his son.
"I have enough food for all of us," I say as they are seated.
R'ven beams at me, as if I am the kindest male she has ever seen. She has such a giving, understanding heart, this female. This male stole her away and all she can think of is that he and his son need caring for. Her reaction just adds to my shame. In her eyes, we are all people. We are not separated by clan. The hyoo-mans do not care about the size of our horns, and they do not protest when they are mated to Strong Arm or Tall Horn. They are glad to have a mate, and glad to have a people. I think of the group back on the beach. There are three clans, all of us very different, and then there are the ones that came from the stars. There are the hyoo-mans and the sa-khui tribe. There is even a golden male who turns into a winged creature called a “dragon.”
There are so many different peoples, and all are welcome. Why not outcasts? We are no longer on the island, as R'ven has pointed out. The rules of our ancestors do not apply.
I think of my proving, and how in the eyes of my tribe, I am not a hunter. It has affected me and bothered me all these turns of the seasons, and for what? So I can hunt as a “true” male? It will not make me catch fish faster, or hunt dvisti any quicker than I already do. Game will not flock to my traps simply because they know I am a true hunter.
It is just another rule, one that should have no meaning in this new world we find ourselves in.
I pull out the pouch of rations and take out several strips of dried meat, offering them to R'ven first and then the kit. I can hear the father's stomach growl as the scent of the food nears him, but he settles the boy in his lap and makes sure that his child eats before taking a portion for himself. I save the food for them, keeping none for myself. "I do not have shrimp for the tea," I tell them. "But I do have leaves."
"Any tea would be wonderful," R'ven says, voice sweet.
I add my tea leaves to the pouch heating over the fire, stirring with a finger. Not quite hot yet. I glance over at the kit, who is devouring strips of dried fish with happy smacks of his lips. "He is a fine son," I say to the stranger. "What is he called?"
The father touches the boy's mane, stroking it back from his face, a thoughtful expression on his features. "He is Pak. I am called Juth."
I hide my wince.
"Those are great names," R'ven gushes in her hyoo-man tongue. "Tell them they're welcome to stay by the fire with us as long as they don't put it out." She smiles at them both. "Pak and Juth."
The male flashes an uneasy look at me. No doubt he has picked up something from R'ven's cheery tone and does not understand. Their names are not honored ones. If they were, they would be J'th or J'uth, P'akh or P'kh. Their names have no honorable cadence, and it is just another way that they are marked as different.
R'ven does not see this, though, and so I try not to, also. I dip the carved cup I use for traveling into the tea, and then offer it to R'ven, who takes it and sips the hot liquid, then offers it to the kit. The boy drinks with both hands on the cup and wrinkles his small nose, as if he has never had a warm drink before and does not know what to make of it. He offers it to his father, who shakes his head.
When R'ven takes the cup again and gives me an impatient look, I speak. "R'ven says you have good names. Where is your mate?"
The male called Juth points at R'ven.
R'ven coughs and sputters, even as I jump to my feet, hot jealousy surging through me. "You resonated?"
"What?" R'ven chokes, shaking her head. "No!"
"She is mine," Juth states with a stubborn look on his face. "The law of the beach states that I can claim whatever washes up."
I stop myself from snarling. Barely. "She is not yours to claim."
"That's right," R'ven says. "You tell him." She gives Juth an indignant look. "To think I stuck up