems proud of herself—much like she was with the basket she made that now holds the dried antelope meat.
After she goes to the water and washes all the clay off her arms and hands, Beh gives the cups to me and picks up the flatter pieces. Huffing out a breath, I carry the squishy cups. They’re too floppy to be useful for anything, but Beh seems so excited about them and obviously wants to take them with us. I have no idea what she plans to do with them—drinking out of clay would just make water taste like mud—but I like how happy she seems about them.
By the time we arrive back at the cave, the sun is beginning to set. I lay the fish over the drying spit, and Beh fiddles around with the clay objects she made. She puts them near the fire and sits back with another big smile. She looks at me, makes some more sounds, and then helps me place the fish over the cooking rocks.
When the fish is cooked, and we have eaten, the cave is dark, and it is time to sleep. Beh continues to make soft noises with her mouth as we lay down in the furs. The sounds are almost constant, and I wonder how I will ever fall asleep if she keeps it up. I watch her mouth move for a moment and then look up into her eyes. They shine in the firelight.
She lies on her side as she continues with her sounds. One of her hands waves back and forth in time with the noises she makes. After a while, I can’t take it anymore, and I reach over to cover her mouth with my hand. She quiets immediately, and I’m grateful. I pull her body close to mine and wrap the furs around us for warmth. Once we are settled, I look over to the fire to make sure it’s banked and also give the cave a quick once-over to be certain all is well.
It seems to be. The cave is secure and my mate is safe and happy, so it must have been a good day.
Beh opens her mouth and starts making more racket, but I quickly cover her mouth with my hand again. I look down at her and lean close. I draw the tip of my nose over her cheekbone and down her jaw. Beh sighs and sinks into the furs. I lift my hand to touch her hair, and I tangle my fingers in it to feel the softness.
Beh reaches up and brushes the side of my face. She smiles slightly as her fingers run over my cheek and down to my shoulder. Her fingers trace the line of the muscles of my arm. She whispers something, and her cheeks tinge with the blood running underneath the skin. Her finger keeps tracing my bicep.
I flex, showing her my strength.
My mate’s eyes dance over to mine and then back to my arm. More whispered sounds escape her as she smiles more broadly. I tighten my muscles again—flexing my arm, shoulder, and chest as well—and she seems pleased. She must realize I am strong enough to be able to protect her if she needs it as well as able to hunt for her and her children.
I want to give her those children.
I feel the tightening in my groin again, that same feeling I often have when I look at her. Her fingers glide over my arm and down to my wrist, leaving my skin with a tickling, tingling sensation. I move my hand from its usual place on her hip around to her stomach and then up to her shoulder. My fingers brush over her breast as they travel upward, and Beh stiffens.