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In the Sea Sands, good sight and hearing, a solid sense of one’s surroundings, often meant the difference between continuing to draw breath or submitting to a very painful death. One of Baldor’s men, Ark, who’d been blinded by Galok’s mate Kat, had come close to being killed several times since then. He’d regained some of his sight, but not all, and I found myself wondering how much better Fiona could see than him, if at all.
She certainly couldn’t hear any better. At least Ark had his other senses to rely upon, likely further sharpened by his reduced vision.
What did a small, soft new woman like Fiona have?
Me.
The word was so loud in my head it was like someone else had spoken it aloud. I nearly went for a blade to challenge that man even while I came to the understanding that it was only my own thought. A thought so forceful, thunderous with conviction, that it was more sound than mere imagining.
I was almost surprised Fiona did not hear it.
But I suppose I should not have been, given the small and poorly-placed ears still hidden by her long brown hair. She had not started braiding her hair. She had not even tucked the strands behind her ears to give those flat little shells a better chance. My claws twitched, one hand at my side, the other holding the shaft of my spear, as I fought the urge to do it for her.
And I really did have to fight it. Fight the fantasy of letting those shiny strands run over my claws like water before I exposed the curved shapes of her ears to the air. To me.
Fiona was not aware of my internal struggle against my own cursed hands, nor was she likely aware of the oddly tender sort of worry that always started to work its way through my guts when I thought too hard about how weak she really was. She’d turned her back on me and was moving with the other new women towards an opening at the back of this cave. Even with my eyes closed, I could have picked out her footsteps from among all the others. I knew her particular gait by heart, the rhythm of her flat feet in their shells as they hit the floor. Though I had to say, that rhythm seemed a little louder and quicker than usual, her footsteps falling harder than was customary. Like she was pretending they were hammers.
Or she was stomping.
I was not entirely sure why a new woman would stomp. It certainly was not a sign of good humour among Sea Sand men. Frankly, it was something I engaged in myself far too often, especially when I was younger. It was part of the reason I was not known for being particularly stealthy. When I got frustrated (and therefore sloppy) on hunts in my youth, my uncle Taraken used to tell me I’d frighten away an entire herd of dakrival just with the stomping sound of my feet.
I doubted Fiona could frighten away even something as small as a drizelfly.
But still. She stomped.
I followed.
Beyond the first smaller cave was a much larger one. Based on the chatter among the new women, it appeared this had been their sleeping cave during their last visit here. Two very large stone beds stood on either side of the fire, and there was a steaming pool of water that abutted the clear stone wall which allowed in yet more sunlight. Beyond this cave there were small tunnels that led to yet two more sleeping caves beyond, plenty of room for all the new women to spread out and for Grim and Valeria to have a cave to themselves. I stalked through the entire area, tracking along the edges of every wall. I was satisfied that the only way into any of these sleeping caves was through the smallest outer cave where we Sea Sand men would sleep.
Valeria and Grim had retreated to settle into their private cave. Nasrin had done the same thing, claiming the other smaller cave beyond the others, as if she wanted to burrow as far into this mountain, and as far away from Gahn Thaleo, as possible. Zoren and Oxriel returned to the outer cave we would occupy. Tilly went into a little nook that was presumably for pissing and washing up.
Which left only Fiona and me in the largest centre cave.
She appeared to be ignoring me. Something in her silence felt rather pointed. Though I had not a cursed clue as to what it might be pointing at. Brooding on it, I left her there and returned to Oxriel and Zoren.
In this cave where we would sleep there was no steaming pool, but that was fine with all of us, of course. We had our own built in piss-nook with more of that sudsy moss that acted as talka gel out here. Like always, we ignored the structures of the beds, opting to spread the strange, fuzzy hides native to these mountains on the floor, claiming different parts of the cave.
Oxriel attempted to claim the spot that was closest to the crack that led into the short tunnel towards the new women. I snatched up the hides he’d put down, flung them clear across the space, then deposited my own down there instead.
“What are you doing with my hides?” Oxriel asked, retrieving them from where they’d landed precariously close to the fire.
“I am removing them from my sleeping place,” I grunted. To make it even clearer, I sat myself down in the spot on top of the hides. My ears twitched at the sound of Fiona’s voice in the cave beyond. Too muffled to hear the words, but there.
“It is not your sleeping place. It is mine. Hence the fact I put my hides there,” Oxriel countered.
I did not have a good reply to that.
“Well,” I began groping around for a better argument and coming up empty-clawed, “it is mine now.”
“Fine, then,” Oxriel said with false joviality. He approached and then tossed his hides down directly next to my own. “Then we shall share this place.”
“We will not.”
“There is room for both of us.”
“There is not!”
Oxriel leveled his gaze at me, his sight stars usually fairly relaxed and cheerful, but now tight with determination.
