Page 14 of The Weaver

Shaking his head, Cole ran his fingers through his yellow hair. “Rekosh, it was a joke about?—”

“The rope,” Ahmya said hurriedly as she stepped up beside Rekosh, her cheeks bright red.

Mandibles drooping, Rekosh gazed at her. “The rope?”

She nodded and pointed at the wooden framework. “He was just joking about the rope he’s using to hang theplanturr.”

“Sure I was,” Cole said with a chuckle, rubbing the short hairs on his jaw.

Rekosh looked from Ahmya to the halved log. It had been hollowed out to form a basin with a few small holes through the bottom. “I know plant, but what isplanturr?”

Cole crouched and lifted the log, laying it across his thighs. “It’s for growing plants. Toss in some dirt and bury your seeds. These”—he pointed to the holes—“are fordraynidge. I got the idea when I found a natural hollow inside a log I split, and I figured Ahmya might like it.”

She smiled. “I love it. It was really thoughtful of you, Cole. Thank you.”

The hairs upon Rekosh’s legs rose.

This planter was a gift—a handcrafted gift, from a male to a female. Paired with their talk ofyanking it, which Rekosh knew was not about rope, this could only be interpreted in one way.

Cole was attempting to claim Ahmya.

He was challenging Rekosh.

Cole grinned. “No problem. I’ve got nothing but free time and wood out here, so I can make more if you want.”

Growling, Rekosh gnashed his mandibles. “She does not need your wood, human.”

The male stood, tucking the planter under his arm. “That one’s so easy I’m not even going to say anything, out of respect for Ahmya. And because you’re clearly in a bad mood. You have a spool of thread unravel in your bag on the way home or something?”

“Did you stuff your head with wood dusts?”

“You mean sawdust?”

“It cannot be seen between your ears.”

“Not what sawdust means, man. Maybe take a moment to chill?”

Rekosh snapped his fangs. His hearts pounded, forcing prickly heat into his limbs.

A challenge was something to face head-on. A challenger was someone to be crushed. The only claim that would be made upon Ahmya was Rekosh’s, and he would refute any other with fury and ferocity.

“Is everything okay, Rekosh?” Ahmya asked. Though she didn’t touch him, she moved close enough to Rekosh that he felt disturbed air flow across his hide, and his fine hairs absorbed her scent.

He drew in more of that fragrance through his nose holes and turned his head toward her. Concern dwelled in the crease between her brows, in the depths of her brown eyes, in her subtle frown.

I am not going to battle a human. I am not going to harm a member of my tribe.

“What is not okay will be in a small time,” Rekosh replied. “Soon.”

“Aaaanyway…” Cole rocked back on his heels before shifting the planter into his hands. “Going to go ahead and finish this up if that’s okay with you, Rekosh?”

“I will help.” Rekosh snatched the planter out of Cole’s hands and held it up to the window, ignoring the other male’s protest. He looked at Ahmya over his shoulder. “Here?”

“Thanks,” Cole muttered.

Grinning, Ahmya stepped back to observe. She lifted her hands. “Just a little higher.”

Rekosh eased the planter up, moving it barely a threadspan at a time.

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