Page 7 of Tharn's Hunt
And dust take me, mymembertwitches in its pouch with a life of its own.
What—in the dust?
Is this what happens when males and females touch?
I go utterly still, as if movement might worsen the sensation. This has never happened before. Rok never mentioned this with Jus-teen. Never described light, warmth, or this tightness in the chest that accompanies it. Perhaps it's unique to this female. Or to me.
Or to the combination of us both.
The thought sends a thrill of pure terror through me.
The glow intensifies as I reach for her again. My claws tremble as they brush her head-fur—dust and stones, it’s so soft—and I force myself to focus. Her condition is critical. Whatever is happening to me must wait.
"Jah-kee," I project through the distraction, the thought weaker than it should be as my concentration fractures. "Drink."
She doesn’t respond. Her lips remain slack, her mind closed.
I try again, fighting to steady myself as the light pulses brighter.
"Female. Water. Drink."
Still nothing. Only the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
With a single digit that now trembles with both the glow and uncertainty, I part her lips and trickle water between them.
Mouths are not particularly interesting. They're for eating. But hers...
Her lips are soft, pliant. Nothing like mine or my brothers’. The sensation makes my claw shake harder, and I nearly spill the water.
Water is precious. Every drop spilled is a small death on Xiraxis.
Despite my care, some water trickles down her chin. I catch the escaped drops with my free hand and take them within my own mouth, unwilling to waste even this small amount. The clan would be horrified at my inefficiency, but I cannot keep my claw from trembling.
When her throat moves in a weak swallow, I release a breath. Thank Ain, some got through.
It’s a painfully slow process, but I continue feeding her, hoping she will take more. All the while, the glow never dims. It pulses softly beneath my skin, as if it has a will of its own. That thought terrifies me. That part of me that has always been in perfect control of my body, my instincts, my dra-kir.
By the time a quarter of the waterskin is empty, I am both relieved and unsettled.
Relieved because her breathing has steadied slightly. Unsettled because every moment I spend tending to her, I feel myself being drawn deeper into her strangeness.
Perhaps the light affects my mind as well as my body.
Now, the wound.
The gash is deep. She continued through the dust with such an injury? The pain would have been searing…and still she carried on.
I marvel at this. The tales spoke of the Daughters of Ain as wise, powerful beings who commanded the elements. This small creature before me seems neither wise about Xiraxis nor particularly powerful. Yet she survived where most would have perished.
I retrieve my satchel, selecting firebloom leaves that will fight the shadowmaw venom. Crushing the leaves in my palm, I squeeze until they form a paste.
As I apply the mixture to the wound, the female’s body jerks, a small sound escaping her lips. Not vocalizations. This sound is soft. High and vulnerable.
“I am sorry, small female.” I work more gently, trying to minimize her discomfort. “I do not wish to harm you.”
I do not expect her to respond. Her mind is closed, her body weak. But then her hand suddenly shoots out.
Small, soft, clawless digits close around my wrist.
