It is a good plan. I take several deep, calming breaths and place my hand over my heart, where my khui is singing frantically. Not yet, I tell it. As much as I want resonance to happen, I also do not wish to climb atop my unconscious mate and use his body. The thought is revolting. I want him to be present with me. I want him to look into my eyes as we make our kit. With a sigh, I get to my feet and pick up one of the baskets. It has been torn apart, the dried meat inside filthy and uneaten. Such a waste. Metlaks are filthy creatures, though, and I will not chance eating something they have pawed. I toss the entire basket into the fire and watch it burn for a moment before turning back to do more cleaning.

As I clean, I think about the tribe. Stay-see and Pashov were in this cave recently. The human female mentioned that they had stayed in a large cave with two chambers, and that is this cave. She mentioned that the cave had been visited by a metlak, though it did not stay for long. Perhaps it keeps coming back because it knows there is food here. I will have to tell Vektal, and if this cave is being used by metlaks, it is no longer safe to use for hunters. We will be safe as long as there is a fire, but…I move to the front of the cave and push the privacy screen over the entrance, just in case. Not that a metlak would honor it, but I feel better with it there.

I return to the back of the cave and eye the messy piles, contemplating what to tackle next. Then something chirps.

I am utterly still.

The cave is silent. I relax a bit. Did I imagine the sound, then? It is like nothing I have ever heard before, and I mentally run through the list of small, burrowing creatures that might have invaded a sa-khui cave to escape the brutal season.

The chirp happens again.

It is coming from the back of the cave, where the metlaks have made the biggest mess. Curious, I move slowly forward. There’s a large pile of debris made from food remnants, filth, and what looks to be tufts of metlak hair pushed into a pile. Lying atop this mess is a rounded ball of dirty fluff with wiggling arms and big, round eyes. It sees me, and the thin arms move and it chirps again.

A metlak kit.

I am too shocked to make a sound. Is this why the metlaks are at this cave? Because there is a kit? But this kit is far too thin to be healthy. I slowly reach over and pick it up, and it makes a happier-sounding chirp at me. The thing smells, and its fur is matted with filth, but it is young and hungry. “What do I do with you?” I whisper to it.

The kit wriggles in my arms and makes another chirping sound, this one hungrier than the last. Its little beak-like mouth moves, and the big eyes blink at me. They glow a bright blue, just like my Hashala’s did.

I…do not know what to do. I have always been taught that metlaks are pests to be driven away. They will not hesitate to kill a hunter, and our hunters do not hesitate to kill them in return. The adults are filthy, mean, and dangerous.

But this is a kit, not even a full season old. It is filthy like an adult metlak, but it is not mean or dangerous. I pull it close to my tunic, and it burrows against me for warmth, and my heart hurts as it starts rooting about, searching for a teat. It is starving. The kindest thing to do would be to put it out in the snow and let the frost make short work of it.

I…cannot do that.

I tuck it against my shoulder, stroking the matted hair. “Why did your mother leave you? Is it too hard for her to hunt with you at her side?” I think of the two metlaks standing over Hemalo. They were desperate to get his pack. Have those two now realized that sa-khui caves - and sa-khui hunters have supplies? Are they hungry enough to attack a hunter in hopes of food?

I pick my way back toward the fire, frowning at the nearly full basket of dried meat burning there. They did not eat this, and they were starving. Do they only eat roots, then? “Perhaps you’d like a root broth,” I tell the little one as I move toward the fire.

It chirps hungrily at me again, as if it can understand me.

I rub its small back, and a wave of stink rises.

I need lots of water, then. Some for tea for my mate for when he awakens. Some for a broth to feed this tiny, smelly kit. And some for a bath. I also need to finish cleaning the cave and take stock of the supplies, as well as keep the fire going. It seems like an overwhelming amount of things to do for one person.

And yet…I feel invigorated. I feel alive. Happy. This kit needs me. My mate needs me. Perhaps Hemalo is not the only one that has needed a purpose recently.

Smiling, I tuck the kit against my shoulder and get to work.

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12

HEMALO

Something smells foul, so foul it rouses me from my sleep and a ringing headache. I am disoriented, but even with my eyes closed, the smells and sounds are familiar. Well, most of the smells. I smell smoke through the stink, and feel the soft down of fur against my skin. I hear the crackling of fire, and Asha’s soft, tuneless humming, the rumble in my chest as my khui sings to hers—all of these are familiar and comforting.

But I open my eyes, because something about this is not right. My eyes slowly focus, and I see a rock ceiling above me and not a teepee. A cave. I am in a cave. How did I get here? I search my memories, but my last ones are of travel, and slogging through thick snow. Have I forgotten part of my trip? Is this why my head aches so?

My cock aches, too. I realize this even as it occurs to me that my khui is singing, and quite loudly. I look over, and there is Asha by the fire, a bundle cradled in her arms and a lovely smile on her face.

My mate. My sweet, beautiful, fiery mate. I am filled with a fierce joy at the sight of her happiness, but as I study her and the leather-covered bundle she cuddles close, fear shoots through me. Is that…our kit? I touch my brow. Have I fallen victim to the same problem that Pashov did? Have I been struck on the head and forgotten the last few turns? Panic surges through me, and I sit upright quickly. The swift action makes my head pound in response, and I press my hand to the base of my horns, groaning.

“Hemalo,” Asha murmurs in a soft voice. “Are you well?”

“I do not know…I… Asha, have I forgotten our kit? Have I forgotten seasons like Pashov did?”

She blinks at me, surprised, and then down at the bundle in her arms. Her mouth twitches in a smile, and she gives a slow shake of her head. “Do not panic. This little one is not yours.”

I frown. “Then whose?” I am surprised at the vicious stab of jealousy that takes over me. She is my mate. She resonates to no one but me.

Her smile widens, and she pulls the leather away, then holds the kit out for me to see.

It is not a sa-khui kit. It is…fluffy. It is white and downy and looks like a fuzzy ball of fluff with metlak eyes and a tiny metlak beak. It chirps and coos at me even as it clings to one of Asha’s braids.

“It is…a metlak?”

“A much cleaner one,” Asha says, tucking it back into the blankets with affection. “The poor thing was filthy when I found it.”

“What is it doing here?” I glance around me, curious. “For that matter, what are you doing here?”

“I am here because I came after you.” Her smile fades, and she will not look me in the eye. She focuses on the tiny metlak instead, dipping her finger in a bowl and then putting the fingertip into the metlak kit’s mouth. It licks hungrily at her, trying to feed. “And this little one was left here in this cave, probably by the metlaks that attacked you.”