Page 39 of I Married A Syllen

“The thorns just appeared overnight around your crops?!” I exclaimed, flabbergasted. “Someone didn’t plant them there?”

He shook his head with an amused smile at my shocked expression.

“No. There would have been clear signs had someone planted them. The Great Mother made them rise from the soil.”

“So what did you do?” I asked, fascinated.

“We asked her what we should do. And she answered by having a series of pillie flowers bloom. We followed the trail, which led us to the new field that we could plow instead. And we complied.”

I frowned, struggling to reconcile that solution to the other tribe’s issue.

“But why didn’t Etreya lead the other tribe to that new field? That one was yours, and you had already started the work on it.”

He gave me an indulgent smile.

“Because the other field would have been too far for them, but it was close for us as it was simply on the opposite side of the village from the original field,” he explained.

I pursed my lips as I nodded slowly. “Fair point,” I conceded. “But it still feels a little unfair that you had done all that work only for someone else to reap the benefit, while you had to start all over again.”

“That’s correct. But the Ungaro Tribe helped us replant, and they shared some of our previous crops with us until our new field started producing. This way, everyone ate and thrived until they could go back to their own farms,” he said in a factual manner.

“It’s quite impressive that you should all cooperate that way,” I said with admiration.

“Why impressive? It’s common sense. Had our roles been reversed, we would have been grateful for their cooperation.”

“Unfortunately, not enough people—or species—think that way,” I said sheepishly. “People can be excessively protective of what they consider their property, even when they’re hoarding excess while others suffer from scarcity. But what about your own family? Tell me about your parents and siblings, if you have any.”

The air of longing that descended over his features hit me right in the feels. The absence of sorrow reassured me that it wasn’t a sense of loss that prompted that reaction.

“Both my parents are still dormant,” he said wistfully. “So is my brother, Zailis. I have a sister, Kaya, who moved to the Ungaro Tribe to be with her mate. She’s a healer. My mother is a huntress, and one of our best. She trained Nym in both hunting and combat. My father is a farmer and gardener. I apologize in advance for how much he will talk your ears off inquiring about the exotic plants you have encountered in your travels.”

I burst out laughing at the overly dramatic way he spoke that sentence before heaving a long-suffering sigh.

“No need to apologize! I look forward to having such conversations,” I said with excitement. “When I start talking about plants, I don’t know when to stop. Before long, you will be grateful to be able to dump me on your father when you get fed up with me babbling nonstop about the wonderful flora of this world.”

He chuckled.

“There won’t be any dumping required. I promise you, Shevraya, you will be the one begging me to rescue you from him,” he said with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “As for Vailig, he’s a sculptor and potter. He always had incredible artistic talents. I was terrible at it. So I followed Ma around growing up, even when she would chastise me that I was too young to learn to hunt.”

My chest warmed as I pictured a miniature version of him, half tripping over his tail as he hounded his mother relentlessly.

“I cannot wait to awaken them,” he said, the intense longing seeping back into his voice.

“Hopefully, we can resolve this matter swiftly, and you can be reunited,” I said.

“Soon, I hope. Are you sated, or do you require more sustenance?” he asked, pointing with his chin at the now empty shell in front of me.

“I’m good!” I said, sounding semi-horrified at the thought of taking another bite while rubbing my distended belly from overindulging. “In truth, I ate way too much. But it was so good, I couldn’t stop.”

He gave me a happy smile.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, my mate.”

To my surprise, he reached for the smaller tops of the gourds that he had left aside, then squashed them inside my empty shell, coating its inside with the gooey substance. Once done, he stacked the skins of the bottom part of the gourds on one side of each of the shells before closing it.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“The cream at the top of the kemi turns into a very strong acid when it comes into contact with specific materials,” he explained while repeating the process with his own shell. “It softens the shells and infuses them with sweet flavors.”