But why care what I think of you? How could my opinion matter, except to satisfy your own pride and vanity?
“Some,” I say. I turn and look into your face, one side lit by the cool half-light of evening, the other glowing warm from the light of the fire. In your eyes there is a spark of something, like an ember just before it catches the kindling and everything bursts into flame. “Lo told me enough.”
“I doubt that,” you say. “It’s a complicated story.”
I notice for the first time that you are dressed in clothing reserved for the highest occasions. I would almost believe you were trying to make a good impression, but who could you be hoping to impress? Instead of your usual ill-fitting parka, you wear a long tunic of sealskin, cut to fit the lines of your body perfectly. I assume this is a new garment, constructed from the pelts brought by Pek. The tunic has a hood that lies open across your back, your long hair spilling into it. Leather ties lace up the neckline at your throat, but you’ve left it open. Around your neck, glowing like snow in the firelight, is the pendant, so similar to the one Lo showed me today. You notice my gaze and your fingers trace across it. “Do you recognize it?”
“I do. Are they identical?”
“This one is ivory. The one Lo wears is bone.”
Of course, I think. Bone is porous, rough, and common. Ivory is lustrous, smooth, and strong.
If Lo is to have a pendant of bone, you must have one of ivory.
A sigh comes from over my shoulder and I only just remember that Shava is still beside me. “Do you think we will go hunting for hives again tomorrow, Kol?”
I hesitate to answer. I would love to go. I would love to go alone.
Before I can construct the best reply, Shava takes advantage of my silence. She wants to talk about bees. “Mya, have you ever had the chance to taste Kol’s honey?”
Once again, I’m amazed by Shava’s boldness.
“I regret that I have not,” you answer. “I had the chance once. But I was foolish, and I didn’t appreciate the value of the offer that was being made.”
My eyes lock onto yours. You stare back at me, and your lips curl just a bit.
“Sometimes I let my pride get in my way. I fail to thank someone who saved my clan from a predator, or saved my sister from drowning in dark, icy water. Or I refuse a gift of honey that was offered in the spirit of friendship.”
“That’s too bad,” Shava says. “I’ve tasted it myself, so I know what you missed. Such a shame. After all, what would life be without honey?” She giggles.
“Please excuse me,” you say. Dropping your eyes, you hurry away, melting into the crowd in the direction of the huts.
“Well, she’s quite rude,” Shava says.
I watch you as you make your way to the edge of the crowd.
“She clearly doesn’t like you very well,” Shava adds, and as she says these words, you flick one quick glance over your shoulder.
And I see it: the ember that had been glowing in your eyes is ablaze.
EIGHTEEN
I watch you until the door of your hut pulls back and then falls shut behind you again. When I shoot a quick glance at Shava, I find her staring at me as if she intends to read my thoughts. “I’d like to find my brother Kesh,” I say. I don’t really need to see Kesh, but I’m looking for an excuse to get away. I move to step around Shava, but she perks up instantly.
“That sounds wonderful. Let’s go.”
I want to tell her I have something personal to discuss with Kesh, but her face gives away some hidden awareness of my plan. She smiles, but behind her docile features I see an edge of cunning—a mental rehearsal of her response should I suggest that she stay here. Something in that contrived innocence seems pitiful—I see her suddenly as someone well aware of her status as a person others are frequently trying to avoid. Maybe it’s because you’ve made me feel less than welcome myself at times, but I can’t help but sympathize with her a bit. “This way,” I say. I turn and head toward the musicians in their place by the entrance to the kitchen. I almost offer my arm to Shava, but think better of it. I’m sure she needs no assistance in keeping up.
Kesh stops playing when he sees me approaching. He clambers to his feet to look over my shoulder. “Shava—I haven’t spoken to her since she came back,” he says, a bit too loud.
I’d forgotten. Shava and Kesh had once been close. They’d played together as children and had been almost inseparable until she fell for Pek.
“I’m so happy to see you,” he says, sliding over to make room for her to sit beside him on the flat stone he occupies near the hearth.
“I’m so happy you still play the flute,” Shava answers. “I wish I could play.”
“I could show you. . . .”