Duskfire Glacier chaos machine productions

When Lane scurried toward her, Meerkat felt a little chagrined over her little outburst. Not for the first time, she wondered what the hell was wrong with her lately. Yes, she was dealing with a lot, but she'd dealt with much worse in the past and it had never manifested quite like this. Could Towhee be right about what might be causing it?

She couldn't afford to dwell on it right this moment, not with Lane bringing her up to speed on the contagion and what it meant for the pack. Hearing that they'd decided to move gave her more than a little whiplash. Then finding out that Issorartuyok had gone ahead and arranged a scouting party that conspicuously didn't include her made her chest feel like it was on fire.

It wasn't like her to swear, yet Meerkat could only mutter, "What the fuck..." under her breath several times.

She should've been glad Issorartuyok had clearly picked up on her avoidance and was—knowing him and his honorable ways—quite likely respecting her need for space. If she had any hope of moving on, Meerkat needed some distance. But that would've been logical and she was much more emotive in this moment. Specifically, she felt pissed off. He was stealing both of her jobs and leaving her out!

Why wasn't I consulted about any of this? she thought waspishly, the look on her face probably giving away the exact nature of her thoughts.

But Lane's direct question crashed right into the side of that train of thought, derailing it. Suddenly her brown eyes cut away, skittering across the ground as her skin suddenly felt too hot and tight. She could talk to Lane about this, right? They were friends and they'd commiserated about this topic before.

"Not on the trip," she muttered, still unable to look at Lane. Instead, her eyes found the glacier, the one they might have to leave soon. Meerkat reeled in more ways than one. "We talked and he said I'd make a good wife. But it's like... a business transaction to him," she said slowly, recycling the same phrase she'd used at the time, for lack of any better way to describe it. "He doesn't have feelings for me," she concluded, looking down at her feet, "not the way I do—I did—I..." She sighed, resigned. "Do. For him."