Page 31 of Thief of Roses
XIII.
Their few days togetherbefore he left had been nothing short of perfection.To see Baró with his massive arms loaded with flowers like a beast-sized bouquet or watch him climb the trees to get the best fruit with his spindly, hooved back legs charmed her.To have him keep quiet company with her and step in to help when she needed made her days a joy.And when at last he told her that he had to leave, her heart sank.
He had not touched her once in those few blissful days, letting her touch him but not taking the initiative to reciprocate.Without his encouragement, she kept touches to the arms and shoulders.Friendly, but no more.She cursed herself for being a timid idiot, for not asking him to reciprocate when he failed to do it on his own.She feared that what he would tell her would ruin this naive peace and she hated herself for not taking full advantage of it.He bid her farewell and she, discontented with the sterility of his departure, grabbed his hand to pause him.She told him to be safe and, in a moment of impulsiveness and frustration at having only thought to do it now, she kissed his shoulder in her own parting.She abandoned him thereafter, afraid that she may do something foolish if she did not set her own boundaries.He was right to be concerned about her ovulation — if he had stayed, his virtue might be very much in danger.
While she worked herself to exhaustion daily, Rivani still managed to have enough energy to criticize every thought she had of him.Perhaps he did not encourage her because he was not interested.Maybe he thought she was not being forward enough and therefore she was not interested.When he returned, she would make some overt gesture that he could not misconstrue, provided of course that whatever he had to relate to her did not drive her away.It worried her for a little while that the object of her fantasies came from nightmares, that she considered the monstrous Fir’Darl an object of desire.She remembered the quickening pace of her heart when he had come through the kitchen doorway and stood in full feral resplendence before her, unapologetic and unearthly.That response did not solely spring from fear.Although hideous, there was fascination even in that.When she debated her vague idea of pursuit, her pragmatic side always stepped in to ask, “Why not?”
The food stores grew while she avoided thinking of Baró.It gratified her to watch the mountainous pile of jars wear away and see the full jars get sorted along the other side of the storeroom.She kept the kitchen cabinets stocked too although she did not keep all the jars she had made accessible.She made much more than necessary if she ended up leaving, but at least she would have the comfort of knowing he would have food if she were not there to share her meals.
When the sennight of her ovulation had almost passed, she started glancing to the windows hoping to see his return.Although she told herself that she was being diligent in gathering the last vegetables the overgrown garden offered up, she spent the day outside and when the sun began to set, she sighed at needing to restart her vigil tomorrow.She stood to brush off the sturdy and now much-stained apron that she requested of her wardrobe, meant to protect the skirts she received from the same source.
The tips of horns crested over the grasses.
“Baró?”She called, hoping that there were no other creatures in the forest that big, that stealthy, or that sported a similar set of horns.
The horns stopped moving and the rest of him rose up from the grass.
He must have been on all fours, she considered without thinking it a strange thing to think.Telling.It just goes to show that you can become accustomed to anything.
As with his last absence, seeing him again left her a little awe-struck, the time having softened the recollections of his face and body.With the dusk light casting the grasses in the warmest of glows, the trees adorned with fiery leaves, the pollen and spores in the air dancing like The Kind and Fair at the spring bonfires of Narrapaug Seip, the sky awash in the pastel brilliance of fading day, he appeared every inch a god, terrifying and compelling, as if he had deigned to come to the mortal realm and preside over the festivities of the evening.He took her breath away like he had that second time she had beheld him, only this time for a different reason.
“Baró!”She raised her arm and waved.
She did not know the limits of his sight, only that his vision had changed and diminished to prevent reading, but nothing else of other practical ramifications.If he could not see her, he could probably smell her even from this distance.His pointed ears perked at his name being called.When they had become visible through the tangle of hair?He appeared happy although she could not determine what made him appear so.Perhaps it was the gait, a little more casual and confident, or perhaps it was an imperceptible upturn in his lips.
As he drew closer, the indication of his mood existed in his eyes, the impression of mischief and adventure in the light that danced across them, illuminating unexpected depths.And those eyes, as dark and large as any of her people’s, liquid and warm, asked her so much while they kept so much hidden.She could feel the warmth of his gaze when he arrived at the overgrown stone wall that demarcated the vegetable garden.
“Rivani,” he said, almost as if he were surprised she greeted him.Taking a makeshift bag tied at the band of his trousers, he held out his offerings.“For you.”
She received the several long feathers with awe and delight, a purloined jar from her horde now filled with raw honeycomb, and several smaller mushrooms that she was eager to cook.She let him continue to hold the stones though, a good size to her but dwarfed in his hand.She took the flints from him after a suitable few moments of admiration.
“How thoughtful.Thank you.”The fires had taken care of themselves, starting when she settled in, feeding themselves for the duration, and banking themselves when necessary.The flints were for her potential departure.She studied him, trying to figure out what might send her away.
He had shallow scabbed scratches on his snout and a superficial cut on his shoulder but no serious sign of injury.
“The Magic or your dinner?”She asked, gesturing to his face.
“Pardon?”A stray moment of confusion passed over his face until recollection, and embarrassment, replaced it.“I do not smell friendly to other animals, but the young who have not yet learned to fear will investigate.I woke to a,” he hunted for a word to describe the situation, “persistent raccoon kit.When I attempted to extricate myself from its grasp, it panicked.”
“So, not Magic and not dinner.”She tried not to smile at the idea of a baby raccoon perched upon his snout, but couldn’t help it.
“Disappointed?”The corner of his mouth crooked up.
“I still mean to tend to them.”She grabbed his arm, covering up her pleasure with concern.When he was quiet, she glanced up as he ducked to get through the doorway.“What?No protest?”When he blushed, half of her disbelieved it and the other half took delight in it.
