Steph's Outcast

Maybe it's because he's a puzzle and I'm trying to figure him out.

Maybe it's because I haven't had sex in over a year.

Maybe it's that he's a project and my stupid heart loves a rescue project. Whatever it is, I'm just as obsessed with Juth and his son as I was when they first appeared. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I've made progress. He smiled at me. Before he practically dragged Pak away, Juth smiled at me. I don't know if he's ever smiled at anyone.

It just fuels my determination. I'll be back tomorrow, I decide, with new things for the basket and a new plan of attack. Even if it takes all day for them to stop by—or several days—I'm prepared to wait it out. I'll bring my sewing and I'll just…wait.

Pleased at the thought, I'm practically floating as I make my way back to camp.

6

STEPH

The next morning, I prep a basket for my two favorite Outcasts. I do this every morning, but today I try to think of things that are a little different from ordinary. I'd love to bring them some of the hot soup bubbling over the fire, courtesy of a very pregnant Willa and her hovering mate, but it won't stay warm and there's nothing worse than cold soup. I do tuck in a few of the coffee-like shellfish we use in our tea, and a few tea leaves in a packet, just in case they make tea when no one is around. There's a couple of whole fish drying on racks, courtesy of Nadine and Thrand, and I take one of those, too. It's been smoked to the point that it feels a bit papery, as if it'll splinter if I tap it against a rock, but it keeps nicely and doesn't taste too bad. I'm still a little squeamish that people here eat the entire fish—head, fins, and all—once the scales have been scraped, but I'm getting better about it.

I add in the pair of boots I was working on for I'rec, because he'll never know I gave this pair away first and I think Juth needs them more. I obsessed last night as I lay in my furs in the women's cave, listening to Sam and Flor chitchat about babies and what Willa's particular baby is going to look like or when it'll come. Babies made me think of Juth, with his son. Did he have a mate in the past? He must have, if Pak is his son. Didn't someone say they weren't related by blood, though? Or was that just a misinterpretation? Or am I just hoping because I keep thinking about Juth naked and wondering if I should make him pants?

As the ice planet's quasi-therapist, I'm well aware of my own issues. I'm not good with boundaries. I fall in love with people that need someone, and I love a project. I fully realize that Juth and his son are my latest “project” and one of the reasons I'm obsessed with them is because I feel like they need me. I know this boils back to my childhood—because what doesn't—and it's something I should work on. And I will.

But right now they need me to befriend them. I'm sure the obsession will fade once they join the tribe and no longer feed that part of me that needs to save them. I finish filling the day's basket and put a lid on it, wondering if I should head out early.

Sam sits down by the fire, sharpening the point of a spear. I immediately go on alert, because she's sitting alone. This could be my chance to open her up in conversation. To get her to talk to me about some deeper stuff. To break the ice and let her know I'm here to listen. Of all the tribe, Sam's the most remote. She's pleasant to be around, and sweet, and cheerful. She seems happy. But she likes to go off by herself, and she never, ever really shares about her past. It pings my “trauma” radar something fierce, and I know there's something she's buried.

Before I can oh-so-casually go and sit next to Sam, though, Daisy intercepts me. She pauses me, a hand out. "Wait. I need your help."

Magic words. "What's up?"

She shoves a square piece of metal sheeting stolen from Mardok's project cave into my hands. "Can you hold this steady for me?"

I examine it, curious, and she maneuvers my hands until I'm holding the metal directly in front of my chest. Then, she hunches over, her face close to the metal, and runs a soot-covered stick along her lashes. "Let me tell you," Daisy says in a low voice as she darkens her lashes. "It is hell trying to find a good mirror here. If I'd have known, I'd have brought one. I mean, what kind of place doesn't have mirrors, you know?"