“And you say I talk too much,” Našobok murmured Tokela’s direction, finding himself treated to a darkening of those freckled-sepia cheeks and another smile.
“Anyway, Anahli would say ‘all is chaos’—only I think she rather likes it that way—but no one seems at all happy and least of all that Mordeleg. He has to stay in stone-chieftain’s dens and didn’t even get to break his fast—which is worse than being tied up if you ask me—and Aunt Inhya wants him out of here and kept growling as much at Uncle Sarinak, which made him all the more growly, and Madoc was s’posed to come looking for you, Tokela, since you’re not there—obviously—but you know how Madoc is, when I found out what he was doing he didn’t want me to come, and since he had something to do before he could come, I figured I would come find Tokela on my own. I’m not sure, though, that they knew you were off rutting Uncle Našobok.”
Finally, Kuli took a breath. Našobok tried to speak.
It was in vain. “Aška thought you were supposed to be in our dens to break your fast, Uncle, but Yeka must have known you were out and about—you know, Yeka just knows things doesn’t he?—and Aška was annoyed because she doesn’t like it when Yeka knows things she doesn’t, and she had baked extra nutcakes but Anahli and me ate them all since you weren’t there and ai, but when Yeka finds out you’ve been rutting Tokela when you were supposed to be breaking your fast with—”
“Kuli,” Tokela broke in, low and quiet. “You won’t make talk about who I was with. Or why.”
Kuli shot a look Tokela’s direction. The flood of talk choked off. And stayed off. Kuli’s gaze held to Tokela’s and, a’io, the ahlóssa seemed worried.
If Našobok hadn’t seen it, he’d never have believed it.
The unnatural silence held. Našobok was almost afraid to break it. “We will come, soon enough. So, Little Fox, fly!”
Kuli tried to rally. “Foxes don’t fly—”
“You will be flying if you don’t go away,” Tokela interrupted.
Kuli shut his mouth. And went.
Našobok watched, befuddled just as speechless, as Kuli scooted over to the trail down the cliff bank and clambered up. The last sight of him was his cinnabar hair, flying in Wind.
Meanwhile, Tokela brushed sand from his thighs as if nothing untoward had happened.
“Tohwakelifitčiluka. What Power-full weapon do you wield to shut that one’s yap?”
“I once stopped giving him stories. He barely lasted four Sunrises.”
Našobok blinked, then laughed. Hard. Tokela frowned, then smiled and joined in. Našobok came over and snugged an arm about him.
“We go. I’ll come as well. Since I was the one who dumped the oversized owl pellet on Galenu’s floor, after all.”
Tokela’s smile hung on—just barely. His eyes took on that remote, forlorn cast that twisted at Našobok’s heart. For he recognised it. Knew it for himself, all too well.
Našobok nuzzled Tokela’s forelock. “And after this is settled? Come to Ilhukaia. Be with me this Moon’s passage as well as last. If you want.” At first a tease, but as he finished speaking Tokela’s smile turned all lovely.
“You want me again? You were only obligated to one Dance once you laid hands on my spear.”
“I laid hands on your spear several times lastDark—or have you already forgotten?” Našobok drawled, and counted coup as the smile blossomed full-bore. “So I think I’m rather entitled to a few more rounds as playmate. We go together, and you come to my ship when Sun begins His descent. I’ll give you a proper tour of my truest love, and…” Našobok trailed off as Tokela turned to walk with him, came to a dead halt.
This time Madoc stood at the entry trail, bristled-stiff in challenge. His eyes flickered with something quite unpleasant as they detailed the arm slung across Tokela’s shoulders, strafed the owner of said arm, then returned to Tokela.
Then Madoc turned on one toe and stalked away.
Našobok felt Tokela lean forwards, slight but unmistakable. From one too-swift heartbeat to the next it was subdued: muscles still quivering, jaw twitching, but impulse conquered.
It was fearsome. No oških should be so… contained.
Našobok dropped his hand to the whipcord small of Tokela’s back, gave a gentle push. “Go after.”
Tokela shook his head, watching as Madoc disappeared into the thick wood.
“Cousin,” Našobok chided. “Life is already too filled with paths left fallow.”
Still, Tokela didn’t move. But his gaze turned to Našobok, unyielding. “You said consequences.”
“I did. But,” Našobok shrugged, “Madoc is young.”
“Not too young to be another who would”—emotion blazed in those eyes, sudden-hot—“own me.”
Not only sliding the knife home, but with a twist. Našobok closed his eyes, hung his head, then shook it and started to circle his arm about Tokela once more.
Tokela sidestepped the intended caress as if it were a brand, and there was a strange glimmer beneath his eyelids as he lowered them, averted his face. Našobok dropped his arm, peered at him, curious.
Tokela’s fists were clenched, his teeth gritted tight enough for the cords to rope and flex along his jaw and neck, and one answer was suddenly clear: do not touch.
Našobok waited for several lengthy heartbeats, then said, “We should go. They will look for us.”
“And why should a wyrhling care—or need—to obey?”
There was the impulse, strong and barely heeled, to grab Tokela by the hair and shake him. Instead Našobok retorted, clipped, “This wyrhling doesn’t care a plague carcass what Mound-chieftain has to say to him. What this wyrhling cares about is what Mordeleg thought to do. I want that one away from here. Away from you.”
Tokela’s gaze met his. Surprise… and something else that lurched Našobok’s heart upwards in his throat. He’d long known the “starry-eyed” one had been truly named—but not like this. Tokela’s gaze
