“Truly!” Maylak’s mouth drops open.

“It’s true,” Claire says, chuckling. “I swear to god, humans do that. Mouth on dick. I mean, you can put your mouth other places, too, but that’s the most popular one. Ereven didn’t like it when I sent my mouth exploring. He likes it one spot, and one spot alone.”

“Where else would you put your mouth?” I ask Claire, curious. Another ripple moves over my belly and I hiss, because this one is stronger than the last.

Claire’s face turns bright red. She gets up clumsily from her seat and offers the kit in her arms to the little girl sitting next to Maylak. “Esha, will you take Erevair to Georgie’s house? I think Asha’s baby is coming very soon.”

Esha gets to her feet, all long blue legs and spindly arms, just like her mother was at that age. She reminds me of Maylak, growing up, and I think again how competitive I always was with the quiet healer. She has been a good friend throughout my long pregnancy, and strangely enough, I feel we are closer than ever. Esha takes Erevair from Claire’s arms, hugs the kit close, and then gives me a small smile as she leaves.

“Let me feel your belly,” Maylak says, moving to my side. Claire is heavily pregnant with her second kit, but Maylak is lean and thin, and I am envious of her compact body. I feel like a bloated, fat quill-beast. Her hand presses on my stomach, and then she nods. “The kit is ready to come out. You can push at any time.”

“I am going to push anyhow,” I snap at her. “Everything inside me is trying to push its way out.”

Claire just giggles.

“And you,” I tell her balefully. “What is it you licked that your mate did not like?”

Her laughter chokes in her throat, and she starts talking about human foods, of all things. As she babbles about something called a sah-lad, another ripple contracts over my belly and I groan, because everything is hurting and needs to come out. The tension in my body feels like a cord pulled to its breaking point.

“Keep going,” Maylak murmurs in my ear, her hand on my shoulder. “Another push and we should see the head.”

I am suddenly full of anxiety. What if my kit is too small to accept a khui? What if it does not live for long outside the womb again? What if—

Another spasm takes over my body, and I scream, bearing down hard. Maylak voices encouragement, and Claire moves to my side, ready with the birthing blankets to catch my kit.

“There he is,” Maylak says, and I strain again. Then everything seems to happen at once, and I feel the heavy weight of the kit slide from my body. Claire catches him neatly with the blankets and cleans his mouth out as I pant, dizzy. The cord is cut, and both females move quickly.

“Is he well?” I ask. He is silent. So silent. Is he moving? Breathing?

Claire gives the tiny blue foot a little tap, and then an angry cry splits the air. My kit howls furiously, his lungs strong. I laugh happily, tears streaking down my face. He is just as outraged as can be, my kit. Claire cleans him off and hands him to me as I sit back on the furs, exhausted. “It is a girl,” Claire tells me gently.

Oh.

I take my kit—my daughter—into my arms, and I cannot stop weeping. She is beautiful, this angry little girl. Her body is fat and healthy, and her fists wave angrily in the air as if she is furious at the cold. Her skin is a deep, healthy blue, and she has her father’s proud nose and a tuft of thick black mane crowning her head.

“She is perfect,” Maylak says, pride in her voice. “Very strong. She will have no trouble with a khui.”

No, she will not, this one. I think of Hashala, and how small and weak she was. This daughter is just as beautiful, but the strength in her makes my heart ache with joy, and a little pang of sadness for what my Hashala did not have. I nuzzle my daughter close, my emotions choking me too much for words. I am filled with such love and hope. I weep happily as the angry little one grips my finger in her tiny ones, her face scrunched up furiously as she bleats about how much she dislikes the world she now finds herself in. It is not so bad, I think to her. I will make it good for you. And wait until you meet your father. You will love him. He will spoil you so.

“Do you have milk?” Maylak asks, her hand still on my shoulder as she sends her healing through me.

I nod. I do. I open the front of my tunic and tuck the kit against my teat. She roots against my nipple and then latches on, and the tears flow again.

I do not stop weeping even as my body expels the afterbirth, or as the females help me clean up. I cry through sips of tea, and I eat between sniffles. I ache and am sore, and I am also happier than I have ever been. My daughter is perfect. I cannot wait to show her to her father.

“Do you have a name?” Claire asks as she tucks me into the blankets. My eyes are starting to droop with sleep, but I am not letting go of my daughter. I am going to hold her all day and all night…and possibly until she is Farli’s age.

I nod wearily at Claire. “I think so.”

She smiles, not pressing, and squeezes my hand. “So happy for you, my friend. Your daughter is beautiful.”

“She is, is she not?” I touch the tiny little horn buds. Everything about her is perfect.

There is a distant shout and more noise at the far end of the vee-lage. Claire gets to her feet, ungainly with her large belly, and gestures at the door. “That might be the hunters returning. If they are, I will send Hemalo your way.”

I nod absently. I am too lost in my daughter’s beauty, admiring the tiny fingernails at the tip of each small finger. Hemalo should be here, I think. He will want to hold her and welcome her into this world. He needs to hold her to his breast and feel his heart mend, like mine is. “I will never forget your sister,” I whisper to my new daughter. “But it does not mean I will love you less. I will give you everything I could not give her…and more.”

The privacy screen is flung aside, and Hemalo storms in. His eyes are wild, and he is covered in snow. His normally smooth mane is disheveled. “Asha?”

I put a finger to my lips and then beckon him forward, feeling peaceful and so full of love. “Come greet your daughter.”

He falls to his knees where he stands, as if all the strength has left his body. “A girl?”

I nod slowly. We have dreamed of this day for three seasons, but in all of our dreams, we imagined a boy. “I am going to call her Shema,” I tell him. “Do you like it?”

He staggers forward, half-crawling to my side, and then sits on his haunches. He stares at her in my arms, wide-eyed. “She is so big.”

I chuckle, because she is. She is healthy and stout, my Shema. “Do you want to hold her?”

“More than anything.” His voice is hoarse, and his hands tremble as he extends them. I hand her gently over to him, feeling a pang of loss as he takes her from my arms. It dies away the moment I see the sheer joy on his face, the tears shining in his eyes as he gazes down at her. “Hello, Shema,” he whispers. “I am your father.”

My heart is full.

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Author’s Note

The feels. Oh, the feels! I had so many of them when writing this book! I wanted to be respectful to the topic of losing a child, but at the same time, I also didn’t want to put readers into a book-long grieving session. It’s a fine line to make the story intriguing, romantic, and still hopeful, and I hope I kept you entertained.

One housekeeping note - in a prior story I mentioned that Asha and Hemalo’s baby was named Shemalo. In every story after that, the baby was called Hashala. I try to keep vigorous notes on the tribe, but some stuff slips through my fingers. I’m sorry! I’m fixing the earlier book and for clarity’s sake, we’re going with Hashala. I hope it’s not too confusing.