is the way the rock normally looks here, and it is cool) now turned a dark sepia-purple by the coffee. “You just wasted coffee!” And sugar. And creamer.
“It was already a waste. It tasted foul. I’m appalled on water’s behalf that you tainted it with that swill.”
Something not-nice is swirling up inside me. Disgust at the sheer carelessness, the sheer waste of a precious drink is part of it. And I’m not just thinking this because it’s coffee, although this stuff is precious here. But it’s more than that. Bash tossing out the drink right in front of me… well, it feels like a rejection. He doesn’t have to like the drink, but he doesn’t have to be rude about it either. “You don’t just throw it out. I would have drunk it—yours AND mine.” My eyes are getting hot. My glare snaps up to his rapidly melting scowl. “Damn it, Bash, that wasn’t nice.” I throw my hand out. “And it’s not like we can run to the store to buy more. I guess your people grabbed a bunch of it from Earth when they visited, but it’s still finite. It’s rationed until we can get a decent crop here on this planet. People—your people as well as my people—are bending themselves backwards trying to grow this stuff for us. Because they know how much it means to us and they care.” I try to cut him down with a look. “You appreciate hard work and not wasting time and supplies? Well, that—” I stab my finger in the direction he dumped our drinks, “—takes a lot of time and back-breaking work to plant, and harvest, and process. Out here, that stuff is worth more than gold!”
I’m not imagining it that Bash’s normally bullish expression has formed into something less disapproving and dominating. That it’s softened into something more… maybe contrite.
Since I’m sharing, I share one last thing. “And you tossing it away felt like you threw away a gift. You’ve hurt my feelings.”
Something flashes across his expression, too quick for me to be sure. But I think it’s at least a little regret.
When he doesn’t say anything though, I shake my head at him, turn around, and walk away.
CHAPTER 10
BASH
Isla turns on her heel, abandoning me with her words.
Everyone scrambles in extraordinary promptitude to flee from the warpath that I create after that. Soon, everyone is applying themselves diligently to work. It’s so settled after I get done bellowing until there’s charred marks on the stone ground from where I blew fire as I shouted at females, Rakhii, and hobs. It’d almost be worth the disruption of every morning if it meant peace like this for the rest of the shift.
Yet I’m unhappy. I regret that I offended Isla.
When we’re working across from each other again, I growl at her, but she doesn’t hasten to join me. No, she glares at me. She glares at me all the day long.
And, I admit, with fair reason. I have wronged her.
Her hot anger is better than a Gryfala’s cold, punishing withholdment.
When I crook the end of my tail at her, she does not come near. When I glare back at her, she makes a show of being very involved in her work. Not so involved that she can’t send me stares that speak to some tortures she wishes me to undergo, but all the same, she makes a show of studiously gathering and collecting stone. Rather than join me, she works alone and maintains the loudest silence I’ve yet been subjected to in my lifespan.
Staying several lengths away from her, I allow her space to simmer. But I stay in her orbit. Even cross with me, she is still strangely companionable. When I raise a pickaxe and bring it crashing down on rock, I feel her stare like claws raking down my back. I crave it, even if I shouldn’t.
Part of me wants to stalk up to her and order her to forgive me. I also desire to keep my ears though. She’s reminding me of a Rakhii female, and if I’m right, should I be fool enough to corner her and force her into interacting with me, she’ll let loose a fury that will render me deaf. So I keep our distance, even when it means I see her back at the end of the workday without her calling my name and waving her enthusiastic goodbye.
“ISLA!” I bellow.
Nearly all the humans drop to the ground. (Either from my unexpected