I hoist my kill over my shoulder for the final time, tired and ready to relax with my mate after a long day. The heavy snows have all but disappeared, the thick ice breaking up over the salty waters, and the weather is warming enough that my fragile Har-loh will not need her heaviest cloaks. She will be happy. She did not like that the coldest season was over ten of her ‘months’ long. I picture her small face beaming with excitement at my finding a raptor kit with downy feathers, and my pace picks up.
When I make it home to the cave, though, I’m not greeted by a smiling mate. There’s food on the fire, but the coals have gone down to a licking flame, and the smell in the air tells me that the meat is charred and inedible. My eyes narrow, my nostrils flaring at the awful scent. “Har-loh?” I move toward the bed.
My mate is there, curled up in the furs, her big belly protruding from her clothing. She has a hand under one cheek and sleeps so peacefully. My khui rumbles and purrs at the sight of her, and I feel a fierce sense of satisfaction. She’s mine, and she carries my kit inside her. A burned meal doesn’t matter.
I remove the offensive food from the fire and take it down to the shore, where scavengers can partake of it safely away from our cave. Har-loh is still asleep when I return, so I’m quiet as I carefully pluck the raptor kit clean of its feathers and put them aside for my mate. I eat a few bites of meat while it’s raw, and then smoke the rest, because with my kit inside her, Har-loh does not like the taste of raw meat anymore.
Thinking about Har-loh pulls me toward her. I can’t resist my mate any longer. I kneel down next to the bed and stroke her cheek. Her eyes flutter open and she gives me a sleepy smile.
“Hey, baby.”
“Tired?” I ask. There are hollows under her eyes that I don’t like, but she promises me she is fine. She nods and starts to sit up, but I gently push her back into the furs. “You tired. You rest.”
Her nose wrinkles and she tries to peek around me to the fire. “Oh no, did I burn your dinner? I got you spahgetteemawnster.”
She calls it a weird word in her language, but I recognize the creature from its shape, and know of her thoughtfulness. “Is not important.”
Har-loh looks upset. “I’m sorry. I was just tired.” She yawns as if to emphasize this. “I’m so tired all the time now.”
My hand goes to her rounded belly. She’s so big, like one of the dvisti females before she’s about to drop her kit. Of course, I don’t point this out. The last time I did, she cried and then blamed it on something called hor-moans. “You carrying kit. Is tired-making.”
“Tiring? Yeah, it is.” She shifts on the bed and rubs her back again.
I know what will make her feel better. I move to the foot of our nest, where her feet are propped up on one of the strange puffy things she insists she wants under her head. I take one cold foot in my hand and begin to massage it. She likes her feet rubbed, my Har-loh.
She moans and falls back in the furs. “God, you’re a good man.”
Her praise is pleasing and I do more, working her small foot over before switching to the other. As I continue to rub, her moans grow louder, and my cock responds in kind. The next time she groans, mine matches it.
A soft giggle escapes her throat and she pulls her foot from my grip to rub it against my cock. I’m wearing a breechcloth like she prefers, and for the moment, I hate it because I can’t feel her skin against mine. “Seems like someone missed me today.”
“Always miss you,” I tell her. Of course I do. She is my mate. The best days are the days we spend all day together. Now that she is carrying our kit, she has to stay closer to the cave. It’s hard not to resent my child at times because he already takes up so much of her time. But then I think of the family waiting for me, and my resentment fades. I have gone from being alone to having a wonderful mate and we will soon have a kit.
I would change nothing. Not a tail-flick of it.
I crawl into bed behind Har-loh and nuzzle her neck. Because her belly is so big, we cannot mate from the front as usual. For the past moon, we have been creative with our mating, and I pull her against me, gauging her mood.
She sighs and reaches back for my hair. “I love you, Rukh.”
“I love you, my mate,” I tell her and nip at her soft ear. My hands slide to the front of her tunic, to her sensitive, swollen teats. Breasts, she calls them. I touch one and she moans, tugging at her clothing. That tells me she wants my touch as much as I want her. I help her undo the laces at the front of her tunic until it falls open, and her ripe breasts are free for my hands. I gently brush over the nipples, because I know they’re too tender for much more.