Great, now I’m missing him. I ignore the lonely pang that shoots through me and hoist another basket as near my protruding belly as I can. The baby’s unusually active today, constantly thumping and moving around. I give my belly a little pat and then reach into the basket. “I just worry, you know? I worry that…well, it’s like how we got here. Everything was fine and normal, and then I woke up and my world changed. Kidnapped by aliens and everything that was familiar torn away from me.” I swallow hard. “I…guess I’m worried about that happening again. About getting too comfortable, too happy, and then everything goes to hell once more.”
Because now? I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I’ve got the most wonderful mate, and a baby on the way, and most days I’m so happy I don’t even mind that there’s no chocolate or toilet paper or shampoo on the ice planet. I can do without those as long as I have Cashol and my baby.
If I lose them…
I shake my head to clear the dark thoughts. “Any luck on matching discs?”
“Nada, amigo.”
“Keep looking. There’s a few more baskets over in the corner.”
“I’m on it,” she says, and gets to her feet. “As for the worry? It’s funny, but I don’t worry anymore.”
I pick through my basket idly. “No?”
“Nope. I figure that I’ve been kidnapped by aliens and dropped halfway across the galaxy to find the one person that’s perfect for me, so there’s got to be a master plan at work.” She begins to hum a little tune and then pauses. “We’ve got to trust that the worst is over, you know? All the storm clouds are behind us and there’s nothing but blue skies ahead.”
I smile to hear her say that. Maybe she’s right. Maybe there are nothing but good things from this point on. Except…I don’t point out that the skies here are rarely blue and are most often covered with a gray, wintry fog.
Let her have enough optimism for the both of us.
4
CASHOL
The dvisti herd peacefully grazing in the valley is completely unaware of my presence. I’m downwind of them and Haeden’s nearby, up on a ledge. He has the onerous task this day of rubbing his skin with dung to disguise his smell, and they have yet to notice him. It will be my turn for the next herd.
We had originally planned to go our separate ways to hunt but Haeden does not want to be away from his new mate. I do not wish to be away from Meh-gan’s side as well, and so we devise a plan to attack a herd and bring back much dvisti meat without spending handfuls of days away.
So we have spent several days digging pits. Many, many pits. Long pits. Deep pits with spear-heads attached to stakes. It snows endlessly, and we spend half the day re-digging out our trenches. The weather is bad and only growing worse, and if this does not work, we will be spending even more days afield.
It is a risk, but we are willing to try it.
The call of a scythe-beak cuts through the air and I look over at Haeden. He makes the strange, cutting sound again, a hand to his mouth. I nod and respond with the same. It is time.
The dvisti graze on, unaware of our presence.
Then, Haeden gives a blood-curdling yell, jumping down from his perch. He waves his spear, screaming as he rushes toward the startled herd. They panic and surge in the opposite direction, toward me.
I jump as well, bellowing, and chase after them as they switch directions once more. Now the herd has nowhere to go but towards our pit traps. They charge toward the pits, invisible against the snowy drifts, and one bellows as it goes down into the hole. Another sinks after it, and there is a snap of bone. Three more dvisti bray and skirt wide, but several more of the herd end up in the traps, and Haeden and I jog toward them, pleased.
“How many did we get?” I ask as we meet up, spears in hand. The day’s work is just beginning - we will need to kill any trapped dvisti that did not snap their necks. We will need to pull the carcass from the pit, cut the throat to bleed it, and then dress it. Our sleds wait against a nearby cliff, and from there, we will ferry our kills to a cache.
Then, we will clean ourselves off and do it all over again.
Haeden grunts, staring ahead. “Six, maybe seven. Not enough.”
“There is more time,” I tell him. “And more herds.” I am pleased, though. This is a good deal of meat, and the tribe needs more.
“And more pits to be dug,” he says, and then reaches over and smears his dung-covered arm against mine. “You get to be upwind next time.”
I jog away from him, chuckling. “That is fine. My Meh-gan is not here to smell my stink. I can be as filthy as I want for the next handful of days.”
Haeden is silent. That is not unusual, though, and we both set to work. After a short time, the dvisti are slain and dragged out of the pit, and we begin to dress the seven carcasses. One is puny and will not provide much food, but the others are fat and healthy. I think of my Meh-gan. Has she found the little presents I have been busy hiding for her? Humans place great emphasis on gifts, and so I have tried to think about what would please her—
“What is it like?”
Eh? I look up from the dvisti belly that I am currently arm-deep in, removing the offal. “What is what like?”
Haeden doesn’t look at me. He is equally busy, but I wonder if it is something more. “Your mate,” he says after a long moment. “The kit. Have things changed now that her belly grows?”