Transcendence (15 page)

“
Kiss.”

I wish she would stop making noises and just keep our mouths together, but she keeps doing the same thing over and over again. She touches my mouth with hers, makes that snake sound, then does it again. I don’t understand what she is doing, and it is frustrating.

I growl low and dig my fingers into her hips. I tug her closer to me and place my lips tightly on her mouth to silence her. I reach into her mouth with my tongue, and she moans against me. All other thoughts inside my head depart until nothing is left but her scent and her taste.

When we finally stop, Beh’s cheeks flame red, and she looks down to the muddy handprints I have left on her clothing. Her eyes dart back to mine, and she raises an eyebrow at me. I watch her carefully, wondering if the mess has made her angry and what she might do if it has. She doesn’t seem vexed though and uses her own clay-covered hand to brush some of it away. This makes it worse, and she snickers and shakes her head from side to side.

I decide she must not care very much if the strange clothing gets dirty. She must know I am preparing the new fur for her to replace the odd things wrapped around her body now.

They look so uncomfortable.

Toward the end of the day, Beh has a stack of clay dishes sitting in the sun on the rocks, and she is in the lake washing off. I’ve found a small group of wild onions, which I’ve pulled out of the soft ground near the edge of the pine forest and washed off in the lake. I wonder if Beh knows how to cook them. I’ve eaten them often because they are one of the few plants I know I can eat without becoming sick to my stomach, but when I try to cook them, they burn in the fire. I know my mother used to cook them, but I can’t remember how.

When Beh comes out of the water, I hide my eyes. She dresses quickly and comes over to me, making sounds with her mouth through her smile. I watch her approach, and I am thrilled when she leans over and covers my mouth with her lips again. She drops down beside me, and I hold up the onions.

Beh takes a bunch of them in her hand and turns them around and around. She brushes a bit of dirt I have missed off of one bulb and makes more noise. I’m about to reach out and cover her mouth when she jumps up and cries out. I am immediately at her side, wrapping my arm around her and holding her against me, looking all around for whatever alerted her.

My mate giggles and covers her mouth with her hand until she has contained herself. I narrow my eyes, and she brushes her fingers over the edge of my jaw before darting away toward the edge of the lake again. Near the water are several tall plants with long, brown tops—cattails—which I recognize. Beh continues with her noises as she reaches down to the bottom of the plant and pulls one up—root and all.

As soon as she pulls it out, I recognize it. This is a root my mother would cook for us, but I had no idea it came from the bottom of a cattail. I only remember using the long stalks to entertain my brothers. They liked to pull them apart and send the seeds flying in the wind.

We work together to dig up more of the roots, and soon we have too much to carry back in one trip. Beh prattles on the entire time, and I’m starting to feel another ache in my head from it. Leaving her clay bowls and plates behind, we gather up the onions, cattail roots, and rabbits in my fur before heading back to the cave. Beh wants to use the new fur I’ve made to wrap up the food, but I pull it away from her hands and wrap it around her shoulders instead. I don’t want it to get dirty because it’s for her.

We head back to our home after a wonderful day of work. Beh seems as confused as I am about cooking the cattail roots and the onions, and eventually we just let them sit close to the fire until they are at least warm enough to eat. Afterwards, we sit and watch the coals, and I wrap my arm around Beh’s shoulders. She leans against me, and I inhale the fresh scent of her hair.

Beh and I fall into a routine through the summer.

I can’t help but think of my tribe as Beh and I work side by side, gathering grains in the fields and plants in the forest. She knows some other plants we can eat aside from the cattails, and we store what we don’t eat in the clay pots Beh has made. She has even fashioned covers for some of the pots to keep the moisture out. As the back of the cave becomes full of such things, my worry about keeping my mate healthy through the winter diminishes.

Beh leaves most of the clay dishes to dry in the sunshine for a day before she sets them near the fire for a long time. Only when she indicates they are ready does she let either of us put anything inside of them. With one particular pot she makes, she spends even more time keeping it close to the fire. She never seems completely happy with it in the morning and lets it set again. Eventually, she takes one of the clay plates and sets it inside the coals and then places the pot on top of it.

I have no idea what she is trying to do, but like I have thought many times before, my mate is strange, and it doesn’t matter to me that she is.

When I look at her, my chest feels larger. Sometimes my heart pounds, and often my penis grows hard and thick, wanting to put a baby in her. In the night, she places her lips on mine and lets my hands touch her face, arms, back, and legs—but never her breasts or the warm spot between her legs. She will run her hands over my chest and arms but never below my waist.

It’s driving me insane with desire.

There is also a mystery around her—a very, very strange mystery. Specifically, it’s around the top half of her body. It’s another piece of clothing wrapped around her back, over her shoulders, and around her breasts. I can feel it when I put my hand on her back, though when I try to feel it in the front, Beh pushes my hand away. I have no idea what the thing is, only that it is pale pink—like the beginning of a sunset on the clouds—and that she only takes it off when she is bathing.

As I relieve myself into the ravine, the morning air is decidedly cooler than it has been in recent days. I wonder how long it will be before the leaves on the trees begin to fall and there is snow on the ground. I should try to hunt another large animal before then. We have a decent amount of dried meat and fish in Beh’s clay containers, but winters can be unpredictable. Having more would be better. It would also provide a larger piece of leather for carrying the last of the grains in the field or arrowroot plants back to the cave.

Beh’s pots are good for storage inside the cave but too heavy to carry around. Since the antelope is for Beh’s winter furs, I did not scrape the fur off to make more supple leather that could be used as a carrying pouch, and Beh’s baskets aren’t much better than they were in the beginning. Beh hasn’t made any clothing for herself out of the fur though she does wrap it around herself when she is cold.

Maybe I will go out onto the steppes and look for a nearby herd of antelope or horses. It will take a long time to dig another pit trap, but it will still be helpful. Beh can gather more of the field grains while I dig.

I return to the cave with this thought in my head, and find Beh hovering over the pot she has been warming in the fire for many days. She has filled it with water and placed it close to the fire. She sticks her finger in the water every few minutes, and I wonder if the water is getting hot in the clay pot. Eventually she seems satisfied and adds some of the arrowroot and wild onions to it, as well as a little of the pheasant meat from the bird I caught and roasted yesterday.

A sudden, long forgotten memory comes into my head. It is the image of my mother hovering over pots of tightly woven leaves. She would place rocks in the fire until they were hot and then place them in the woven basket to heat the water inside. Beh’s way seems to take less time.

I watch in silence, and when Beh is done, the stew she has made is pretty tasty. It is undoubtedly the best thing I have eaten in a very, very long time. As I tip up a clay bowl and pour the contents into my mouth, I groan with appreciation and then pull Beh into my lap to hug her to my chest.

She giggles and wraps her arms around my neck. When she tilts her head up, I capture her lips with mine. I’m too happy to wait for her to instigate the action like I usually do. Beh hums against my lips, and I hold her tightly to my chest.

When we part, Beh narrows her eyes a little as she looks up at me. It is a look I have seen on her face before, usually right before she tries to do something I have never seen her try before. It is a look of resolve and determination.

“
Beh,” she says as she points to her chest. Then she places her hand on my shoulder. “Ehd.”

I tilt my head to the side and hug her gently.

“
Beh,” I repeat.

She smiles, leans closer, and places her lips against mine briefly.

“
Kiss.”

I frown. I hope she isn’t going to start making that snake noise over and over again. Reaching up, she touches the tips of two fingers to my lips and then to her own before she repeats the sound again. I watch her eyes dance around my face. She sighs and then points to herself and then me, saying our name-sounds again.

Strange mate. I smile at her so she knows I accept her oddities.

Beh sighs, this time in frustration.

“
Kissssss,” she says again, touching our lips with her fingers before she leans in and gives my mouth a quick peck. “Kiss!”

I tilt my head the other way so I can see around her and wonder if there is more of the stew to eat.

“
Kiss!” Beh wraps her arms around my neck and comes very close. I can feel her breasts touching my chest. She touches her lips to mine… “Kiss,” … again … “Kiss,” … and again … “Kiss.”

She leans back and I whimper, trying to move closer to her face so I can repeat the motion. I want to taste her to see if she now tastes like the stew we had for breakfast, but she places her hand on my chest and pushes me back. I frown again.

Beh presses her fingers to her lips, makes that sound, and then touches my mouth again. I lean in a little—hoping she’ll put her mouth on mine. This time I’m going to be quick enough to taste her.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she takes my hand and places my fingers on her lips, then makes the sound again.

“
Kiss.”

Then she places my fingers over my own mouth. My eyes narrow. I don’t understand this game she is playing.

“
Kiss,” she whispers softly. With my palm on her mouth, she makes the sound over and over again. She touches her chest, says her name-sound, does the same to me, then goes back to the snake sound.

I watch her lips as she makes the sound and notice how her lips spread wide, her teeth nearly come together, and I can see her tongue touching the back of her teeth through the little space between them. My mate has very nice, straight teeth. I run my own tongue over the back of my teeth and hiss like a snake.

“
Sssss…”

Beh’s eyes widen and she smiles broadly. Then she cries out, startling me. She wraps her arms back around my head and attacks my mouth with hers. Her tongue runs over mine with more gentility than her original motion would imply, and I am glad to find out she does taste like the stew.

She breaks away, and we smile at each other. My muscles tense up in anticipation of her doing it again, but she sits motionless, just watching me. When I lean forward, she leans back and makes the sound.

“
Kiss.”

Again, I am a little distracted by her tongue on the back of her teeth and the way she sounds like a snake. Well, almost, but not quite. The first sound is harsher, and her tongue flicks the top of her mouth when that part of the sound comes out. I try to move my mouth and tongue the same way.

“
Kzzhh.”

Beh squeals with joy and plants her mouth on mine again. When she breaks away, the sparkle in her eyes is beautiful. She makes a lot more sounds but still ends with the same noise.

“
Kiss.”

“
Kzzzzzz.”

I am rewarded with her lips and tongue and her hands wrapping into my hair.