“That’ll just waste time,” she said impatiently. “This is your clan’s territory, there’s not going to be some Zerar horde hiding behind a bush waiting to attack us. I’m going with you.”
Clearly this was the perfect way not to motivate an alien warrior because Ke’lar’s jaw hardened and he stopped dead, instantly transforming into an unmovable wall of muscle and male stubbornness.
“You are my responsibility,” he growled. “I could not call myself a warrior if I neglected your safety so.”
Summer had to force herself to slow even breaths.
Eyes on the prize here. The point is to get to the clanhall as fast as possible, not to debate g’hir cultural ideals.
“Fine,” she bit out, folding her arms. “Go. I’ll wait here.”
His gaze narrowed a bit as if judging the sincerity of her word.
“Seriously. Go.” She sat down on the rock she’d perched on while waiting for him only last night. “I’ll be right here.”
After a moment he inclined his head. “I will return as quickly as I am able.”
Summer chewed her lip as he started on the path down to where he’d housed Beya.
It was Wednesday, at least back in Brittle Bridge. She only had until Sunday afternoon to get home . . .
It was another two days to the clanhall. That left her a little over a day to convince the clanfather of the Erah to disregard g’hir cultural traditions, to incur the greater enmity of a rival clan Dammit, where is he already?
She was on her feet, about to go after him, but, as if he somehow sensed she was on the verge of breaking her word, he chose that moment to return. She was past him in an instant, heading down the rocky path toward where Beya waited patiently, already saddled and loaded down with their supplies.
Before she could get to the beast’s side to mount up, he loosed the reins from the tree and began to lead Beya.
“We’re walking?” Summer asked, frowning. “The path is wide enough to ride, isn’t it?”
“We can eat as we travel,” he said. “But she must be fed and watered before she is ridden. There is a creek not far from here. She will drink and I will fill our water pouches.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to object. Then her gaze met Beya’s and she read patience, deep loyalty, and weariness in that animal’s glowing gaze.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “Okay.”
Summer took the opportunity—since they were stuck waiting on the multari anyway—to eat some of the jerky-stuff Ke’lar offered her and splash some water on her face. Beya dipped her heavy head and drank deeply when they reached the creek but wasn’t nearly as interested in her feed.
“Which way is the clanhall from here?”
He pointed. That way the valley curved to the left, and the river far below led in that direction.
“So which way is faster?” she asked, as Ke’lar stroked Beya’s nose, coaxing her to eat. “The mountains or doubling back to go through the valley?”
“The valley is the shortest distance but we will continue on through the mountain pass.”
“Why? You said yourself that if we do that it’ll add a whole other day.” She indicated the blue sky, the fluffy clouds. “I’m pretty sure it’s not going to rain today. It doesn’t even look flooded down here.”
“Travel through the valley will be far worse than it seems from here.” He gave up trying to feed the multari and offered a g’hir’s nod toward the verdant land below. “The ground has absorbed some of the rain but not much yet. There will be places Beya may sink to her knees in the mud.”
The sweet spring air lifted her hair as Summer turned her face toward where the river curved at the base of the snow-capped mountain. “On Earth, settlements—especially old ones—were always built near a river or sea. The Betari clanhall was built near water. Yours was too, right?
He shot her a puzzled look. “It was.”
“Well, let’s use the river then,” she said briskly. “That would be the fastest. We could sail there, couldn’t we?”
“We could,” he agreed, stowing the animal’s feed. “If we had a boat, which we do not.”
“Well, there must be one on the river,” she pointed out. “We’ll hitch a ride. You’re the clanfather’s son and this is urgent, that would put any boat at your disposal.”
“Do you see one?” he demanded with a wave toward the river.
“No,” she admitted grudgingly. There wasn’t a boat in sight. “But there are fishermen that use the river all the time, aren’t there?”
“Yes, and who would have sought a safe place to moor during the storm. The river will still have the runoff of the storm and they too are wisely waiting till the river is less treacherous.” He stopped walking, Beya shifting beside him. “But perhaps you would prefer that we camp at the river’s edge and wait there until a boat appears to carry us to the clanhall instead.”