Once she is done with her own hair, I discard the spear and flint and kneel close to her. I bow my head toward her, and she uses the stick to smooth out my own hair, which just touches my shoulders now. Once she is done, we collect her most recent clay pieces—a fairly large bowl and a lid to go on top of it—and head back home.
Beh holds her bowl in her arms as we walk across the field, and I walk beside her. As we get close to the edge of the woods, I stop and pull up a clump of yellow nutgrass I noticed on our way to the lake. Beh ends up a little ahead of me, and I watch her from behind as she walks.
I like the way her hips move, and my mind wanders, thinking about what they might look like bare. More importantly, what would it look like if she were bare with my hands wrapped around her hips, pulling her back against me.
Is she going to let me do that any time soon?
Trying to force the thought from my mind, I sigh and move to catch up. As I get close, I notice there is a tiny hole in her clothing up by her shoulder. I can see the little strap of pink underneath it. Without actually thinking about it, I reach out to poke at it.
Beh glances over her shoulder at me, and I give her a little smile. She smiles back and turns her eyes back down the meandering path. I poke at the little hole again—my finger fits just inside of it, and Beh looks over fast enough to see my finger inside the little hole at her shoulder.
Her face immediately contorts into an expression of sorrow, and she lets out a long moan followed by a lot more sounds. The bowl is still in both hands, but she seems to be trying to both hold it up and touch the hole I have found. She stops abruptly and turns, shoving the bowl into my arms as she continues to make noise and closely examine the little tear.
My mate is upset, but I hope now she’ll make something out of the antelope fur I gave her. I would even give her my own fur wrap if she preferred, but it wouldn’t fit her very well. It would probably fall right off of her.
That idea didn’t sound all that bad.
Finally, looking to her face, I see her tears.
CHAPTER EIGHT
That night, I hold Beh tighter than usual and make sure she is sound asleep before I let myself doze. She didn’t cry as hard as she did before, but there were many times during the evening when she had tears in her eyes. I know how frustrating it is to have to make new clothing, but I don’t understand why it upsets her so much.
I don’t like it when my mate is sad, and I don’t know what I am supposed to do to make her happy again. I consider my previous plan of doing everything I can for her all the next day, but I also remember how that turned out the first time I did it. I need something better.
A gift.
When people in my tribe were mated, they gave each other gifts. Men would bring their best furs and women would bring their nicest collection baskets to show they would be able to help sustain each other. I’d given Beh all the furs I had made recently—the large antelope hide, the smaller pieces of rabbit fur—and had even tried to give her my own fur, but she hadn’t worn it, nor had she made anything from the other furs. I showed her all the flint knives I have that could have been used to shape the fur into wraps, but she never used them.
Beh has to know winter is coming, and she will need warm clothing. I often put the antelope fur over her shoulders when she is shaking from the chilled air. The strange clothing she has is not thick enough—even the especially weird material of her leggings. Though it feels thick and sturdy, it has no fur and doesn’t seem to be warm.
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.