Page 67 of Bride of Choice

“Hoh!”

At the Hey, look! noise Kooky made, I made to stand from where I’d parked my ass, halting as my companion motioned for me to stay put.

Odd, home-made looking papers were gathered in his hands. He practically shoved them at me as he plopped his furry ass right down next to me, leaning in so close I could catch the hint of pine and dust of shame clinging to him from his daily hunting adventures. With a louder happy sound, he stuffed the whole wad of papers into my lap.

Pointing to the one on top, a picture of a bunny with a very childlike scrawl on it naming it a cottontail, he pointed to it excitedly. “Co-ton-tay-al,” he sounded out, looking very proud of himself.

“These pictures are really good,” I commented, enjoying his youthful enthusiasm and not wanting to dim his excitement that he felt he’d found common ground with me. “Did you draw them?” I asked. “Is this your handwriting?”

“No draw. Writes. Rothy teach words.” He scooted in even closer, until he was pressed up against my side. Feeling ridiculous that I enjoyed it so much, like I hadn’t been getting enough sporadic male attention in this snowmageddon, I squirmed a little in place, if mostly on the inside.

“Doogie draw.”

“Doogie, as in your nephew?” I sputtered, incredulous. There was a date on this paper and my math wasn’t mathin’, time warping through the portal and all that and everything considering.

Shaking his head, he grunted out, “Doogie, Rothy broh-ther.”

“Her brother? Dorothy has a brother?” That was news to me. “Did he find himself a furry Lo denaii lady love or something and move with her people?

Again, Kooky shook his head. The excitement of before dimmed as he admitted, “Doogie hunt. Hurt. No gets better. Sick. One day, sleepies, say fine, be good, but no fine. No wake up.”

My stomach dropped and I felt positively sick for teasing her about saddling her kid with a name that would get him horribly nicknamed, Oogi silliness or not. She’d named him after her brother she’d lost.

Not knowing what to say, I blurted, “That’s horrible. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” Was that why Dorothy had become a healer? To try and help others after what happened to her brother?

Confirming my thoughts, Kooky rumbled out softly after several rough throat clearings, “Doogie good male. Good hooman. Teach trap, skin good, make good pelt long time, huts better. Smart. Goot… Goot fren. Rothy learn help owe-d-cheese. Make hurts better. Like Luka. Hunts in groups. No hoomans hunts no mores.” Reaching out, he brushed his fingers along the inside of my wrist. “Too soft. Easy hurt.”

Looking flustered, like he’d just had himself a mini spill your guts session and he was suddenly feeling self-conscious about it, he started to collect his papers. Throat working, bobbing thickly, his chest hitched funny.

“And here I just thought you all were a bunch of sexist furballs,” I cooed, grinning tauntingly when he gave me a dirty look. It was either hold him while he struggled out of my grip while he cried, insisting on being a man about it, lord help me from the tough guy types, or help distract him.

I’d obviously chosen distraction.

“Wow.” My finger tapped the picture below the one of the cottontail, a huge, angry bear looking ready to strike snarling on the page. “That is one merderfurder I don’t wanna tangle with.”

“No’ mowderfordoor. Beh-ur,” he grunted out, properly distracted and looking less internally droopy.

“What would you say we have out here that’s like one of these bad boys?” I kept on, wishing to see his eyes light up with interest again instead of dimming with remembered sadness.

Getting comfortable once more, he launched into a long explanation about all the no-nos surrounding the village. By the time he was done, I had a healthy admiration of the males knowing full well what all they faced in this wide, wild tundra, and yet they braved it again and again to feed the village, their little families.

Maybe they weren’t entirely butthole-ish about how over the top protective they could get. It was a big, bad world out there.

Wondering what he might be like as a father figure, wincing inwardly that my mind would so readily latch onto that, segueing into the mental debate on whether he was just that fucking awesome and I was feeling awestruck, impressed with the male, or if I was just that fucking desperate and doing what I always did, ignoring the obvious in favor of painting someone in a light that went well with my rose colored glasses, I decided my brain was better served on a different track.

Glancing up, blinking, frowning curiously as he spied the dark night sky through the skylight window and I followed his gaze, he exclaimed something in Lo denaii under his breath and shot up.

The papers in my lap flew everywhere, a madcap mess of animal drawings at our feet.

“Where are you off to in such a rush?” I muttered under my breath as I dutifully helped him gather his strewn papers.

“Bebeh,” he mumbled absently, shooting up, cramming papers in a messy pile into his arms, to rush down the hall by the bathroom.

Back in moments, he headed right for the table, grabbing up that blackened toast he still had sitting out, a piece of fruit, several tubers, and fresh greens. Before I could blink he was rushing out the door.

Watching him curiously, I stood, grabbed my pelt to drape it over me, and followed him out. Bebeh?

The hall next to the bathroom was long, several rooms spread out along it with doors, many without. I recognized the butchering room the second I passed it, the smell of iron and earth masked by a sweet, but not disgustingly so, floral scent. One quick peek behind the layers of thick hides pinned up over the entryway and I shivered. It was a meat locker, kills hanging on large black hooks, the roughhewn clay colored smooth tiles angling towards the drain in the center of the floor still damp from a rinse off. Overhead, there was one of those exhaust fan looking things, a Lo denaii version, allowing the cold right in. I had no clue how those hides kept all the cold from seeping into the rest of the house. Whatever the deal was, it seemed to be working.

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