Deepwood Weald tropicalis

sulukinak found a dark path through the weald, following the shadows where they bisected the path of dutch, his wife, or any other scents; but she trended away from them.

a chunk of the weald looked both older than the rest and new, with vibrant green shoots and young trees dominating a coarse black soil; there was more light from the canopy here, but also a plethora of logs and trunks which looked blackened.

as she examined these, the strong scent of charcoal set something off for her corpulent stomach and she suddenly heaved, spilling forth the partial contents of her stomach.

as sulukinak licked her lips, she felt the sense of being watched from some corner of the forest, and froze.

He had not expected to come across Sulukinak's scent again so soon. And he was wary, to his shame, of her unknown nearness to Minnow's brood — but he supposed that he should be wary. His shame, then, was for other things. He had plenty enough to choose from.

The panther followed the trail to its terminus, where the scent suddenly grew sour as Sulukinak spilled her last meal into the dirt. Dutch watched her for a moment longer, concerned, before her watchful head swung around. His own stomach hurt, then. What was he to do without her?

"It's only me," he said quietly, stepping further out of the swirling mists.

a line of saliva connected her lower lip to some grass, but disconnected when the voice of dutch hits her ears and she turns to look at him, then away.

sulukinak had never held a reason to be wary of this man, and remained nonplussed by his presence; although an ear remained turned to listen for his position or further words he might share.

the quiet between them was as uneasy as her full belly.

taking the initiative, the girl asks: why follow me? what do you want? she had not expected it.

The panther's ears fanned back in thought. He knew why he'd followed her; what he did not know was why she was here.

"I was surprised to find your scent," he said honestly. "I thought you must be angry with me."

He tried to reframe her actions without the anger he'd assumed was present. It almost fit. Almost.

did he think she would leave with cen? the man had said seven weeks. sulukinak did not want to go—not until she must. there was time for her to make up her mind, or to have it made up for her.

angry? no. sulukinak did not know what she felt, except for sick right now. she began to move again, but paused a moment, murmuring, need water. and she moved again at a slow enough pace that would invite dutch along.

it would not take many strides to find a puddle, and further again there was a rivulet of water, like a shallow ditch, for which she could slake her thirst and maybe hold down the rest of the caribou.

thinking of the hunt, she mentions—he says i hunt well. cen.

As much as he trusted this denial, Dutch still struggled to see her true motivation for leaving. Was it only that she felt out of place? That she felt a stronger bond to Cen than to himself? He was relieved, in a way. At least it was not anger that chased her someplace else. Perhaps it would leave room for thoughts of home, and if and when her cousin proved inhospitable.

"I am glad, then," he said, his voice low and thoughtful. He watched her, brows furrowed in concern, and followed as she headed for the stream.

"You are a fine huntress," he agreed at once. She would bless any she chose to stand beside. If, of course, she could stand at all! "Are you feeling ill, bachchee?"

he agreed, and then asked about the vomit, which earned a little flick of an ear.

i was with cen. was all she said in response, because a wave of nausea swept through sulukinak again and she had to clear her throat, force the sensation away. she did not elucidate on what they had been doing; it wasn't taboo, but sulukinak felt that the mention of her cousin would only spoil the conversation.

absently she asks, do you want me to go?

her lantern-lit gaze drifts over to dutch, watching his face with an unreadable expression herself. he had not said anything to claim her in return, or make her feel as though her absence would be felt, when the caribou hunter had come before.

His brow furrowed further, though only his confusion showed on his face. He was not sure what Cen had done to make her sick, and he could scent nothing untoward on her pelt. He could sense no real distress in her. Perhaps he was simply blind to it; that did not mean it did not exist.

"No," he denied, this response immediate. "I do not want you to go. Never."

He wanted to be conclave. He thought he did, anyway; he acknowledged, though, that he did not truly know what this meant.

"I want you to stay here, with me," he told her, watching her face. Was she ill? She hadn't answered. "But I have not done a good job of making you happy. I thought this is why you wanted to go with him. But now I see that I do not know what you want, or what you mean to do. I would like to know, though. I will do my best to support you, whatever you choose."

she regarded her friend fully then, as he put voice to his thoughts. her own feelings were hard to describe and so she did not try to understand them; but that put a strain on the conversation as dutch wanted to understand. sulukinak could not figure it out for herself, so what hope was there to share, and make sense of things for him? but he wanted her to stay—a fact that he reiterated, giving her the choice in the end.

he is family, she pointed out, of cen. i spoke my father's name, and he knew it. and she chased that now—this sense of connection to someone, somewhere. cen was no more conclave than dutch; but they shared blood, or she hoped that his claiming was couched in truth. she did not think to doubt it.

she breathes deeply, turning away from him as her belly ache distracts her.

i want to know him. i want to know my people. and without her mother or her brothers, what did that mean? dutch had been her person once, but he had chosen others. he had simbelmyne. sulukinak had nobody—only this claim made by this man.

i go when he goes.

seven weeks, he had said.

The panther did not dispute this; he had no proof that Cen was not what he claimed, and sometimes, a claim was all that was needed to make two strangers kin. This was the beauty of family, he thought. Try as he might, he could not see any beauty in Cen — but he nodded in acknowledgement. Cen was family. He accepted this.

"I understand," he said after a long moment. "I will be sad to be without you, but I will be happy if this brings a new fullness to your life. This is important to me, too."

He did not think Cen would fulfill her, but he did not give this away with his tone or expression. This was something Sulukinak would need to see for herself. Perhaps the journey would accomplish for her what Cen could not.

"You will always be welcome here," he told her. "I hope you will return, at least to visit. But if you do not, know that I will think of you always, and I will wish you well."

He stepped forward to push his nose briefly to her cheek.

When he stepped back, his expression was clouded.

when he wished her well, she felt like being sick all over again.

then he touched her cheek. she could not help the tension in her haunches as he moved in close, but she did not move away, and she studied his face in fleeting glances after; wondering about the harvest, and whether the fortune of morningside would change if it went forgotten.

licking her lips, tasting of bile.

not knowing what else to do or say, she turned and slipped from his company to be among the ferns.

More words were on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to know if she needed a doctor, mainly. And he wanted to talk about The Harvest, which sounded to him like old tales of The Drop that he'd heard from Moorhen when his first litter was young. She was just their age, he thought — or even younger. His chest ached to imagine what she might have gone through.

But she slipped away. And he, the coward, allowed it.