Page 8 of The Weaver

With a dismissive wave of a hand, the hunter said, “It would be less painful.”

“When have any of us been deterred by pain, Telok?”

“Apart from right now?”

“You truly intend to offer the dress to Ahmya when we return?” asked Urkot, the seriousness in his tone breaking through Rekosh’s amusement.

“I do.”

Again, Urkot chittered, a mirthful light dancing in his blue eyes.

“What is that for, stoneskull? What amuses you?” Rekosh demanded.

“The thought of little Ahmya clad in your silk, so fine and fancy, but with those large black foot coverings all the humans wear.”

“Boots,” Rekosh hissed in English. “They are called boots.”

“Yes, those.Doots. Always covered in mud. Your silk will look radiant compared to them.”

Rekosh’s mandibles fell. The jest was clear in Urkot’s voice, but he was not wrong. Boots were sturdy foot coverings that had protected the humans’ soft feet from countless hazards on the journey through the harsh wilderness between Takarahl and Kaldarak. They were useful.

But they were not elegant, graceful, or flattering. They would stand in complete contrast to the dress Rekosh had made.

And in Ahmya’s case, they were overlarge. How many times during their travels had a boot slipped right off one of her dainty feet? If he was going to give her the dress, she needed appropriate footwear to accompany it—appropriate both in function and appearance.

“You have shattered his spirit, Urkot,” said Telok. “He had not considered her feet.”

With narrowed eyes, Rekosh let out a huff and snapped his fangs. “If you are through throwing barbs, let us depart. My hearts are glad for this journey. We will reunite with our tribe, and I will claim my mate and put to rest any questions of who isthe better weaver. Even Ketahn will not be able to deny that my skill is greater.”

“That depends upon what skill you speak of, Rekosh,” said a female in a deep, warm voice from behind him.

He chittered, mandibles lifting a little higher, and turned to face the newcomer. “Skills, my queen. There are several in which I am your brother’s better.”

Ahnset, queen of Takarahl, drew to a halt not two segments away from Rekosh and the others. She, along with her broodbrothers, Ketahn and Ishkal—the latter of whom had fallen during Zurvashi’s war—were Rekosh, Urkot, and Telok’s oldest friends.

Though it had been moon cycles since last she’d donned the gold, leather, and beads the Queen’s Fang used to wear, it was still strange to see her without such adornments.

She wore a loose, white silk garment that covered her chest and hung down past her waist, secured with a blue sash around her middle. The humans had referred to it as atunic. It seemed the perfect blend of simplicity, humility, and elegance for one such as Ahnset.

Prime Fang Korahla, consort to the Queen, stood beside Ahnset. Bowing her head, she tapped her knuckle to her headcrest in respect and greeting to Rekosh, Urkot, and Telok. She too had divested herself of the trappings that had once been associated with her position in favor of a tunic similar to Ahnset’s. She still carried a war spear, its haft tucked in the crook of a lower arm with its head directed down.

The only gold either female wore was in the form of matching gold bands—one around Ahnset’s right mandible, the other around Korahla’s left.

“Shall I guess at some?” Ahnset asked with a chitter, her purple eyes narrowing in amusement.

“I would not dare impose by asking you to do so.” Rekosh bowed his head and touched a knuckle to his headcrest.

Ahnset slid a foreleg forward, touching it gently to Rekosh’s. “You know I do not wish for such formalities between us.”

“He cannot help himself,” said Urkot, bowing slightly before extending his foreleg to brush against the queen’s. “The fluffed silk in his head takes up all the space, so the words simply tumble from his mouth.”

Telok pushed himself away from the pillar against which he’d been leaning, offering a similar greeting to the queen. “She knows, Urkot.”

“Yes. Ahnset is keenly aware,” said Korahla.

“This is a greater honor than we deserve,” said Rekosh, taking a step back. “The queen of Takarahl herself here to see us off.”

“So you are leaving, then.” Ahnset’s mandibles sagged. “Foolish as it was, I hoped you might change your minds. There remains so much to be done here.”

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