He gave an annoyed huff at her tart reply. “Come, if you wish to make camp. We should not stroll here talking.”
“I’m only strolling because I’m trying not to fall on my face in the dark. And, hey,” she grumbled, nearly twisting her ankle in a furrow she’d mistaken for firm field, “feel free to hand over the luma—which you clearly don’t need—anytime, Ke’lar.”
With a blast of light he activated it and offered it to her.
“Thanks,” she said, gratefully using its beam to pick her way across the field as he led them to the water.
He had Beya unloaded and the shelter built in a few spare minutes while Summer rinsed her face and hands in the creek. It was a testament to how practiced he was at this that he could do it so swiftly, so silently.
One accustomed to a solitary life indeed.
She waited inside the geodesic dome—already toasty warm since he’d already set the portable heater running—while he fed and watered the multari.
She offered a wry smile when he ducked inside. “I wanted to get dinner for us but I don’t know where you’ve stashed everything,” she said with a wave at their supplies. “I was afraid digging through all of it would just make a mess.”
“It will be dried fruit and meat again,” he warned, quickly shifting through the supplies to the right sack. “You must be tired of it.”
“Oh, I don’t mind.” She gave a grin. “Hell, I’m hungry enough to eat my own cooking.”
“You will not have to, little one,” he assured, returning her smile. “There is plenty of food still. And I would hunt for you if there were not.”
“Right,” she said, taking the simple meal he offered. He handed her a pouch of fresh water too. “The famous g’hir eyesight. Without the luma I’d be lost if I took two steps away from the shelter, you know, so you’re not getting it back until morning.”
“I will not need it,” he replied easily. “Unless we decide to shelter in another cave.”
“I think it’s safe to say we won’t need to tonight,” she said with a nod toward the shelter door and the clear, star-filled sky.
“You fled the Betari enclosure at night,” he commented, settling beside her with his own meal. “And with no luma. Were you not afraid?”
“Hell, yeah, I was. I intended to leave during the day but then I realized that whenever Ar’ar wasn’t with me the other Betari clanbrothers were keeping an eye on me. The only time everyone assumed I really didn’t need extra guarding was at night when Ar’ar was right next to me. But afraid?” She gave a humorless laugh. “There’s a whole running theme in horror movies where the dumb blonde takes off alone through the woods at night.”
“I do not know what ‘horror movies’ is.”
“Oh, right . . . Well, a movie is like a holotale, only two dimensional. And a horror movie is designed to scare you. The good ones keep you from being able to sleep—or shower.” She laughed at his perplexed look. “Never mind. But they usually take place somewhere remote or at night. Humans find both of those pretty scary.”
“Do humans have an instinctive fear of the dark then? Because you cannot see well?”
“Maybe we evolved that way. I’m guessing that the humans who were afraid of the dark didn’t leave the cave at night and didn’t wind up getting eaten. And here I am—” She struck a mock dramatic pose. “The proud product of many humans who did not get eaten.”
He gave a huffing laugh. “And the g’hir who could see at night could hunt better. So I suppose I am the descendant of many well-fed g’hir.”
“Have you ever wondered how it’s possible for humans and g’hir to reproduce?”
His gaze met hers and her face went hot. Clearly neither one of them had forgotten just how well humans and g’hir could mate— “I mean,” she blundered on, “we’re different species. From different sides of the galaxy. It shouldn’t be possible for us to reproduce.”
“G’hir have human DNA,” he reminded. “It became part of our genome untold millennia ago.”
“But you shouldn’t have human DNA at all,” she argued. “How the hell would a human have gotten all the way out here in the first place? We didn’t have space travel then. Your people didn’t even have space travel then.”
“I do not know,” he said quietly. “I believe it is a gift from the All Mother, bestowed long ago, to give us hope now.” He dropped his gaze. “To give others hope.”
“Ke’lar—” Her throat tightened at the anguish in his face. “I didn’t—I never meant to hurt you—”
She reached for him, sure he would pull away, turn away from her touch, but he closed his brilliant eyes and gave an achingly soft purr of contentment. He leaned into her, pressing his cheek against her palm.
“My Summer . . .”