I growl low and dig my fingers into her hips. I tug her closer to me and place my lips tightly on her mouth to silence her. I reach into her mouth with my tongue, and she moans against me. All other thoughts inside my head depart until nothing is left but her scent and her taste.
When we finally stop, Beh’s cheeks flame red, and she looks down to the muddy handprints I have left on her clothing. Her eyes dart back to mine, and she raises an eyebrow at me. I watch her carefully, wondering if the mess has made her angry and what she might do if it has. She doesn’t seem vexed though and uses her own clay-covered hand to brush some of it away. This makes it worse, and she snickers and shakes her head from side to side.
I decide she must not care very much if the strange clothing gets dirty. She must know I am preparing the new fur for her to replace the odd things wrapped around her body now.
They look so uncomfortable.
Toward the end of the day, Beh has a stack of clay dishes sitting in the sun on the rocks, and she is in the lake washing off. I’ve found a small group of wild onions, which I’ve pulled out of the soft ground near the edge of the pine forest and washed off in the lake. I wonder if Beh knows how to cook them. I’ve eaten them often because they are one of the few plants I know I can eat without becoming sick to my stomach, but when I try to cook them, they burn in the fire. I know my mother used to cook them, but I can’t remember how.
When Beh comes out of the water, I hide my eyes. She dresses quickly and comes over to me, making sounds with her mouth through her smile. I watch her approach, and I am thrilled when she leans over and covers my mouth with her lips again. She drops down beside me, and I hold up the onions.
Beh takes a bunch of them in her hand and turns them around and around. She brushes a bit of dirt I have missed off of one bulb and makes more noise. I’m about to reach out and cover her mouth when she jumps up and cries out. I am immediately at her side, wrapping my arm around her and holding her against me, looking all around for whatever alerted her.
My mate giggles and covers her mouth with her hand until she has contained herself. I narrow my eyes, and she brushes her fingers over the edge of my jaw before darting away toward the edge of the lake again. Near the water are several tall plants with long, brown tops—cattails—which I recognize. Beh continues with her noises as she reaches down to the bottom of the plant and pulls one up—root and all.
As soon as she pulls it out, I recognize it. This is a root my mother would cook for us, but I had no idea it came from the bottom of a cattail. I only remember using the long stalks to entertain my brothers. They liked to pull them apart and send the seeds flying in the wind.
We work together to dig up more of the roots, and soon we have too much to carry back in one trip. Beh prattles on the entire time, and I’m starting to feel another ache in my head from it. Leaving her clay bowls and plates behind, we gather up the onions, cattail roots, and rabbits in my fur before heading back to the cave. Beh wants to use the new fur I’ve made to wrap up the food, but I pull it away from her hands and wrap it around her shoulders instead. I don’t want it to get dirty because it’s for her.
We head back to our home after a wonderful day of work. Beh seems as confused as I am about cooking the cattail roots and the onions, and eventually we just let them sit close to the fire until they are at least warm enough to eat. Afterwards, we sit and watch the coals, and I wrap my arm around Beh’s shoulders. She leans against me, and I inhale the fresh scent of her hair.
Beh and I fall into a routine through the summer.
I can’t help but think of my tribe as Beh and I work side by side, gathering grains in the fields and plants in the forest. She knows some other plants we can eat aside from the cattails, and we store what we don’t eat in the clay pots Beh has made. She has even fashioned covers for some of the pots to keep the moisture out. As the back of the cave becomes full of such things, my worry about keeping my mate healthy through the winter diminishes.
Beh leaves most of the clay dishes to dry in the sunshine for a day before she sets them near the fire for a long time. Only when she indicates they are ready does she let either of us put anything inside of them. With one particular pot she makes, she spends even more time keeping it close to the fire. She never seems completely happy with it in the morning and lets it set again. Eventually, she takes one of the clay plates and sets it inside the coals and then places the pot on top of it.
I have no idea what she is trying to do, but like I have thought many times before, my mate is strange, and it doesn’t matter to me that she is.
When I look at her, my chest feels larger. Sometimes my heart pounds, and often my penis grows hard and thick, wanting to put a baby in her. In the night, she places her lips on mine and lets my hands touch her face, arms, back, and legs—but never her breasts or the warm spot between her legs. She will run her hands over my chest and arms but never below my waist.