M y mood has been far too rough of late. But what sort of roughness? Is it like sandpaper or like tears? Like the tongue of a cat, or like his teeth scraping over my shoulder? Like screaming, or like cold silence? My fingertips, or the sea in winter?
My lips tingle. I am hungry, abashed.
I will kiss him, slowly, to thank him for his careful distancing from me while I fight my ill temper.
I have been unfair.
My nose catches the slightest hint of humesweat soaking through linen, and I turn my ears into the wind, listening for his footsteps. Here, five hundred metres from the ship, his feet make an odd cadence over the ground, as though he is carrying something heavy.
The pair of werewolves he encountered must have been quick work.
The hatch opens.
He is victorious, bearing a pair of fine pelts and only a slight, well-healed scar for his trouble. Dinner is in his traveling pack; cactoid fruit for me, a hare to roast for himself.
He does not look at me at first. "I've come with supper at last. Hungry, I trust."
I smile at him, my wood-smile, all in the pupils of the eyes. He does not see it.
"Famished."
The jewelry glints on his fingers and ears; I think of removing it gently with my teeth, kissing the skin revealed. My Bal'thjr is a man of a thousand secrets. I want to unveil them, recite each one gently in my heart as I reveal his skin, inch by sweet inch.
He cannot see my face, and his regretfully untalented nose does not scent my tenderness. He is anxious to be away from me, though his tone is light as he reveals the spoils of the day's hunt.
"We just may fetch a fair bit of gil for all this. We'll be back in Bhujerba in no time."
I nod but do not reply, watching him rise and turn quickly into the ship's galley. He is unusually reticent, and I scent a hint of despair.
Bal'thjr, fo'e. Nin ka'ran. A' voth.
I follow him into the galley after a moment's pause. He is bent over the cactoid fruit, extracting the seeds and slicing it thin. He is pampering me. He feels guilty, though his eyes would never betray it. He glances sidelong at me as I enter the room, palm a thin red slice from the plate, and slip it under my tongue, watching him pretend to ignore me.
"I set about making you a proper meal for once in my life and you come in to look over my shoulder? I feel like I'm in Akademy again."
I shake my head wordlessly and turn him away from the counter, lean in to taste his mouth, anise and blackcurrant.
He dissolves.
Sweet hume.