Barbarian Mine (Ice Planet Barbarians #4)(26)

My back twinges as it has been lately, and I groan, rubbing the base of my spine. The baby seems to be resting on something on my upper right-hand abdomen, as that part of my body constantly aches lately. I go back and forth from rubbing the side of my belly to rubbing my lower back. My shoes suddenly seem like a lot of effort to put on, especially pregnant, so I pick them up and shove them in my shoulder bag. In the other bag goes my kill, and I use my spear as a walking stick as I pick my way across the sand and head back home.

Funny how this weird beach is ‘home’ now, but it is. I hum a nursery rhyme to myself as I hang up my bag on one of the rocky outcroppings that serves as a coat hook. I want to rub my aching, swollen feet, but I can barely reach them these days, so I shuffle toward the fire and stoke it, instead.

After the fire is good and roaring, I chop up, skin, and spit the spaghetti monster on the fire. By the time I’ve done that and washed my hands, I’m pooped. I rub my aching lower back and head toward my furs to lie down. Being pregnant is taking a lot out of me, and it seems like an eternal pregnancy with no end in sight.

I ease my body onto the thick pile of furs and relax, closing my eyes. My swollen feet are propped up on a pillow stuffed with feathers from one of the raptor-looking birds that hunt the shoreline. There’s another one behind my head, and the pelts under my body are soft and supple and warm, even if they’re not all that pretty to look at. I’m not the best at tanning, but I get better every day.

I glance over at my ‘calendar’. It’s the first of December.

Okay, so it’s not really the first. Nor is it December, like it says. We don’t have paper or much wood, so I took several rib bones from different creatures and carved the months of the year into each one, then strung them up like a xylophone. It’s a modified calendar in that I have hash-marks for days and I only put thirty days in each month regardless of how long it truly was. It’s just a general way for me to count time, since the seasons are all out of whack here on Not-Hoth, and Rukh pays zero attention to them.

I rub my belly and muse at the time that’s passed. I created that calendar in ‘January’. It was an arbitrary date, but I got tired of time passing and me not knowing when it was. With a baby on the way, I wanted to track somehow. I’m pretty sure it’s been a year since Rukh and I mated for the first time and made the baby.

I’m pretty sure I’m gonna be pregnant forever. I run a hand along my belly, frowning. It’s big, but nothing’s dropped like I hear in pregnancy stories. I’ve already been pregnant for about two months longer than a human woman. The fourth trimester, I like to joke, not that Rukh gets my jokes.

The baby kicks and then flips in my belly, and I rub a hand over it soothingly. “You get them, though, don’t you?”

A flutter in my stomach makes me think of laughter. Baby laughter. I fall asleep in the furs, wondering what it’s going to be like when the baby gets here. Rukh’s going to be such a good daddy.




RUKH



I snarl in irritation at the family of plumed ‘raptors’ that squawk along the beach. All day, I’ve been out looking for small ones, because their feathers are softer than the adults and Har-loh wants them for our kit’s bedding. I’ve ranged far and wide today, looking for the perfect ones, and managed to find one when I was at the end of my temper. Now I come home and see three of the things frolicking in the waves. Irritating. They’ll live another day, because I already have what I came for.

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.”