And yet…he has left me. So I do not know him at all, and it makes me furious. Does he think I like being angry all the time? Or sad? I want to be normal. I want to be happy. I need his help to regain my grip on happiness. His absence feels all wrong. It has since the moment he left me.

I am stomping now, I realize, as I trudge through the snow. Stomping because thinking about everything makes me feel angry, frustrated, and helpless all at once. My future is in his grip and he will not even talk to me, I grumble to myself as I move through the path forged in the snow. At least his trail is easy to follow. There has been no new snowfall, and the suns have even peeked out from behind the thick cloud cover, letting the gouge Hemalo has carved into the hip-deep snow crust over. I have seen no sign of him yet, but I suspect I am close. The trail grows fresher by the hour.

I pause and inhale the cold air, glancing around. The trail merges with another trail a short distance away, which is puzzling. Did he meet another hunter? But everyone was back at the vee-lage, so that cannot be it. Perhaps he ran across a dvisti and went after it? But the trails are wrong. It is almost as if someone saw Hemalo’s trail and then began to follow him. Strange.

The nearest hunter cave is in the next valley, very close to where I am. Perhaps he went there. I move a little faster, getting out my bone knife, just in case.

A moment later, I see a flash of blue up ahead. It is no more than a dot in the distance, but I recognize the shade of Hemalo’s skin. Aha. Encouraged, I walk faster, my khui beginning a loud, pleasant song at the realization that my mate is close. I try to think of the words to say to him now that I have caught him. Before I left, Claire advised me to be calm, to tell him my thoughts without being accusing. I have had long hours to think of what to say, but everything I planned has disappeared from my mind.

All I can think is ‘you left me.’ You left me.

The angry fire burning in my belly once more, I storm forward, but as I do, I notice that the blue mound in the distance is not moving forward. I grow closer to it with every step. It also does not look as tall as Hemalo, though that is the dusky blue of his skin. Is he…sitting?

The snow moves near him as I approach, and I realize he is not alone a moment before the smell of metlak touches my nostrils. The panic I have been fighting surges inside me, fiercer than any rage. I run forward, screaming, brandishing my knife.

The metlak crouching near him in the snow rises, tall and impossibly thin. It holds a rock in one hand, the surface glossy with frozen blood. A second shape rises—another metlak. It is holding Hemalo’s bag.

Hemalo does not move. He lies on the snow, completely still.

Fear shivers through me, and I bellow louder, surging forward.

He cannot be dead.

He cannot.

I choke back my grief and slash wildly at the air. “Get away from him!” I stand over my fallen mate, brandishing my knife. I want to check him to see if he is breathing, but I cannot take my eyes off of the two wild creatures. I snag one of the straps on his pack and jerk it toward me, out of the grip of the metlak’s hands.

The awful, smelly creatures shy back a few steps, hissing at me. The smaller one crouches low again, moving awkwardly, and reaches for the bag.

I jerk it out of reach and slash at the other one. Its face is covered in matted fur, and one round eye glares balefully at me as it hoots and hisses a warning. I hiss back and slash at it again. “Leave! He is mine!”

They creep backward a few steps, and then hover, waiting. My fear and rage boils through me, and I storm forward, slashing at the air. “Leave this place! Go!”

When I lunge forward, the bigger one-eyed metlak swipes at me with his claws, and I duck away. They keep eyeing Hemalo’s pack, and it is clear to me they do not want to leave without it…or without Hemalo. The big one claws at me again. I move automatically, jerking my knife downward and connect with flesh and bone and fur. My blade bounces off its arm, and blood sprays into the snow, the foul scent of the metlak growing stronger.

The creature howls in pain, and they both scamper away, abandoning us and the pack.

I gasp for breath, excited and terrified all at once. “Hemalo?” I crouch low by him, scanning the snow even as I touch his neck, looking for a pulse.

It is there, and I sob with relief. Good. Very good. I stroke his cheek and then get back to my feet, cautious. Where there is one metlak, there are always more, and glance around, looking for others. When a few moments pass and no new creatures arrive to attack us, I swing my gaze back to the two attackers. They are far away now, still loping across the snow at full speed. They will not return. Not soon. They are cowardly creatures, but these two were bolder than most.

I must get Hemalo out of here before they return with more. I wipe my now-bloody knife off on my tunic and then return it to its sheath before kneeling at Hemalo’s side once more. I examine his face, touching his cheek and tracing over his skin. There is a large, bloody wound in his mane where they struck him with the rock, and a few claw marks on his arms and shoulders where they grabbed at his pack, but he is otherwise unharmed. I am so relieved. I touch his face again, brushing my fingers over his lips. “I have you,” I whisper. “Do not worry.”

I pull my pack apart, looking for my extra leggings. When I find them, I tear them apart at the seams and then use the long strips of leather to bind his head wound tightly. It does not look grievous, but I worry that the healer is not here to fix it. “I cannot lose you, too,” I tell him. “So you do not get to die on me.”

Hemalo makes no answer, not that I expected one.

I check him over for wounds one more time. The scratches are ugly but not deep, and icing over already. I need to get him to a warm fire, shelter, and clean the filth out of the cuts. At least the hunter cave is close. There, I can take care of my mate.

“You are lucky you did not resonate to one of the puny humans,” I tell his unconscious body as I put our packs back together and bundle them into one large burden that I sling over my shoulder. Then I slide an arm under Hemalo’s back and under his legs and lift him into the air, carrying him as I would a child. He is bulky, but not too heavy for me, and I am heartened when his khui begins to sing loudly to mine.

Soon, I tell it.

The winds grow blustery by the time I get to the cave, dark clouds on the horizon. A storm will be rolling in overnight, which means more snow and more bone-chillingly cold weather. The cave is dark and reeks of metlak, which makes me worry. I set Hemalo down in the entrance and then creep inside with my knife to investigate, but all is quiet inside. If the metlaks were here, they are gone now. I return to the fire pit and build a roaring fire quickly, and then check to make sure there is enough fuel to last several days if necessary. I do not want to go chasing down frozen dvisti dung if there is a snowstorm. Luckily, the cave is well stocked, if a mess. It is clear to me that the metlaks came inside and tore through the supplies here. They left the furs and fuel alone, but the stored food has been demolished, the small baskets upturned and the contents spilled everywhere. There is metlak scat in the far corner of the double-cave, and it stinks almost as much as a metlak does. Faugh.

It looks like I will be spending the next several hours cleaning up their mess. I rub a hand under my nose as if that will block the smell, and then move Hemalo close to the fire. I tuck a blanket around him and make him comfortable while I wait for him to awaken. It might be hours. It might be…never. I do not like to think about that, though. He is strong in body and breathing well. There is no reason to panic. I fight the swell of fear down and force myself to remain busy. If he will be out for hours, I can clean and make the cave habitable again.