“Ohmygod…ohmygod…” Beh rocks back and forth on her heels, and I want to go to her and hold her against my chest, but I’m afraid. She is so upset, and I’m the reason for it. I have definitely made a huge mess of this, and I watch helplessly as she picks up a couple of the pieces and holds them in her hands.
I hear her mumbled sounds turn to sobs, and she holds the pieces against her chest, and I cannot stand it anymore. I move up behind her, reaching out and touching her shoulder with my hand. She turns quickly and screams horrible sounds at me. The pieces fall from her hands as she stands up and continues yelling. As she does, her hands reach down to the strange wraps that cover her legs. In the center of it—right below her navel, there is a small round thing. She grips it, shaking the little object as she screams, and I cower from the sound.
With another sob, Beh drops down to the ground again and grabs into her hands the pieces of the plate I have broken. When my mate turns her head to look at me, I can’t meet her eyes. I drop down into a crouch and lower my head. My hair falls over my forehead, effectively hiding me from her. I wish she couldn’t see me at all, but I can still feel her eyes on me.
Though I still feel the urge to hide, I have to follow when Beh rushes out of the cave with the pieces of clay in her hands. Even if she does not want me at all, I have to keep her safe. I follow her at a distance as she runs off across the grasslands with the clay pieces still clutched in her fingers. I have to jog at a good pace to keep up with her and run faster as she approaches the pine forest and the cover of trees. Beh runs all the way to the lake, goes right up to the side, and flings the broken pieces far off into the water.
I come to a quick halt on the rocks behind her and tense, waiting to see what she will do next. A moment later, Beh drops to her knees and lets out a long moan. Risking further wrath, I go to her and wrap my arms around her from behind.
I don’t understand. I never understand, but I hold her as tightly as I can until her struggles subside, and she turns toward me. Her arms go up and around my neck, and she tucks her head against my chest. My mate alternates between crying, screaming, and smacking her palm against my chest or shoulder as she makes her strange noises. All I can do is hold her and wait until she collapses in exhaustion and closes her eyes. I feel her relax against me as her breathing becomes metered and quiet.
I look down into her tear-stained, sleeping face and sigh. Pulling my legs underneath me, I slip one arm under her legs and the other behind her shoulders. I brace my legs underneath me and stand up with her in my arms. I’m grateful she’s small and not too heavy to lift this way. Her head flops against my chest as I turn from the water and carry her up the bank, through the woods, across the steppes, and into our cave.
Looking around the cave, I decide not to lay her down in our furs. Instead, I lower myself slowly in front of the fire and continue to hold her close to me. I use one hand to add more wood from the pile but manage to let her sleep at the same time.
It is late in the day when she wakes, and her bloodshot eyes look up at me. I feel the shiver run through her body as she stares at me, looks around the cave, and then closes her eyes again for a moment. When she opens them again, she pushes herself from my lap and goes to the small rock shelf where the water skins sit. She picks one of them up and brings it back to us.
I watch through my hair warily as she picks up one of the small round cups she made and pours water into it. She holds the cup out to me and then pours a second cup when I take the first from her hand. I look at the water for a moment and then quickly drink it down. I run my tongue over the edge of the cup, and it tastes like mud in my mouth. It is not like the cups my mother created out of broad leaves laced tightly together, but it certainly still holds the liquid securely. Though the sides of the cup have a muddy taste on my tongue, it doesn’t make the water taste like dirt.
Beh is looking at me as she drinks from her own cup, and I try to smile at her with my head bowed down—still hiding. She looks down to the ground, but there is now the hint of a smile on her lips. She reaches over toward the fire, and I can hear a slight scraping sound. I glance up through my hair and see her gathering up tiny broken shards still on the ground. I know I should probably do it myself—it is my fault the plate is broken—but I’m afraid to move. I only want to do things that made her happy today, and I am failing miserably.