He still doesn’t understand. It’s cute. He seems to be so convinced of Avery’s God-like power that he can’t comprehend that the name was given to him in jest. I really have to see what this girl has been up to.
“What was your name before Avery gave you the name of Cookie Monster?” I just hope it’s not Big Bird or something worse.
“Pontuck,” he says with a frown.
“Huh.” Pontuck is good. Strong and fierce, just like him. It sounds like fuck. I like it!
“I’m going to call you Pontuck, okay?”
He shakes his head fiercely. “The swift and proud Cookie Monster likes the name Cookie Monster. The great Saku honored him with that name and he will keep it.”
Fucking Avery. I’ll have to get her back for that one.
“Fine,” I say with a sigh. “Which way, Cookie Monster?”
He stands proudly with his shoulders drawn back and points towards the colorful forest. “That way.”
We walk all morning through the colorful forest and to my surprise, I’m actually having fun. Pontuck is a fabulous tour guide. He explains all of the names of the bright flowers and freaky looking animals in the trees. It’s clear that he has a deep respect for the land and all of the creatures on it. I love to hear him talk about everything as we stroll along.
It’s always bugged me how humans had turned their planet into a heaping garbage pit. We turned the ozone layer into Swiss cheese, polluted the oceans, lakes, and rivers, and chopped down our amazing forests to make tons of useless crap that we then tossed into the oceans, polluting them even more.
It’s refreshing to see that Pontuck and his people don’t share this view. He honors the forest and respects the land and all of its animals.
“Time to eat,” he says as we stroll passed a purple bush that has hundreds of tiny insects crawling all over it. He taps my new bow that’s strapped to my back. “You will catch it.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling shaky nerves as I pull out my brand new bow. He hands me an arrow and points up to an ugly looking monkey-thing that’s high in the trees, swinging from branch to branch.
“Hit him here,” he says, touching my heart with his big hand. It speeds up under his touch and my cheeks get hot.
“Alright,” I say, clumsily placing the arrow onto the bow. My knowledge of archery is limited to the cartoon version of Robin Hood.
He steps behind me, his warm breath tickling my neck, and gently guides my hands into the right positions. He smells good, like a smoky forest and it has me panicking at what I must smell like. I haven’t showered in over a week. But he doesn’t seem to mind. He gets in nice and close, pressing his muscular chest against my back.
His strong presence feels good and I have to ignore the dirty thoughts creeping into my mind to focus on the bow and arrow in my hands.
“Yes,” he whispers as he raises my arms with his gentle touch. My heart is beating so fast, my mouth moist. I want to drop the bow in my hand and turn into his embrace, letting him wrap those delicious arms around me.
Focus, girl. Come on!
I shake out the bodily cravings that are invading me and focus on the creature swinging through the trees.
“See the arrow pierce his body,” he says, tilting my hand up until I’m in the right position. I hold my breath and release the arrow, letting it fly. It sails up towards the creature but dips too soon and pierces its leg.
Pontuck moves so fast that all I see is a blur. He whips off his bow, pulls an arrow and lets it fly in one swift fluid motion. It plunges into the creature’s chest, killing him instantly before he can cry out from my failed arrow.
Tears well up in my eyes as the dead body tumbles to the ground. I’ve never killed an animal before and I don’t like the feeling. I’ve killed aliens and tried to kill a dinosaur but all of those had it coming. It was in self-defense.
I am the killer. I am the predator.
Do predators usually cry after a kill?
Pontuck rushes to where it landed and I quickly follow him. He takes a knee in front of the dead body and covers its eyes with his hand.
A tear escapes my eye as I look at the animal’s peaceful face. He looks so harmless.
I get even more emotional when Pontuck starts singing, low and beautiful. I don’t understand the words but they make my chest tight and my throat burn.
It’s a beautiful intimate moment and I feel like I’m intruding until he takes my hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze, pulling me down beside him.
“What was that?” I ask softly when he’s finished singing.
“The song of the hunter,” he explains, as he strokes the animal’s fur. “It must be sung or the creature cannot go to the Land of the Nevatrun.”
“Will you teach it to me?” I ask, watching his hand moving on the smooth fur. If I’m going to be a hunter, I better learn their ways.
“Of course,” he says simply.
I place a hand on the bare skin of his muscular back. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything.”