One. Two. Three.
I count the handholds at my disposal. I’ll have to be quick. I cannot fail because if I do, it’ll get past me to my mate.
Over my rekking dead body.
I charge forward, my eyes on the beast while keeping the wall in my periphery. As soon as I’m close to the first handhold, I grab at it. I hoist myself up, my feet digging into the side of the mountain, then I hop to the next one that’s a little higher. Beneath me, the sabrevipe growls in confusion. I’ve just grabbed the third handhold when it darts its head back toward my cowering mate.
No.
Not happening, fat rekk.
I drop from the handhold, so I land on the beast. It’s pink, hairless skin gets pierced with my magknife as my other arm wraps around its neck. It bucks, trying to shake me off, but I’m already pulling my magknife out again to stab it. Over and over in between its ribs. When it weakens and stumbles, I use my weight to force it down into submission. I land a fatal blow of my magknife into its ear.
As soon as I’m certain it’s dead, I rise from its unmoving body and stalk after my mate. With a growl, I pick up the end of the rope in the dirt and roughly pull her to me. She stumbles but then rushes forward to keep up with my pulling. Once she lands hard against my chest, I let out a sigh of relief.
“You’re safe now,” I rumble, squeezing her tight.
“Draven, you scared the shit out of me,” she whimpers. “I thought you were going to die.”
“We all go to The Eternals eventually, my mate. But not this rekking solar.”
She pulls away slightly, and I tie us back together. The end is in sight, and after not too much longer, I pull her out of the mouth of the Gunteer Channel.
The winds are gone now that we’re out of the crevasse that seems to suck air. What lies beyond confuses me.
A valley.
A green valley.
I blink several times as I try to process the herds of rogcow munching on mosshay. It grows plentiful here. Even some trees I’ve never seen before grow within the valley, some ripe with fruit.
Did the sabrevipe eat me?
Have I gone to The Eternals?
This is certainly unlike The Graveyard or any place I’ve ever seen on Mortuus.
“It’s beautiful,” Molly whispers. “And the cows are here. Sokko will have his milk.” She lets out a tearful sob of relief as she unties the rope and walks forward to the nearest herd. Typically, the rogcows scatter when they see us morts coming, but not these. These beasts seem oblivious to the predator before them. They feed on the mosshay without care. Several ronk nearby.
“These are…different,” she utters, a small chuckle escaping her. “Never seen white cows with red eyes before.”
One in particular looks right at her and ronks.
“Your rogcows don’t look like this?”
She shakes her head. “For one, our cows have four legs, not eight.” Her hand tentatively reaches out, and she pats the rear of one of the beasts. “And they don’t have two tails.” It lifts its head and nudges her with its snout. “Or, weird, one eye.”
Her rogcows must look strange as these look how they always do. Fatter, though. My mouth waters just thinking of sinking my teeth into a meaty thigh and—
“Stop growling or you’ll scare Eye-lean away.”
She enunciates each part of the name. I cock my nog in confusion.
“Eye-lean.”
The rogcow in question ronks loudly at me.
“Look, one eye,” Molly says, “and she leans in when you pet her. Cute, huh?”
Cute is not the word I prefer.
Delicious, perhaps.
“I can slaughter Eye-lean and check her R-Levels. By sundown, we can feast on this—”
Ronnnnnk!
“Draven, no,” she growls. My mate is fierce in this moment.
I arch a brow. “Why not?”
“Because she’s our pet now! You don’t eat pets, babe.” She pats the beast’s head. “Stop looking at her like she’s food. It hurts her feelings. Eye-lean is a part of our family now.”
I suppress a groan, but I do what my mate wills. With a resigned sigh, I slowly approach the animal. I’m surprised that it doesn’t run from me. Instead, it leans into my touch, too. I roam my palm along her fattened sides.
“She is pregnant,” I tell her.
“Awww,” she coos. “Then we have to keep her. She’ll provide us with the milk she needs, and in favor, we can protect her from those scary cat things. I will take care of the calf. I know how to deliver calves. Did it back home when I was a teenager.” Her bright, hopeful brown eyes meet mine. “Please, handsome. Can we keep her?”
“If that is your wish, my mate.”
Perhaps we can eat one of Eye-lean’s ronking friends instead.
13
Molly
Roooooooonk.
The rogcow ambles between the two of us, securely latched to the tether, but I follow a couple steps behind like a worried mother. I missed having animals to take care of, to tend to. Maybe it’s my mothering instinct in overdrive.