Transcendence(41)

I shift a little in our bed, pulling Beh’s head into a different position on my shoulder. She sighs in her sleep and snuggles against me. Her hand lies on my chest near my shoulder, and her fingers twitch against my skin.

What could I give to Beh?

I fall asleep with this thought in my head, and while I sleep, my mind continues to consider it. I dream of Beh.

She is sitting by the edge of the lake and pulling tangles from her hair. As she sits, the part of her clothing that covers her arm suddenly rips and falls to the ground. She wipes at her eyes and continues with her hair. She looks out over the water and sniffs. I know she is still sad, but she is trying to forget her torn clothing as gooseflesh appears on her now bare arm. A moment later, the other arm loses its covering. She stands, dropping the stick she had been using, and the leggings she wears also shred and fall to the ground at her feet, which are suddenly bare.

Beh covers her face with her hands and lets out a sob. I want to go to her, but I am not what she wants, and I know it. With shaking fingers, she bends over to retrieve the stick, sits back on the rock, and continues to run the stick through her hair.

My eyes open, and I check the darkened cave. The fire is low, so I wriggle out from Beh’s embrace and add wood to it. I check outside, and the night is clear, quiet, and cold. There is still some time before dawn. Before I crawl back to the warmth of furs and my mate, I add several more logs to the fire so we will have good cooking coals when we wake.

I run my nose over Beh’s temple and use my hand to brush hairs from her forehead. I think of my dream and wonder if Beh is sad because her clothing is falling apart, and it reminds her of her life before I found her. No clothing lasts forever, and hers seems particularly flimsy.

I hold her closer and wish I knew what to do. We can try to look for her old home, but I don’t even know where to start. If it would make her happy, though, I would try to find it for her. I also know that if we find it, her tribe may not accept me. I recall the one and only time I ran across other people since my tribe was wiped out from the fire.

There were many of them, and they all walked in a line across the steppes. I had only just found my cave the season before, and I was out hunting with my spear. Working alone, I could never get close enough to the animals to use the weapon. When the people came into view, I cautiously approached them, but as soon as they saw me, four of the men in the front ran at me. They screamed and shook their spears, so I ran away.

What would I do if we did find Beh’s tribe and they chased me away but kept Beh? I look down at her face, which glows red in the firelight. What if I had to come back here again, alone?

A quiet whimper escapes from my throat at the thought. I do not want to lose Beh. I want her with me. There is no way I am going to let her go looking for her tribe if there is even a possibility they won’t accept me with her!

I remember my dream again and the sad look on her face. It makes my chest and stomach ache to think of it. I don’t want her to go away and back to her own tribe and leave me alone again. It’s not even about being alone anymore—I know I don’t want to be without Beh. Having her here to warm the furs with me at night and gather food with me during the day is the most important thing in the world.

For me.

A cold shiver runs through me as I realize there is something more important. I want Beh to be happy. If she would only be happy with her own people again, I would have to let her go back to them—even if they would not let me join her.

There is nothing more important than Beh, and if making her happy means my own sorrow, I will have to accept that.

I don’t sleep the rest of the night.



The afternoon sun is warm even though the air is getting colder each day. Nights are longer, and it won’t be many more days until it is cold enough for snow. The steppes are fairly dry though, and there usually isn’t too much precipitation during the winter, but winter nights can get very cold, even without snow.

In my hand, I hold a wooden object made from the knot of a tree. I close one eye as I look at it closely. I’ve been working on the shape for many, many days—since the day I thought of it while watching Beh run her fingers through her hair. My other hand holds the edge of a flint blade to the wood, and I carve off another tiny slice.

I used to dread the coming of winter for many reasons. I was never very prepared for it and rarely had enough food stored up to keep healthy. My bones would ache around the joints, and one year at the very end of winter, strange spots appeared on my legs, and I was so tired I could barely move. Once spring came and I found other things to eat, the spots went away, and I felt better.