Page 16 of Changelings
“Looking for you, of course. I realized the moment I saw you that you were mykigara. I regret I wasn’t at my best and ready to meet you.”
Go on, ask it. Lance the wound.“What does this all mean? To you?” She’d asked something similar before but not gotten the straightforward answer she needed.
Thinking for a moment, Balar said, “I suppose what youhumans would call courting.”
“Courting.” Just like that. He’d decided just like that, from seeing her for a few moments?
He frowned. “Is that not the word? Getting to know each other. Spending time together so that our hearts may learn to love the other.” Another pleased smile curled his lips. “I’m told there is much kissing and affectionate nuzzling.”
Imogen forgot to breathe for a little too long. Holding down the coughing wheeze that wanted to explode out of her, she hastily put the feather in her pocket and turned to pick up the nearest thing—a large bucket.
“I don’t have time for courting,” she said. “I have too much to do.” It was a flimsy excuse, but what was she supposed to say?I don’t know you and I think you’re half-mad, so get off my land?If only. That might offend him, and she’d seen the size of his fangs already.
“That’s no problem,” he said breezily, bounding up to walk alongside her. “I’m strong and able. I can help. Meanwhile, you can ask me anything you’d like, to get to know me. Although…” He frowned again, planting his fists on his hips and pinning her with a serious look. “Before that, I’d like to know who that man was and why he was skulking around your home.”
Well, that seemed a safer topic. “Oh, that was Dermott. He owns property a few leagues away. He’s a trapper.” Leading Balar over to the side of the house, she moved aside a few large pots to reveal the collection of rusting traps. Balar hissed at the sight of them. “He uses traps like these. He says it’s to preserve the pelt, but it’s cruel. And I think…he enjoys it.”
“Enjoys trapping the animals?”
“I think so. I’ve seen him before just staring at them struggling to get away. He doesn’t put them out of their misery quickly.”
A growl rumbled from Balar’s chest, a sound that had Imogenreaching to smooth her hair over the reddened half of her face.
“There is a difference between hunting and cruelty.”
Imogen nodded before walking over to the animal pen. Chestnut was there to meet her, long ears swiveling with interest at their…guest.
“I’ve seen many animals in this forest with missing tails and paws. I take any traps I find, and the animals seem to know to walk my land rather than his.”
That growl turned into a rumbling sort of purr. A big paw came into her line of vision, resting on the top rail of the fence near her hand. “You have a kind, noble heart,kigara.”
Imogen turned away, out of the heat and curve of his body as he leaned toward her.
“I don’t believe in cruelty.”
“Indeed. There’s no need for it.” Surveying the heap of old traps again, he asked, “Is this Dermott dangerous?”
Imogen snorted. “Only to things smaller than him.”
“Youare smaller than him.”
Flushing, she said, “Yes, but I don’t have a pretty pelt.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that…”
Somehow—and it’d confound Imogen for hours afterwards how—the manticore managed to finagle and charm his way into sticking around all day. And he wasn’t just a set of idle hands, either; he jumped in readily to help with her daily chores, making the work go by much quicker.
So quick, in fact, that she had to find things to do in order to keep some distance between them. All the while, with little prompting from her, he regaled her with tales of his life. Growing up in the southern savannahs, coming of age with his brothers, and eventually leaving to head north.
Despite herself, Imogen listened intently. His stories werefantastical, almost too much to believe. It made her own life and world feel…quite small.
She liked it that way. She’d made it that way, small and insular and safe. She had her work and her animals and her cottage. Little. Manageable.
No room at all for the likes of a hulking, gregarious manticore.
Yet, despite being put to work all day and getting little more than Imogen’s usual taciturn nature, Balar waved goodbye around sunset, promising to return the next day for more.
Imogen wasn’t sure she believed him. Or didn’t want to believe him.
