He opened the door and pulled the sled outside, facing into the wind to clear his scent cavities. It was not quite dawn, although the sky was greying in the east. A fine morning, dry and cool. A good day for travel.

He was not alone.

Meoraq stiffened, fighting the urge to hiss. He did not turn to look at her, did not hear her little footfall or catch more than the usual smoky scent in the breeze, but he knew who it was with him and he saw no reason to pretend otherwise. “What do you want, N’ki?”

“You told Amber you wanted to leave.”

“In an hour. Wait below.”

“Can’t I help?”

“Don’t insult me. You wouldn’t lift your hand to help if it were resting on live coals. What do you want? Speak plainly.”

“What are you going to do with me?”

“Nothing.” Meoraq busied himself with the sled, re-stacking things that did not require adjustment and tightening straps he was going to have to untie and fasten again when the rest of the gear was loaded. Anything to keep his hands busy so they would not be tempted to strike.

“When this is over, I mean. You can’t—” Her hand caught at his sleeve.

He slapped it off. Hard. But at least he only struck her hand.

“You can’t leave me,” she said in her shaking voice. Her eyes filled with water. “Please, Meoraq.”

“Don’t say my name like that and don’t you dare cry at me,” he added, pointing the whole of his hand right into her flat, ugly face. “I am not my wife, to be caught and reined by the little water you run out of your eyes.”

She did not answer, but her eyes dried in the wind and did not tear up again.

“You sicken me,” he spat, yanking at the sled’s ties. “But you are my wife’s blood-kin and so I will take you into my House.”

“Thank y—”

“Thank her, not that you ever would. I can only pray that one day she will see you for what you are, but until then, know that my eyes are open. You’ll come to my House, yes, and I’ll shut you behind as many doors as I can and if God shows favor, neither she nor I will ever see your face or hear your whining voice again!”

“Perhaps you can find a cage to put me in.”

“Don’t you dare hook that at me!” he hissed. “You’ll have a room, human. You’ll have your meals brought and baths at your pleasure and all manner of comforts, ha, and you won’t even have to ply a man’s slit to get them.”

It was, in truth, a low thing for any man to say, and despicable in the throat of a Sheulek. Still, he did not expect the slap. It caught him right across the snout with a flat, undramatic sound, and although it didn’t sting much, it briefly whitened his vision on that side.

He recoiled to stare at her. She neither excused herself nor asked forgiveness—would that have made a difference?—but just stared back at him, her chin raised, defiant. And why shouldn’t she be defiant? She knew he wouldn’t strike her back. Because of Amber.

“Go below,” he said at last. He could feel the color throbbing in his neck, but his voice was calm. “I am done with you.”

She made a sniffing sound, jerking her head as she turned so that her hair snapped a bit, as in a short gust of wind. The sight, the sound, sparked a flare of such rage that his hand went to his waist, gripping at the air where the hilt of his kzung should be, if only he were wearing it. His head cleared after a few slow breaths, but while it lasted, the killing urge was bitterly welcome.

‘Patience,’ he told himself, and made his empty hands go back to work. ‘Great Sheul, O my Father, help me to remember that my wife loves the useless little poke.’

And if she had the power to hear those thoughts, they would have been as good as a knife in her belly. He remembered only too well the look on Amber’s face when she had seen her Nicci again, and he knew he had done nothing since to keep the fire of that first joy lit. Even now, knowing all that his wife had suffered and all that it would mean to her to see him at least trying to show her blood-kin some small friendship, the only kindness he could muster was to stay where he was instead of chasing after her and slapping an apology out of her whining mouth.

He hated Nicci. Even before she’d put her hand on him in that evil way, he’d hated her. She was no worse than any other human he endured with far better grace. Indeed, she was quieter than most, which should have made her far more tolerable. She wasn’t. He hated her.

Footsteps on the stair, uneven in gait but familiar. Meoraq raised his head and flared his spines, grunting a wordless greeting. Amber yawned back at him and sat down on the sled. “Morning,” she said.

He glanced at the sun, still touching the horizon. “Almost.”

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

“You look pissed.”

He grunted.

“Hey. Come here.”

He eyed the bundled leather walls she patted so invitingly, leather that some other human had already perfumed with…fluids…and straightened up. “You come to me,” he ordered, slapping lightly at his chest.

She did, rolling her eyes but smiling as she slipped her arms around him. “It’s almost over,” she murmured.

He acknowledged this, rubbing at her back and gazing meditatively into the distance, into the east. The shrine was there, so close. He had more fingers than days left in this journey. Sheul awaited him. Sheul, manifest as flesh.

“I could hunt,” he said, already feeling the futility seep into the air. “One good hunt to leave here. You and I could go on together. The humans could wait here for us.”

Amber frowned, but did seem to think it over.

“If that’s what you want to do—” she began at last. Meoraq finished it with her, each in their own tongue, “—I’ll wait here with them. No,” he said at the end and hissed under his breath.

She said nothing for a time, only held him. At length, softly, she said, “Do you want me to talk to them about something?”

“No.”

“Do you want to put off leaving for another day?”

“No.”

He felt her fingers drumming against his scales as she thought.

“Want to fool around before we go?”

He drew back far enough to see if she was serious. She was. And even though that changed absolutely nothing, his mood immediately lightened from the choking black it had been to, oh, a dull sort of grey. “Yes,” he said, releasing her. “Go get the flask. We’ll fill it on the way back.”

“And they say men can’t multitask.” She stood up on her toe-tips and pressed her mouthparts to his snout. “It’s almost over,” she said again. “Try to remember that, okay?”

He grunted and watched her go back downstairs, trying for her sake to find some hidden reserve of patience and goodwill. It was almost over, that was truth, and he shared responsibility for how it ended. When he overheard Amber telling his children the tale of this pilgrimage, he did not want to hear the words, “…and your father acted like a bitch the whole way back.”

Someday, he really had to find out what that meant, exactly.

He could hear Amber coming back already, talking over her shoulder in a gratifyingly terse tone. He met her at the door of the underlodge, caught her by Lady Uyane’s fine green girdle and pulled her to him, pushing his snout hard against her skin all the way up her throat and down again. He kept her there, just for a moment, not thinking but only breathing her in. When he released her, it was with a hiss and a sigh of surrender.

“I am the master of this camp,” he told her. “And I could be a better one. We’ll move on, Soft-Skin. All of us.”

Her furry brows arched. “Does that mean we’re not fooling around?”

“It does not.” He took the flask away from her and started walking. “Come.”

“That’s the goal, lizardman.”

“Eh?”

“Nothing.” She caught his hand and held it as she walked beside him, inexplicably grinning. “It’s so nice to know that no matter what else happens, I’ll always have moments like this…when you don’t have the slightest idea what I’m saying.”