Steph's Outcast

Bridget cries out somewhere behind me, and it is very clearly not a cry of pain.

Wrinkling my nose with mild distaste at overhearing that, I decide to walk down the beach a bit more.

It's not that I have a problem with sex. I'm just not a big fan of overhearing a personal moment like that. I know Bridget well enough that she would be anxious if someone brought it up to her, so I immediately push it out of my mind. I'm trying to be a good friend to all here, since that's what I can bring to the table. I'm not the greatest hunter, and I don't have healing powers like Veronica. I am, however, pretty well versed in psychology and was hoping to get my masters so I could start a therapy practice…before I got kidnapped from Earth. I figure people here need someone to talk to as much as they do back on Earth, so I do what I can to help.

It makes me feel useful. It gives me purpose. It's been almost a year since we were dumped here, and some of us still struggle to find that purpose. I think of Flor, who hides her emotions behind teasing and silliness. Daisy, who obsesses over her appearance, and Sam, who shares nothing about herself at all. Bridget's easier to deal with than Sam, because at least Bridget will tell you if she's upset. Sam just…retreats.

I'm determined to figure everyone out, though. The fisherman in the water turns, and I see it's Sessah. He waves at me, and I wave back, then continue down the beach. The ever-present scent of campfire smoke is accompanied by the smell of fatty fish being fried up, and my mouth waters. I glance over at the communal fire, which is where everyone is gathered for breakfast instead of the longhouse. It's a sunny day—well, sunny-ish, given the ice planet's tiny twin suns that look more like a spider bite in the sky than the actual sun back on Earth—and everyone's outside instead of crowding in for the morning meal at the longhouse. I watch as Gren runs past with Z'hren on his back, mock-chasing Liz's girls, and I smile to myself.

I'll join them…soon.

For now, I let myself be drawn toward the far end of the beach. I continue walking along the shore, toward the boulder that I've marked with paints. It has a faint yellow circle and a few red hearts drawn on it, along with a couple of tiny handprints, courtesy of Rukhar, who wanted to “help” me.

Even from a hundred feet away, I can tell the basket I set down yesterday is still there.

Frustrated, I keep walking toward the rock, just in case I've read it wrong. That maybe Pak and Juth stopped by and took the stuff I placed there and left the basket. That maybe today's the day they'll have left something in return, some sort of sign that they like the presents. Or maybe one of them will emerge from the rocky cliffs and come say hello.

Today's not that day, though. When I get to the rock, I see the bag of jerky still in place. I peek in the basket, and the furs we left, along with Rukhar's outgrown clothing, are all still there.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

I glance up at the cliffs and scan the beach, looking for Pak and Juth. It's been almost six months since the outcasts first appeared and they still won't join us. They won't talk to us. We only catch a rare glimpse of them every now and then. I know it's part of the islanders' culture that the outcasts are considered “flawed” somehow and so are shunned by the old clans. That people born without one of the markers of the existing tribes—Tall Horn, Strong Arm, Shadow Cat—were banished to a nearby island and considered unworthy.

But everything's different now. We've all let Juth know that he and his adopted son Pak are welcome to join us. That they aren't considered “Outcast Clan” any longer. That they're welcome to join our little village and lean on us when they need things.

They won't, though. And as time goes on, they accept gifts from us less and less. I've faithfully filled this basket every day since they arrived, and lately, more often than not, the gifts are refused.

I consider myself a therapist, even if I don't have the degree or all the training. I'm the closest thing we have here on this planet. I make it my job to understand people. To grasp why they tick so I can help them.

I don't know how to help Juth and Pak, though, and it bothers me deeply.

I pull out the little clothes from the basket and refold them, then set the bag of spicy fish jerky atop it. It's sunny, so I guess I can leave this stuff out for another day. I wish I knew why the gifts were refused, though. Are the clothes too small? Do they not like dried jerky? If I understood, I could fix it.