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“What?” Fiona asked, balking. “No!”
By now, Tilly and Nasrin had appeared behind her. Unlike Fiona, their complexions were fairly uniform across their bodies, Tilly’s a rich dark brown and Nasrin’s lighter. Fiona was the only one whose hide had the dark, swirling marks upon it. She was wearing a sleeveless tunic now, the flowers and other shapes visible along her arms. Flowers so much like the one painted on the piece of pay-pur I held...
The three new women came to join our group. After glancing at the cards held by Vaxilkai and the others, they began to rapidly redistribute them among us males. Fiona tried to reach for the flower one I held, but I yanked it out of reach.
She gave me a questioning look, then glanced at the pay-pur in my claws.
“Oh! That’s alright, actually. You’ve already got yours.”
“I do?”
“Yeah.” She moved her head in the up-and-down yes motion typical among her kind. “See? That’s your name. Or, at least, how I assumed it would be spelled with these kinds of letters. It says, ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Dalk.’”
I stared down at the pay-pur, one of my claws tracing the symbols there.
“This is my name? Did you write it?”
I looked at her intently, noticing a slight flush of colour creep up her neck into her cheeks.
“Well, yes. I did.”
I inhaled sharply through my nose.
“But I helped make them for the others, too!” she said quickly. “I also made Oxriel’s. And cards for other people in the tribe.”
I sent Oxriel a stare so hateful and heated he physically flinched.
“What are they for?” Bariok asked, turning his card this way and that, examining the odd shape of it from all sides.
“They’re for Valentine’s Day,” Tilly answered cheerfully.
“Valentine’s Day is all about love and friendship,” Nasrin added.
Fiona moved her head up and down again.
“Exactly. You give cards and sweets to people you care about. We don’t have any chockies, though. At least, not on Valeria’s shuttle.”
“What is the shape meant to be, if not a poison leaf?” I asked.
“It’s... it’s a heart.”
My tail snapped in surprise.
“This does not look anything like a heart,” I protested.
“You guys didn’t have any kind of scanning tech before we got here. How do you even know what a heart looks like?” she countered, placing her small hands on her prettily curved hips.
“I have seen them,” I answered honestly. “On the battlefield.”
Her face drained of colour. It was maddening, trying to figure out what all the different shades of her meant.
“Please don’t tell me you’re the one who ripped them out,” she said weakly.
I swished my tail, trying to appear nonchalant but nonetheless proud of my achievements, proud that I was able to tell her I was a strong male, a victorious male, one who could pull out another man’s organs if I so wished.
“It has been known to happen,” I replied.
“Good grief,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “OK, well, these are supposed to represent hearts. For love and affection. Not battle.”
