Page 47 of The Weaver

The creature resumed eating.

Ahmya wasn’t sure if she should be offended or not. “Guess you don’t consider me much of a threat, huh?”

The animal simply stared at her, unconcerned.

“Wow. Okay then. Just you wait until you’re roasting over a fire.”

Keeping her steps slow, Ahmya closed the distance between her and the creature until only a couple feet remained, and its back was mostly toward her. It had finished eating and was licking its long fingers before running them over its snout like a cat grooming itself.

Ahmya huffed. “Fine. Don’t fear the big bad human that’s going to eat you. Makes it easier for me.”

Clutching the handle of the knife, she raised it, bending her knees in preparation to attack.

But she couldn’t move.

The creature was right there. It was easy prey. It was food.

But she remained immobile.

Think of Rekosh, Ahmya. He needs this. He needs you.

She pressed her lips together, and her body tensed.

And still, she could not do it. Just the thought of plunging a knife into this creature, of making it bleed, made her sick to her stomach.

She’d done it before, when those vicious beasts were attacking her and Rekosh. Why was this so different?

Because this animal posed no threat. It was out here surviving, a small creature in a big jungle…

Like me.

Ahmya lowered her arm as tears filled her eyes. She couldn’t do this. She wasn’t a hunter, wasn’t a survivalist. She was a florist who’d become an intergalactic colonist, and her primary role on Xolea would’ve been to give birth to a new generation. Meant to be nothing more than an incubator.

“Ahmya!”

She started, heart nearly leaping from her chest. The creature’s ears perked, its posture stiffened, and its fur bristled.

Vegetation shook nearby. The little animal darted off into the undergrowth, moving far quicker than she would’ve expected. Her hand trembled around the knife grip. Whatever chance she’d had to procure meat for Rekosh was gone.

Useless. I’m…I’m useless.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, and the knife slipped from her grasp to land dully upon the ground.

“Ahmya,” Rekosh rasped, rushing toward her. The rhythm of his gait was still wrong; he was still favoring that left foreleg.

That only drew more tears out of her.

“I woke, and you were not there.” He stopped before her. His hide glistened with moisture, but the mud and blood from yesterday remained. He captured her face between two large hands and ducked his head close. “You are out alone. Why?”

All eight of his crimson eyes studied her. Though vrix faces were like hard, expressionless masks, their eyes conveyed so, so much. And in his, she saw his panic, his worry, his fear.

For her.

“I…I was trying to get food.” Her throat strained with the effort of holding back everything she felt in that moment. Her despair, her incompetence, her worthlessness. Those emotions wound in her chest, coiling so tight that it was hard to breathe.

“I would have—” His eyes narrowed, and he canted his head. “What is wrong,vi’keishi?”

Ahmya couldn’t hold back the flood any longer. Her words came out in a sobbing burst. “I wanted to get food for you! I wanted… I wanted to be the one to provide for you.” She waved her hand in the direction the creature had fled. “But I-I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill it. It was right there, and I just stood here and didnothing.”

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