For the next few minutes, we practice saying each other’s names. I can get him to make the H-sound in Harlow when he makes a biting motion, but the name still sounds bait mangled. I’m about the same with his name – he’s only pleased when I make a swallowing sort of sound with the R that doesn’t feel natural with a human throat.
But we’re getting somewhere. I smile at him again and decide to try for the next bit of communication. I put my hands out as if warming them. “Fire?” I try the word in his language, since English would be useless for him. “Harlow needs fire?”
He frowns and gives a small shake of his head. He doesn’t understand.
“Makes sense,” I say to myself, drumming my fingers on my lips as I think. There’re so many things I need to ask for if I’m staying here for a while – blankets, a warmer shelter, fire, food, water, bathing, weapons…the list overwhelms me. I feel helpless and more alone than when I first woke up out of my tube. A tear of self-pity slides down my cheek and I angrily scrub it away. “Shit.”
“Shit?” he repeats, and touches my cheek. “Harlow shit?”
A laugh escapes me, chasing my sadness away. “Not quite, Rukh. But I’m sucking at this language thing. Maybe I need to try something else.” I glance around at the cave but there’s nothing that could even be remotely used for fire. So I get to my feet and offer him my hand. “Come with me. Let’s go gathering.”
? ? ?
I’m still woefully lacking in a lot of survival skills, but one of the first things that the tribe insisted I learn was how to find fuel and how to make a fire. We go walking, with Rukh watching me curiously the entire time. I think he half expects me to run off on him, but that’s not part of the plan.
I don’t have anywhere to go.
Instead, I look for signs of dvisti, the shaggy, pony-like herd animals of this planet. They eat the wispy, ice-coated fauna of this place, and their dung is the staple of most fire pits since wood seems to be rare. I gather an armful and then bring it back to the cave with me, trying to teach words to Rukh as we walk. It’s a losing battle, but I try anyhow. Most of his attention seems to be fixed on figuring out what it is I’m doing.
Once we return to the cave, I clear out the center of the floor and make a pit, then line the edges with rocks. I pull out the cord I keep around my neck that I made for myself when I was first learning many of the basic skills for survival on this planet. Fire was number one, so I and a few of the other girls made necklaces with a bit of steel on them. It seemed someone had salvaged a few bits from the elders’ ship, thinking they were interesting. We humans quickly cannibalized them and I kept one circuit-looking square tied to a thong on my neck. Now I just needed a striking rock, which this planet had a lot of, and some tinder.
A bit of fluff from the inside of my boot and a dry, torn-up bit of dung provided the tinder, and I began to try and make a spark. It took me a few bangs of the rock, but a few minutes later, I had a smoky coal. I blew on it and then fed the flaming tinder to my pile of dung chips, adding more fluff to make it burn.
The lick of warmth was immediately gratifying. I sighed with relief when the flames caught and began to burn strongly, and I put my hands out over it. “Fire,” I told Rukh.
“Fire,” he echoed, and I realized he was speaking in his language. I’d spoken in English unthinkingly.
“You remember fire?” I point at it.
He nods. “Fire.”
I smile at him. “Harlow needs fire.” I mock-shivered. “Too cold otherwise.”
His brows draw together, and then he nods slowly. “Harlow fire.” His warm hand touches mine. Oh God, he’s really, really warm. I pull away, even though the only thing I want to do is keep touching him.
My traitorous cootie? It purrs loudly.
RUKH
Har-loh fascinates me. She feeds animal scat to the licking flames – the fire – and holds her hand over it. I realize what she was trying to communicate to me.
She’s cold. Her strange, five-fingered hands are small and don’t hold heat. She shivers even in the furs she wears. Her body isn’t like mine, impervious to the weather. She’s affected by it, and as the suns go down and the air grows colder, she moves closer and closer to the fire.
I realize how inadequate my small cave is to make her comfortable. I chose this one simply because it was near to where she and the bad ones were staying. It’s not home – I have no home. I simply stay in a place for a time, and then move on. There are better caves, though. Some are warmer, with pockets of hot melted snow in them. She would like that, I think, as she drinks from my water skin and shivers at the chill of the snow-water.