Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 106646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
He crouches a short distance away from me, and I notice he's wearing nothing but boots and a loincloth. There's no fur cloak today, or food that he's brought to indicate that he's going to hang out. It's just as well. I'm really not in the mood for company.
"Hey," I say softly, since it'd be rude to not acknowledge his presence.
The look he gives me is typical A'tam—possessive and full of longing both, as if he wants to devour me alive. "You look tired," he says, gaze scanning over me. "You were supposed to just think this afternoon."
"I did. I'm just…" I manage to lift the corner of my mouth in an almost smile. "Kinda tired. You don't look so hot yourself." It's a lie, though. Well, somewhat. A'tam is gorgeous as he always is, with that pale blue skin exposed, big shoulders flexed as he crouches. His arms are as corded as ever, his body as lithe and well-muscled as any athlete, but there's a strain to his handsome features. There's a tightness to the corners of his normally sparkling eyes, a flatness to his full, smiling mouth.
He looks brittle, I decide. Like if someone hits hard enough, he'll snap into a million pieces. I must look the same way. Resonance, I decide. It's to blame. I know I've felt a little stretched too tight today, mentally.
I expect him to make some excuse. To bluster that he's fine and make me feel silly for even pointing it out. He doesn't, though. He just watches me. "Are you hungry?" he finally says. "I made you a meal. It is in the hut, warming over the fire."
That's…sweet. And I am hungry. He's being kind, tonight, after earlier's blowout. I'll take it. "Dinner would be wonderful," I say with a sigh, nudging one of my drying pots back into place. "It's not like I'm getting anywhere here."
"Broken again?" he asks. There's such sympathy in his face.
A'tam has seen me go through enough rounds of pottery to know how depressed I get when another batch cracks into a jillion pieces as I pull it from the fire. "No, there's no batch in there right now. I'm afraid to put the next round in, to be honest." I manage a laugh. "I don't know why I bother."
"You bother because you are smart," he says, getting to his feet. "And because you will eventually figure it out. And when you do, everyone will be in awe of how clever you are."
"They don't have to be in awe." I dust off my hands and get to my feet. "It'd just be nice to be able to contribute something special, you know? I don't like the idea that my entire contribution to living here is just bad cooking or even worse hunting."
"Everything gets better with time," A'tam says. He holds a hand out to me. "If you would like to improve your hunting, I would help."
I eye his hand. Why is he being so…nice? It almost feels like a trap. But I put my hand in his anyhow, because I want to trust him. I want to curl up against his chest and listen to his khui and to snuggle by the fire. I want to have hot, flirty kisses full of promise instead of all this despair that's been weighing me down like rocks. "Thank you. I might take you up on that. It's clear that I'm not meant to be a potter. Maybe I should just bury all this crap and forget I ever tried."
He blinks, staring at my drying pots thoughtfully.
"What is it?"
"A memory. Something." He thinks, then frowns. "Nothing." He lifts our joined hands to his chest and presses my arm against his skin, as if trying to comfort me. "You will not give up. You will figure it out. If anyone can, it is you."
"Thank you," I whisper. That might be the nicest thing he's ever said to me.
Our hands joined, he leads me through the camp. I can't help but notice that we take a wide, wandering path that keeps us from wandering too near to anyone else. The beach is full of people, as it always is this time of day. Someone's making dinner by the fire, a few of the hunters are talking in loud voices as they cut meat a short distance away, and the women with children are watching them play with a ball. I can just make out Gren's fuzzy, dark form chasing after the ball as one of Liz's blonde daughters throws it. No one's half as good with those kids as Gren, or so patient. He's going to be a great dad.
Of course, thinking about dads makes me think about A'tam. I wonder if he'd be a good one. Probably. He can be kind and attentive when he needs to be, and he's a great provider. As Gren snags Aayla around the waist and the little girl screams with laughter, I imagine A'tam playing ball with a daughter of his own. I imagine him slinging her around and playing on the beach, and I imagine a little girl with his pretty blue skin and his thick hair and gorgeous smile.