“Why do you insist on painting Murkovin?” Sash asks.
“I like subject matter that’s interesting to look at. The Murkovin are definitely interesting.”
“They’re hideous,” she says.
I chuckle at her comment. “We have a saying on Earth. ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’”
“Does that mean you think they’re beautiful?” she asks, squeezing my shoulders.
“Not at all. But they are interesting to look at.”
“Please don’t hang that up in our habitat,” she says firmly. “Even in here.”
“Don’t worry,” I reply. “I wasn’t planning to. But I do want to show you something that I hope we can hang up.”
I lay my paintbrush on the easel tray, stand from my stool, and walk across the studio. Leaning against the far wall is a sheet-covered steel picture frame that Wren made for me. On the canvas inside the frame is the first full-color painting I’ve finished since being in Krymzyn. Turning to Sash, I grab the sheet with one hand.
“Ready?”
“You finished it?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.
“A couple of morrows ago. I just wanted to live with it for a while before showing it to you.”
“I’m ready,” she says.
With an imaginary drum roll in my head—I’d do it out loud, but it wouldn’t have any meaning to Sash—I lift the sheet off the painting. Sash’s eyes widen and the corners of her lips turn up in a smile. Focused on the canvas, she walks across the room to where I’m standing.
The painting of Sash kneeling beside Ovin’s tree with her head bowed, one hand resting on the bark of the trunk, the other hand clutching a spear by her side, is deeply evocative to me. In my opinion, it’s the most beautiful painting I’ve ever created, probably because of how I feel about the subject matter.
When Sash reaches me, she kneels in front of the painting. Her eyes study the painstaking detail I put into the blades of grass, the gray billows overhead, and every twig and leaf growing from the branches of the tree. The lighting in the painting intentionally draws the viewer’s focus to Sash. At least a full minute passes while she examines my portrayal of her.
“Chase, it’s . . .” She pauses and shakes her head. “It’s amazing.”
“I really hope you like it,” I say.
“More than I have words to express. I like seeing the way you see me.”
“That makes me happy,” I reply. “I know things don’t look the same to you as they do to me.”
She stands up and turns to me. “The way you see things is beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I say. “If you don’t mind, I was hoping we could hang this in the empty space between the tunnel entrance and the door to my studio. That way, we can see it from across the room when we’re in bed.”
“That’s a perfect place for it. I’ll talk to a Construct on the morrow about securing mounts in the wall for the frame.” She reaches her arms around me and pulls me to her. “Thank you for making it for us,” she says softly in my ear.
“You never need to thank me for painting. It’s one of the things I love most in life.”
“I know it is.” We silently stand in each other’s arms for several moments. “Should we still go for a walk?” she asks, leaning back from me.
“Absolutely,” I answer.
“Let me have some sap first.”
“Tell me when you’re ready,” I say.
She steps back and looks at the painting again. I can see by the appreciative glow in her amber eyes how much she truly likes it. When she walks to the main cavern, I return my attention to the canvas. I wonder if I’ll always see things in Krymzyn the way they would look on Earth, or if my perception of this world will eventually change to the way it actually exists here.
“Darkness!” Sash shouts from the other room, startling me out of thought.
I rush to the main cavern. “Where to?”
I already know what her answer will be, but I always like to confirm where we’re going. For the past few weeks, Darkness has been falling roughly once every morrow and a half. It usually lasts about two hours. That gives Sash enough time to take sap from three trees per Darkness while I stand watch over each location from a nearby hill. We’ve been working in a consistent pattern through her hunting region to make sure all the trees contribute equally.
“The Empty Hill,” she replies. “It’s the turn of Ovin’s tree to provide for us.”
After hurrying to the habitat entrance, we stop by the hooks on the wall. Sash takes down three packs of stakes, slings them over her shoulder, and we both grab our spears. I follow her through the tunnel until we burst outside. Since Sash is usually aware of Darkness several minutes before it falls, the sky is still blanketed by dormant clouds.
We sprint out of the gorge in front of our habitat, cut into the broader valley, and surge into beams at the same time. With Sash leading our way, we navigate to the Empty Hill. As we slide to a stop on the crest, rain begins to pour from a darkening, tumultuous sky. Sash drops two of the three packs of stakes to the ground and charges straight down the hill towards the awakened tree.
She effortlessly bounds, twists, and leaps through the violent limbs. In almost no time, all seven stakes are spiked into the bark and filling with sap. Using the shaft of her spear, she protects the stakes from branches that slam down at her from above. She’s meticulous in
