“What do you See, Eyes of Stars?” he murmured, realising the horsetalker inflection even as he uttered it.
“Everything.” A bare whisper, the like language parried quick as a spear. Then another shiver and louder, in dawnLands talk, Tokela murmured, “Nothing. Rain. Dark.”
“Mmm.” Našobok started to rub the hide over Tokela’s shoulders, since it was obvious Tokela’d no interest in doing so. “Sometimes on River, if She’s flat calm and Sky is clear, you feel as if you’re swimming in Stars.”
“Really?” So small, the voice. So remote.
Našobok focused on scouring Tokela’s backbone. “Really. All you see is deep black and pinpoints of light, all you hear is water skimming against the hull. You’re flying in indigo dark, hung in another… now.”
“Another now. I think I’d like that.”
Našobok tipped Tokela’s chin, but those eyes evaded his, vulnerability skidding behind a cool, thick skim. They gleamed in the dark—no Seeing but nightsight, fled of the random flits and sparks like… like…
Stars. Stars and clouds filled with Rain, and the deep, wild indigo of the dark Mare’s belly over us, never-ending…
All of it left Našobok hollowed and breathless and twisted—and, somehow, in need of cover. Ducking his head, Našobok knelt and began to dry Tokela’s ankles and feet.
Tokela submitted to the attentions. Then, with a sudden shy grin, “I like that, too. I didn’t think…”
Našobok smoothed his fingers over one instep, gave an upwards smirk at what was stirring, obvious response to the caress, amidst the sparse, dark fur conjoining Tokela’s thighs.
“I never thought those two things would ever be that connected.”
Regaining both his feet and his equilibrium, Našobok laughed. “At your age, everything’s connected to your rudder.”
Grinning wider, Tokela scratched behind one ear. Našobok traced one indigo-Marked cheek then the other, and once more Tokela’s eyes chased away. This time, however, from self-conscious delight. Another chuckle rumbling in his chest, Našobok threw the hide over his own head and started in on his sodden hair.
Soothing, familiar: the tiny hisses of their clothes dripping, of River lapping against the wood hull. Then another soft rhythm, first in question, then increasing both pace and volume. Našobok closed his eyes with a smile. The muted beat of the drum—and the hands coaxing it—were as familiar to Našobok as his own heartbeat.
“Is it Munro?” Tokela moved across the small hold to the map hung upon the back wall. River, from Her starting place amongst the Rumbling Ice Mountains, and down to Sea.
“A’io.” Našobok slung the hide over the drying line and grabbed up a blanket. He didn’t miss Tokela’s eyes, hungry upon the charts scattered and piled across the table beneath the hanging map—or his hands clasped behind his back.
“Riverwalkers… sketch.”
“I’m not very good at it, to Munro’s chagrin. Says it’s my upbringing.” Našobok reached over and twitched at one of the charts. “This one is of the estuaries downRiver. Where River folds into Sea. They chart has depths and soundings and… it’s all right, you can touch it. It’s meant to be touched.”
Though perhaps not with the reverence that Tokela gave it, light fingers a-quiver, tracing the lines. “They wouldn’t let you, either.”
“Wouldn’t let me…? Huh. Sketch, you mean. Well, you know our birthing-tribe.” Našobok couldn’t help the quirk of brow. “Do you sketch, then?”
Tokela’s eyes were narrowed, gauging. “Sometimes.”
“Then you should make more talk with Munro. I think he tires of his wyrhmates’s clumsiness with such things.”
Still stroking the chart, Tokela fell silent. There was tension beneath, rising, and Našobok knew why. He hadn’t answered the asking:
Take me with you.
It wasn’t a journey Našobok intended to make thisdark. He needed rest. He needed contemplation.
He needed to decide what it had meant when Tokela had said Take me with you and he’d found himself, against any logic or sense, thinking Of course I will.
So Našobok curled close to Tokela, wrapping both arms snug. Against his forearms, slender ribs expanded as Našobok snaked one hand around and down; a quick breath escaped in a decided whimper as Našobok took him in hand and nuzzled the damp hair from Tokela’s nape.
Nipped, and said, “Come to my furs.”
Tokela wasn’t the only one practiced in evasion’s Dance.
THIS WAS how an elder fem with the joint-ill must feel.
Anahli’s hands and shoulders ached. Her eyes burned and wouldn’t stop weeping. Her apron—thankfully it was an apron, and not her leathers!—smelled abominably. Her hands stung, and she’d several shallow cuts where the obsidian had decided cutting fishKin-flesh wasn’t enough; that ša wanted Anahli-flesh as well.
She never wanted to eat silvers ever again, much less have to spend another miserable halfDark in the lean-tos, fileting and salting, or hanging the catch for Smoke’s care. And there were rumours of another run coming upRiver!
Surely she wasn’t the only one who hoped it would wait until after First Running’s final Dark, with a great bonFire to greet Summering’s beginnings. Even if she’d absolutely no longings towards Dancing. All she wanted was a hot soak and several darks’ worth of sleep.
Unfortunately, the plethora of hot pools fed by a caldera were a ride of three Suns distant. At least there were bathing dens here, hide and bough wikupehs set up beside River, steam escaping the corners, shared bloodwood tubs warmed by gleaming-stones. As Anahli headed towards them, Rain felt good upon her upturned face, cool blessing upon sooty, weepy eyelids.
The oških fems had decided to forgive her transgressions of Dance, making friendly talk with her in the lean-tos instead of radiating chill and silent disapproval. Čayku had even lent her the apron, and made a few promises of the fun they’d have in the baths later…
Soft, her dam would say. Hot water is for wintering; summerings are spent on the plain, with no real abundance of water, let alone heated!
All right then, soft, but Anahli craved hot water. Particularly thisnow, in the damp and chill of dawnLands, with bits of fishKin under her fingernails.
First, she had to retrieve a few things she’d left in her family’s tipo. It
