Sam's Secret (Icehome)

He nods. "Do you need me to leave the cave?"

"Nah, I'm good." I reach into the neck of my tunic. I have no intention of undressing, even if I sweat. I pull out the knife tucked against my side and set it on the furs, then the one pressed to my other side. I grip the front of my clothes, pushing my boobs down so I can pull out the fake “boning” that doubles as shivs and I set those down, too. I pull two knives from my belt, then unstrap the blades I have in my boots and hidden under the fur skirt of my tunic.

Sessah watches me in silence, and when the pile of weapons grows, he shoots me an incredulous look. "Did you make all of those?"

This is a subject I feel oddly comfortable in. "Well, I thought it might be rude to go around stealing everyone else's weapons, so yes."

He barks a laugh, amazed, and I pull my boots off and remove the blades I have wrapped in the leather soles, checking to make sure they're not broken. Bone is easily shaped but also brittle, and so it's a constant chore to re-sharpen or remake weapons. "Why so many?"

"Because I feel safest when I'm armed and dangerous," I quip. "Touch them and I'll make mincemeat out of you."

Sessah laughs again, delighted at my bloodthirstiness. "What is mince-meet?"

"Very chopped meat," I joke. "So don't get any ideas." I lie down in my furs, using my cloak as a pillow. I stare at the fire for a moment and then furtively sneak the largest knife back under my blankets, tucking it against my chest. Just in case.

"I will give you all the time you need, Sam," Sessah murmurs as he settles down on the far side of the fire. "I am still your friend. Even though you do not wish to resonate to me, I am not your enemy."

I know he's not. He's being so understanding, far more understanding than I was. I grip my knife tighter to my chest, even though I know I don't need it. I know I don't…and yet I can't let go of it. "I just need time to figure things out."

He's silent for a long time, the only noise in the cave that of the fire as it pops and crackles. That, and our khuis. They hum constantly, the sound reminding me of a generator back on Earth, thrumming with electricity. I know Sessah's not asleep. His khui gives him away. If he feels anything like I do, he's far too wound up to sleep. There's too much going on in his body. Every nerve ending of mine feels as if it's on high alert, and if I so much as rub the wrong way on the furs, I'm going to spontaneously combust.

"Where are you going?" Sessah finally asks. "What is your goal?"

Oh. Did he not know before he set off to follow me? He just abandoned everything and ran after me? Did the khui tug him even then? Even without vibrating? Or was it something else? I hug the knife to my chest, thinking. "The fruit cave. I'm going there." When he grunts acknowledgment, I feel the need to explain more. "It's just…sometimes it feels like too many people back at camp. I need to get away. I need to breathe."

"I understand."

I'm not sure he does. It's not the normal sort of reason that someone goes wandering. My wanderlust has nothing to do with a desire to explore. It's just that back at camp, after a while, I don't feel safe. Every noise jumps out at me, especially at night. I don't sleep because every crackle of the fire, every crunch of a step in the sand, it makes me feel as if I'm being watched. As if Brad's just waiting to pop around the corner.

It doesn't matter that he's a billion miles away and I'm on an alien planet. My nerves are still on edge and I can't relax. Eventually it becomes too much for me to handle, and I need to get away. Normally I go hunting with one of the other women, but as more pregnancies have happened and Farli has had her baby, all my regular hunting partners have become occupied with being moms. I'm happy for them, just sad for me.

I would like to go someplace where I won't be afraid, I want to tell him, but I don't think such a place exists. So I clutch my knife and stare into the fire, waiting for sleep to arrive.

6

SESSAH

I watch Sam from across the fire. I expect her to turn her back to me, but she does not. She clutches a knife and rests, tense, under the furs. I am not certain if she sleeps—if she does, she does not sleep deeply. Her face is strained, as if she expects to wake up at any moment and fight.