“That is not for me,” Ereven says with a grin. “I do not think it would fit over my hand.”
He’s right. The size is definitely human. It’s so pretty, and yet…I’m not playing the game. I shouldn’t be getting any gifts. “I’ll have to talk to Asha in the morning and see if she can think who would have left this.”
“Until then,” my mate says, and puts his arms around my waist, “you are all mine.”
7
ASHA
Two Weeks Later
Decorating Day
“And you don’t have any idea?” The look on Claire’s face is frustrated. “I’ve gotten three gifts now. We haven’t even started playing until today.”
I shake my head, putting the final stitches on a soft little tunic, perfect for a kit. It is dyed a dark reddish color with light, contrasting stitches, and while I am not the best at sewing, I am pleased with it and its contrasting sister tunic made of buff leather with dark stitches. No-rah’s secret gift-giver is Warrek, and he has not been himself since his father passed, so I am helping him along. “Perhaps someone simply wishes to give you gifts?”
“But who?” Claire puts down the colored seeds she is stringing. “We’ve checked and everyone says they know the rules. You know I’m not playing.”
I shrug. I am not nearly as concerned as my friend. “Take the gifts and be thankful. It is a kind gesture.”
This is not a good enough answer for Claire. In the days we have been spending together, I have learned that she is quiet, but when she plants her feet, she is more stubborn than an old dvisti. I can tell by the look on her face that she will not rest until she solves this. “I just want to know who and understand why.”
“It is as you have said—it is the awful-day spirit.”
“Holiday spirit,” she corrects.
“Same thing,” I tease. “Your human words all sound the same.”
She gives a little irritated snort, and I bite back a grin. Spending time with Claire is fun. Just having a friend to talk to makes even the most monotonous of chores entertaining, and I see now why the human females are so quick to cluster together on a daily basis and share stories. Having a friend your own age is…vastly enjoyable. I have never felt friendly with Maylak, and I do wonder if that is my own fault. I have always seen her as competition, never as a friend. She was always so perfect, so lovely, so talented with her healing, that I felt I had to be that much more flirty with all the males of the tribe to get any attention. There is no competing with Claire, just friendship.
It is…nice.
Claire glances over at the little tunics I am finishing, and a true smile returns to her face. “Those are so cute. Nora will love them.”
“Warrek has done a wonderful job,” I agree slyly. “He is a good gift-giver.”
“And you are sweet to help him,” Claire says with a squeeze on my arm. We both know he has been sucked into the blackness of despair since his father died. I know this feeling all too well, and it makes me feel good to help out. He will be himself again soon enough. Until then, I will assist how I can.
“I am done for now,” I tell her, knotting the last stitch and then biting the cord. “Shall we go see how the decorations are coming?”
“Probably a good idea. Let me finish these seeds and we can check on Josie.” She strings a little faster, and I fold up and hide the tiny tunics under a basket of dried tea leaves. Once Claire is done, we take the string and put on our wraps, heading to the center of the vee-lage. The weather is terrible, and Claire shivers and makes chattering noises the moment we step outside. I carry the strings of seeds so she can tuck her hands into her clothing, but it is cold even for me. There is a thin layer of ice on the stones, which makes them slippery, and we take our time picking our way across the vee-lage toward the long-howse. The air is frosty cold, and the wind howls above, snowflakes drifting down despite the protective lip of the gorge. From a distance, I can see the tall, thin stalk of the decorating tree sticking out from the roof of the long-howse. As we get closer, I can hear the excited chatter of people. Everyone is enjoying Claire’s No Poison celebrations, and I am proud of my friend for setting this all up. She has a good heart.
“I can hear Josie,” she muses as we approach the long-howse.
“It is impossible not to,” I retort. Jo-see is the most chattery of the humans, with a mouth that never stops moving and a high-pitched voice that seems to cut through the air. How her surly mate tolerates all that talking, I do not know, but Haeden seems blissfully content. Thinking of them and their happiness makes me think of my once-mate, Hemalo. I have not seen him in the last few days, and a pang of loneliness hits me. Is he enjoying the celebration? Is he pleased at making gifts for the healer? I hate that I care. I should not. He has abandoned me.
And yet I cannot stop my thoughts from turning to him, time and time again.
We enter the long-howse, and people are everywhere, laughing and talking. The tree that has been selected for decorating rests in a large basket, soil tucked around the bulbous root. It will be eaten on Feast Day, and until then, the tree will be laden with garlands and ornaments and colorful fluttering disks made of hard leather or papery tree bark. Jo-see is near the center of it all, holding little Esha up so she can adjust a string of colorful seeds on one of the thin, wobbly branches. Clumps of poison plants have been hung from the ceiling, and underneath one, Mah-dee kisses her mate with enthusiasm. More poison leaves are strung up on sinew cords, fluttering as they are hung from the rafters. Nearby, others in the tribe make garlands and laugh together, and several of the hunters are stringing even more garlands around the lodge and Tee-fa-ni’s potted plants. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. I do not see the appeal, and I think the tree looks terrible with so many things piled atop it, but humans have strange traditions that make them happy, so I go along with it.
Claire claps her mittens together happily at the sight of the ugly tree covered in even uglier decorations. “It looks so great!”
“Doesn’t it?” Leezh comes up beside us, tossing her yellow mane. “I feel like Cindy Lou Who in the center of Whoville post-Grinch!”
“What?” I blink at the humans.
“Nothing,” Claire says with a laugh. She hugs my arm. “Just Liz saying crazy things like usual.”
Leezh does tend to say strange things. “Where is your mate?” I ask Claire. “Shall we find him?”
She searches the busy groups, and then points off into the corner. “There, hanging garlands with Lila and Rokan.” She lights up at the sight of him and looks over at me. “Should we give him our garland while they’re busy?”
I wordlessly hand it over to her, biting back my smile. Claire is a good friend, but she is still in the early days of her mating and is always pulled away by the thought of her mate. I do not mind this. I was like this once, I think.
Then I frown to myself. All of my memories of Hemalo and I in a cave together are unpleasant ones, of me sniping at him or making angry comments. Of him trying to please me and me pushing away his help. Maybe I was never like that, after all. Perhaps I was never a good mate. I feel sad at the thought. Perhaps it is good that Hashala never got to see her parents like this. A mating should be for life, and I drove my mate away with my bitterness.