that makes me lose all caution. I am angry at him. Furious. How did we fight so hard to live for so long only for him to give up now? “But why?” I spread all four of my hands and stand in front of him. I know I am shouting, that others will stare, but I cannot help myself. “Why do you want to die when there is so much to live for? There are females. There is food for every belly. There is hope for all of us!”
N’dek looks up at me, his eyes narrowed. “What female will want me? I have only one leg.”
“And they have two arms where you have four! Why would they care how many legs you have?”
He shakes his head and averts his gaze. “It is not the same and you know it. Leave me be.”
I drop my arms and glance around, frustrated. Sure enough, everyone in camp is staring at us. The females watch us, open-mouthed, and R’jaal rubs his jaw, looking displeased. H’nah looks at me too, but I cannot tell what she is thinking.
I look back at N’dek. He stares into the fire, the same scowl he always wears on his face…and I realize he will continue to sit here all day, not caring. He will sit here through the games. He will sit here regardless of whether I am here or not.
K’thar is right. I am not helping him at all. My guilt—that I should have two good legs despite being on the same failed hunt he was—has taken control of me. I have coddled N’dek when I should have let him be. If he wants someone to carry him to his hut, let him ask.
Better yet, let him do it on his own. I cannot be everything to him, because it is not helping him and it is not helping me.
I turn to look at H’nah once more. She glances away, her gaze flicking to T’shen’s mate, her brows furrowing with worry.
This is something I can do that is for myself, I realize. Without another thought, I race out of the camp, heading toward the hut I share with N’dek. My hut. The hut I built hoping that H’nah would pay attention to me. She did not, so I chose to share it with N’dek, as if we were still home in the trees, at our clan’s nest.
And I have carried him to and fro. I have hunted for him. Gotten him food and drink when he did not want to leave his furs. Cared for him and made sure he wanted for nothing, hoping he would shake free from this. But he has not.
He never will as long as I continue to take care of him. K’thar is wise. He has stepped back, has only helped N’dek when asked to, and otherwise treated him the same as he would me. I did not understand this at first, thought he was being cruel. And I felt so guilty for N’dek’s injury that it seemed like it was my duty to help him.
But I am not helping him. I am letting him remain full of sadness. Perhaps the best thing I can do is leave with H’nah.
If I am honest with myself, there is nothing that I want more.
So I enter my hut and grab my leather carrying satchel I use when hunting. I dump everything I can into it as quickly as possible—boots, a heavy cloak, extra tunics, empty waterskins, and a bag of dried kah. When nothing else will fit inside the bulging bag, I put my hunting knife in my belt and grab my spear, then storm back toward the fire. I see T’shen and his mate have turned to leave, their packs on their backs, and I cut through the crowd, heading for the main fire where H’nah still sits.
I stop in front of her and offer my hand.
She looks up at me in surprise. “What? What do you want?”
“We are leaving,” I say. “With T’shen and his mate. We will go to this fruit cave.”
“We will?” Her voice raises into a squeak. “Wait, right now?”
“They are leaving,” I warn her. “Did you want to go or not?” If we go quickly, I will not have to look at N’dek. If I do, I am sure to feel guilt for abandoning him. But I cannot think about that now. I can only think of my mate sitting in front of me.