Page 13 of Betrothed to the Yeti

Swing, clap, swing, clap.With each swing of the axe, pebbles dance around her. Jaya’s too-skinny forearms poke out where she’s rolled her sleeves. The ugly ‘traveling dress’ covers her slender curves in stiff fabric made from goat’s wool—probably Ku Huang’s wool. The little companion provided for Jaya when no one would—a role I hope to take from the little animal.

But she allowed Ku Huang to sit at her side as she worked…and sent me to “do whatever I do.” She claimed she didn’t want to be a nuisance, but I felt like the one who was underfoot. So each day, I glare at the barren landscape, daring a predator to rise from behind the small hills surrounding my home.

Despite the promise of hard work, she was genuinely pleased when I cleared an area to the right of the front porch for her garden. Was she starving because of her low status or is all of Alpha starving? Her cutting comments on how I eat the food they offer pierce my heart. I love the humans. I assumed the tributes were out of love for me. She makes the gifts sound like payment—even as she toils in the cold to wean me from their dishes. Is she jaded and sees everything as a transaction or is this the attitude of all of Alpha?

Time to find out.

“You work too hard,” I yell as I stomp down the steps to greet her. She glares as I carry Ku Huang from her perch on the bottom stair to the threshold of the temple. The goat trades places with the oversized sacks of seeds, carried from the kitchen. Two by two, I bring the rest of the seed bags to her garden’s edge. There was no way Jaya’s strong enough to move them, so I thought bringing them would be a nice surprise. I close the door after the waddling goat and make my way to Jaya’s mud patch. “We are taking a break.”

“How are we taking a break? What work were you doing?” she snaps. Her pickaxe drops to the snow and lies on its side in defeat. I could punch the mud into submission quicker than her punitive jabs with the tool. If only she’d let me help. Who am I kidding? That would require her to trust me, or like me, or let me close enough for her to see me.

“I’ve brought you all the seeds from the kitchen,” I say with a puff of my chest. Fifteen bags, almost Jaya’s height in size, stand at the bottom of the temple stairs like a rancid army. “You called the bags an eyesore and said they belonged in a garden—”

“Not all of them,” she protests with a kick to her pickaxe. “The rotten ones won’t grow. They need to be sorted between planting and disposal—”

“I have another idea,” I say, opening the waist-high bag at my side. “We let the ground decide and we reap the rewards.”

“Seriously?” She throws her arms into the air and turns her back to me.

Perfect position for me to stir up some mischief. The first handful of seeds hits her between her shoulder blades. She ducks her head. I launch a second handful. Raising her hands to her ears to protect them, she allows the projectiles to rain over her. The glare she throws as she turns around holds more ire than a pack of wolves. The quirk of her lip flashes her blunt, small teeth in a hilarious parody of a predator. I hold my quaking belly as I laugh. Head tilted toward the sky, I miss her sneaking to the other end of the seed bag line.

A tiny handful of seeds brushes the side of my neck with the caress of falling snowflakes.

“I’m wounded,” I yell, holding my neck in feigned injury. “Quick Jaya, drag me to safety.”

Her mouth settles into a round ‘O’ shape until I wink. Her giggles are music to my ears. I will let her throw every item I own if I can hear her giggle more often. Something about the garden, the outdoors in general, makes her heart lighter. Could it be the promise of life growing beneath the snow or her desire to be productive? Even her cheese depends on Ku Huang’s body producing milk. Ah, I see what she loves about the garden—it symbolizes her ability to feed herself.

Inadvertently, I gave her access to her deepest desire…control over her hunger.

Basking in my internal glow, I miss her second volley of seeds. This fistful must be from the oldest bag because their fuzz sticks to my fur. Green and blue spots mar my ivory coat from my right shoulder to my belly button. Careful not to spook her, I raise my eyebrow and make a show of picking off one of the seeds. One bounces off her bosom when I flick it.

At the oldest bag of seeds, her hands form cups to gather as many as possible. I allow her to chase me in circles just so I can listen to the little noises of happiness she makes. Not quite giggles, but higher in pitch than snorts. I love her unexpected display of playfulness. This is how humans are portrayed in the art I’ve studied. She’s here to share times like these with me.

She attacks when I pause with my fist over my heart. The seeds are as hard as pebbles. They ricochet from my shoulders. My arm snakes around her waist before I can catch myself. I mustn’t scare this version of Jaya away—not when she’s grinning at me instead of scowling at my wastefulness. She slips through my loose grip and cheers her victory.

“Better run,” I taunt as I grab a small, one-kilogram bag. I’m holding it over her head when she runs her palm over my belly. As the air leaves my lungs, I bend at the waist. She glides behind me with that troublesome hand rubbing along my flesh. Her other hand tips the bag forward, so I dump it over my own head.

The clatter of seeds on the frozen ground harmonizes with my deep, gut-busting laughter.

Her chin lowers to watch them bounce along the snow to settle on the edge of her cleared garden. The distraction is just what I need. The bag closest to me came with the tribute before Jaya’s arrival, so the one-meter-tall bag is the freshest. Hefting it onto my shoulder, I stomp in her direction. She takes in my approach, the lofted bag, and my smirk before scurrying and squeaking like an adorable rodent.

One more step. Almost.

I dump the bag over her when she reaches the center of her garden. The force of the seeds knocks her into a seated position. I bury her lap in a mound of grains. She covers her face, but her shoulders shake with laughter. Not to let this moment fade away, I leap to the next freshest bag. By the time I’ve returned to her heap, she wiggled from beneath the first batch. This time when I pour the seeds, I cinch the bag opening to avoid dumping too many at once.

“Awash in silver friendship, bathed in golden love,” I sing. The words to the traditional song of Gamma and Delta die on my tongue. “I’m guessing you never sang that song in Alpha.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t like it—” she whispers with a pink flush creeping over her features “—or that I don’t wish to learn to sing the song with you.”

She lays down on the spilled seeds as they fall like raindrops. Her arms and legs wave as she laughs. The seeds caught in her hair glitter like stars. Dirt smudges provide contrast to her pale skin and add to her beauty instead of detracting. She’s more radiant than Saturn with her joyous face. I’d love to join her and offer warm cuddles, but I fear I will break the spell.

“I made a seed angel,” she says with an extended hand.

I fear my heart will burst, but I accept her hand to pull her to standing. Her cold palm sends tingles up my arm. The imprint in the piles resembles a human in a dress with wings. I catalog the word ‘angel’ for such a shape. I hope an angel is a symbol of joy because I will always associate them with how I feel at this moment.

She bounces on her toes and launches herself into my arms. Her teeth brush my lips as her giggles sabotage her kiss. The pull of her arms around my neck is dizzying. What started as a hand to her waist to steady her becomes my fingertips digging into her bony hips. They coax her legs to wrap around me. I see stars when her ankles cross to dig her heels into my low back. Her tiny fingers burrow into my mane for reins to hold me at her mercy.

Her smile fades to a sigh as I take over our kiss. My chin tilts to gain better access to her mouth, so I don’t scrape her with my fangs. I’m flooded with her sweetness and a tinge of bitterness that tickles the back of my throat. Her soft cheek rubs the end of my nose as I take all that she will give. My tongue forces its way into her mouth to duel with hers.

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