Live and Let Thri

    Outside the small canvas tent, a soft wind blew through the dry grass of the savannah. It carried with it the scents of dry earth, exotic pollens, and the myriad creatures of the night. The calls of birds and bats could be heard, the rustling of tree branches and brush as nocturnal beasts foraged in the darkness.

    Inside the tent Kireza could neither smell nor hear any of it. The air was saturated with the scents of sulfur, charcoal, saltpeter, and magnesium, measured in perfect proportion according to the formula her mentor had taught her. The only sound was that of stone grinding against stone as she crushed the reagents together between her mortar and pestle. By the dim light of her alcohol-fueled lamp, hanging from the peak of her tent, she dutifully underwent her nightly distraction while her companions slept. Normally she'd have a line of brass bomb casings laid out, ready to be filled. But tonight they remained stuffed in a wooden box, still waiting for her to take them out. She was being inefficient, and deliberately so. She'd been doing things like that all week.

    Ever since that drunken encounter with Jeril in a treetop hut some hundred miles to the south, she'd spent every night working in as time-consuming a manner as possible to distract herself from her thoughts. She was constantly bombarded by vivid memories of what she'd done to him, feelings of guilt and shame, and a surging torrent of half-imagined disapproval from her ancestors flowing through her veins. While she worked she had focus. She had direction. She had peace. So work she did: sharpening and oiling weapons, brewing potions, drawing up schematics, reviewing schematics, revising schematics, discarding schematics, reading magic theory, crafting minor enchantments, re-reading magic theory... anything to keep Jeril out of her mind.

    So far it had been working, at least at night. Days were a different story. Their leader, Zender, still insisted on carrying the giant stone fist of the golem they'd destroyed with them for "study," which was apparently a lucrative activity. That meant those not fortunate enough to ride at the front of the cart had to squish up against one another for hours on end, and most days that had been including Jeril and Kireza.

    Problem was, she was running out of materials. Enchantments required raw components. Potions and bombs required reagents. She'd expended a lot in the fight with the colossus, and tonight she was down to the last of her bomb-making materials. After tonight... well, that was something to worry about later. She didn't focus on that. There were bombs to make.

    She tapped the pestle on the mortar's side to shed any stray black powder from it. With her free primary hand, she grabbed a bomb casing and set it on her workbench, then fit a funnel into it. Carefully, she let the black powder tumble down into the funnel, filling the casing nearly to the top before putting both funnel and mortar aside. From a small, partitioned chest -- her toolkit -- she grabbed a basic fuse threaded through a cork and fitted it into the top. She'd run out of mechanical fuses nearly a month ago, and lighting these simple ones was always a pain, but...

    "Kireza?"

    She flinched at the sound of Jeril's voice. She suddenly became aware of his scent, wafting in from outside the tent. She twisted her head ever so slightly, catching a glimpse of him at the extreme edge of her vision. He was halfway dressed, wearing nothing but his trousers and unlaced boots.

    "Kireza, can we, uh... can we talk? I know it's been a while but I think it's important that we, uh... discuss some things." He cleared his throat.

    Kireza froze in place, secondary hands still fitting the cork into the bomb she'd been working on. Her hearts raced, and a familiar tension wormed its way into her thorax. This was the last thing she had expected. Jeril had done his fair share of avoidance, making minimal small talk for the sake of appearances, but making a point not to be alone with her. Now, apparently, things had come to a head. She feared what he would say. Her instincts flared up, the desire to run welling up in her like a screaming horde in her blood.

    "Kireza?" he asked. "Are you okay? You seem--"

    Before Jeril could finish his sentence, Kireza had twisted her body around and crawled out the tent, pushing past him in a single motion. The barest sliver of moon hung in the sky, shining through a sparse haze of clouds. She could make out a few trees here and there, and the low smoldering fire of the camp site some distance away. Everything else was black to her eyes in all directions, and she hesitated, the fear of getting lost in the dark a counter to the strong instinctual urge to run from the source of her distress.

    Jeril was after her in an instant, his fingers locking around her wrist. "Wait a minute, I just want--"

    Without thinking, she dug her claws into his arm and wrenched it away from hers, then broke into a run. Jeril cried out in pain, and she came to a stop a half-dozen paces from him. A new smell was in the air, piercing the ambient scents of the night. Blood. Jeril's blood. She looked down at her hand and felt a knot forming in her gut. Droplets of darkness stained the tips of her fingers. A new panic rose up in her as she sprinted back over to her friend.

    "No, no, no," she whimpered, feelers pressed down against her head. "Jeril, I..."

    "What the hell, Kireza?!" Jeril whispered angrily, clutching his arm to his chest. "What's wrong with you?"

    "I... I didn't... Jeril..." The knot in her stomach tightened as she struggled to find her words. She reached out towards him, hesitating before gingerly laying her hand on his shoulder.

    "Wait, I can, I can fix. Please! Please..."

    Jeril flinched at her touch, glaring at her. He glanced down at his wounded arm, back up at her, back towards the camp... He sighed.

    "Okay. Okay I'll... I'll let you patch me up."

    They walked back to Kireza's tent in silence, too angry and too ashamed to speak, respectively. Kireza held open the flap for Jeril as he stooped to enter, then followed in after him.

    "Sit," she plaintively instructed, crouching to dig through her backpack. Her first aid kit and canteen were easy enough to find. She handed them off to her secondary hands and turned around, crawling to place herself across from Jeril in the cramped tent. She sat cross-legged less than a yard away from him and held out her primaries expectantly.

    Still frowning, Jeril reluctantly presented his arm to her. She bent down over it, her sense of duty and work ethic clamping down on the knot in her stomach. Jeril was a close friend, but more importantly he was g'tokmma'ak: a clutchmate. Tending to his needs took priority over her feelings. She felt some relief upon examining the wound. Four parallel scratches, two on top and two on bottom, corresponding with her fingers, traced their way down Jeril's forearm. A little blood seeped through each wound, already starting to coagulate.

    "Not as bad as I thought," she said. "Hold still." She opened her canteen and washed his wound, then grabbed a small bottle from her kit. "This will hurt," she said as she popped the cork off, exposing the soft brush embedded in it. The scent of alcohol filled the air, and Jeril winced as the bristles touched his wounds, but didn't say anything. Tincture applied, she wrapped up his wounds with gauze, then wrapped them again with a bandage and tied it off, shearing the rest of the roll with her mandibles.

    Carefully, she put away her supplies, making sure to arrange them the same way they'd been when she unrolled the kit. She rolled it up again and stowed it in her pack, watching Jeril's expression soften behind her. He was staring at her as she turned to face him again, loosely clutching the wound.

    She stared back at him, mandibles twitching as she tried to find her words. The tension in her thorax was strong as ever, as if her hearts were being wrung dry of all their blood. This was worse than being pressed together in the cart. Jeril looked away and breathed deeply, letting out a sigh as he shifted in his seat.

    "S-sorry," Kireza mumbled, not knowing what else to say.

    "Hmm?" Jeril asked, his gaze darting back up to her.

    "Sorry. I am sorry," she said, a little louder this time. "Sorry for... all my fault..." she mumbled again, too afraid and too ashamed to speak up.

    Jeril took a deep breath. “It's okay. Just a scratch. You didn't mean to hurt me. I did sort of sneak up on you just now.”

    “No,” she said, trembling and pulling her tripartite arms in close to her chest. “In the tree. I'm sorry for... for pushing you and, and...”

    Jeril cut her off. “Stop it. Don't apologize for things that aren't your fault.”

    She let out a little wail, chattering her mandibles. “But, if –”

    “Kireza, listen to me,” he said. “What happened up there, we both went into willingly. Yeah, you initiated and you caught me off-guard a little bit – and you owe me a new belt – but I didn't exactly run away screaming.”

    “But –“

    “No buts,” he insisted. “I'm not the type of person to sit and watch his friends cry if there's something I can do about it.”

    She was surprised. He was able to read her so well. She'd never cried in front of him before, in fact hadn't cried in quite some time, but he was able to pick up on it instantly. And he was hardly an expert on thri-kreen emotional responses... or was he? They'd spent so much time together, told each other so much... it wasn't so far-fetched that he'd empathize with her so well after all.

    “So, so you are not angry?” Kireza asked.

    “What?”

    “You do not hate me?”

    Jeril's eyes widened. “No. Gods no, Kireza. Damn it,” he said, glancing away from her for a moment. “Kireza, I'm the one who should be apologizing here. After that happened, just not talking to you for so long was probably the worst thing I could have done. But we've been on the road, and everyone's been all mashed together because of that damn rock, and...” He shook his head. “No, no excuses. I should have come to you at the first opportunity and just tried to figure this out with you.”

    Kireza didn't know what to say. She hadn't expected this from him, though perhaps she should have. She sat up straighter. They sat in silence for another moment until Kireza finally spoke up.

    “It is okay. I did not want to talk. Did not want to think. Just...” she tilted her head, looking over him at her bombs. “When I work, do not have to think. Just work. Make bombs. Make magic things. Don't feel guilt and shame and afraid.”

    Jeril glanced behind him. “Yeah, I guess. I was trying my hardest not to think about this stuff either.” He rested his chin in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees. “Didn't work. Even if I spend all day thinking about, well, anything at all, new songs or dirty limericks or ways to mess with Krashi, you know, whatever... at night it doesn't matter.”

    “What do you mean?” she asked.

    He yawned. “Gods, I'm tired. I explained to you all about sleep, right? What goes on, why we do it, and all that?”

    She flicked her feelers apart, nodding for good measure. “Sleep is needed for dra, for sleepers. It is not want.”

    “And if we don't sleep, we suffer. Yeah.” He sighed. “Well I haven't exactly been sleeping like a baby lately, Kireza.”

    She looked more closely at him, only now noticing the dark circles under his eyes. He didn't look good. “Why not sleep?” she asked, concerned for her friend.

    “Well, at first I was just sort of in shock. I couldn't believe we did that. Then that first night, I uh, I dreamed about you. About us, uh... in the tree.”

    He cleared his throat, blushing a bit.

    “Then I just started avoiding sleep. But that just made me think about it while I was lying awake, and uh... well, I guess the point I'm trying to get to here is that I've had a lot of time to think about what happened, and what it meant, and, uh... Well, maybe I should start with just asking the one thing that's got me confused.”

    He cleared his throat and looked back up at Kireza. “Why, exactly, did you want to do it? I mean, I'm no thri-kreen. I don't think I have an especially shiny shell or attractive antennae or whatever it is kreen find sexy. I don't get it.”

    Kireza glanced behind her quickly with her peripheral vision and spoke in a whisper. “Ah... your, uh, your scent.” Her feelers quivered and twitched as anxiety swelled in her once again. “I like your scent.”

    “The way I smell?” Jeril asked, one eyebrow raised. He experimentally took a sniff of his arm, then shrugged. “I guess that sorta makes sense, you said your sense of smell is much better than ours. And those pheromones you told me about, that's how you communicate your emotions mostly, so... wait, why do I smell so good to you? I don't have pheromones.”

    She struggled to stay composed, to keep her trembling to a minimum. This was delving into very uncomfortable territory. She didn't like to think about this part of herself. “You do. All life does. But yours are, ah, what is the word? Subtle, I think. Harder to smell, but affect you anyway. Don't know you're smelling them. But no, not pheromones, just... smell.” She swallowed, though her mouth was growing dry.

    “What about it, though? I still don't understand.”

    She shivered. “Can't explain. Just... like smell. Smells good. Better than food or spices or, or... anything. Can't help it.”

    “Not like an elf, then?”

    She clacked her mandibles together. “Stop that! Kreen and elves, we have understanding. Ancient kreen hunt, eat them. No more.” Some part of her was grateful for the insult. It took her mind off her own thoughts.

    “Okay, okay, sorry,” Jeril said, looking away. “Should have known that was a sore subject. But still, it's different, huh?”

    She nodded. “Different. Don't want to eat, want to...” she trailed off, knowing that he'd get the point.

    Jeril frowned. “So all this time I've been sexy as hell and I didn't know it. If I had, maybe I could have done something about it.”

    “No, not your fault. Mine.” She chattered under her breath in kreen. “I was wrong. Broken...”

    “Ki,” Jeril said, “no” in the kreen tongue. “Stop that. You... no, we're both in this. We didn't do anything wrong. It was weird, sure, but wrong?”

    “But–”

    Jeril held up a hand to silence her. “No, seriously, think about it. Did we hurt anyone? Did we hurt each other? I mean, I can't say honestly that I paid all that much attention in church growing up, but I'm pretty sure Pelor's most basic rule is 'don't hurt other people,' and outside of a little angst and awkwardness we're both in pretty good shape.” He glanced down at his bandaged arm. “Er, mostly.”

    “Jeril, what we did... Not natural.”

    Jeril made a show of rolling his eyes. “We do unnatural things all the time. Someone had to make that robe you're wearing.”

    “Not the same. Cannot produce young. Not with you.” She trembled. “And, if pack finds out, if clutch finds out, then what? They will say wrong, they will say more than just strange.” She looked away from him.

    “Well, they're not going to, so don't worry about that.”

    “But what if they do? What if Jack finds out? What if Krashi? What if... Zender?” She shuddered at that last one. Zender was the alpha of this clutch. His opinion mattered quite a bit.

    “Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But worrying about it isn't going to do us any good.” He offered his hand to her. She eyed the bandage on it, still feeling the bite of guilt, and took it in a secondary.

    “So,” he said, letting his fingers intertwine with hers, “Now that we're agreed that you did nothing wrong and you shouldn't feel bad about it, I wanted to ask you...”

    “Not agreed, no.”

    “We've been over this, it's settled. If not, then let's just pretend that you're a good person and that you're a good friend to me and that I forgive you for anything debased and impure you've inflicted upon me. Are you going to disagree with me that I think you're my friend and that I don't want you to feel bad?”

    She hesitated. “Uh...”

    “Of course not.” He smiled. “Now let's get back to it. Just answer my questions, and I'll answer whatever you want to know, and we can stay friends and all of that good stuff. Agreed?”

    Reluctantly, she nodded, not wanting to disappoint her friend.

    “Good. Now, so far we've established that I smell pretty good, and was completely oblivious to that fact. So let me apologize for enticing you with my scent.”

    “Ah...”

    “Apology accepted? Great. Now we can put it behind us. Next question, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Now, this is going to sound weird, but, uh, do you like the smell of all humans or just me?”

    “I... I...” she drew her hands up towards her face, suddenly flustered. “Humans, humans smell good, yes. Jack... not as good as you.” She looked back towards her toolkit, wishing she could just be making bombs right now.

    “So it's me, specifically, that smells really good, but you like the smell of humans in general...” He frowned, contemplating this new data. “If you're not too embarrassed, what else do you like about me?”

    She was definitely embarrassed, but she decided to press on anyway. This would be over quicker that way. “Ah... Soft. Strange. No shell, moving face, and, and...” her voice dropped to a whisper. “Voice. Voice like music.”

    Jeril grinned, a bit of blush creeping into his face. “Well, uh, thanks. Didn't know I was that good. My singing instructor would be proud. A voice so beautiful it seduces young ladies of all types.”

    “Jeril!” she hissed, heat rising up in her eyes as her pheromones filled the tent. This was humiliating.

    “Okay, okay, sorry. But you have to admit, it's a hell of a compliment.” He frowned suddenly. “I feel like I'm dominating the conversation here, Kireza. Did you have anything you wanted to ask me?”

    “Ah... why not run before? Why stay in bed and, ah...”

    He looked away. “Turnabout's fair play, I guess. Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Well, to be honest, the alcohol probably had a bit to do with it. But, I guess it really comes down to trust.” He met her gaze. “You're my friend. One of the best I've ever had, and in a very short time. I trust you. I want you to be happy. Beyond that, I admit I was a bit curious. That, and I just saw a beauty in you that I surrendered to.”

    “Beauty?”

    “Yeah.” Blush crept back into his cheeks. “You're beautiful, in your own way. I always thought your eyes were pretty. You're sleek and smooth and kinda shapely, too.” He reached out and put a hand on her waist. Heat rose up in her thorax at his touch. Their gaze met again, and he withdrew his hand, embarassed.

    She felt some degree of embarassment herself at his remarks. Her, beautiful? She never felt that way. She always thought she was rather plain. “Thank you,” she said.

    “Anything else you wanted to ask me?”

    She wanted to say yes, but she couldn't think of anything. She shook her head.

    “Well then, I guess I'll go again. Uh... how long ago did you... well, was what happened in the treehouse sorta spur of the moment, or had you wanted to do it for a while? I mean, it felt like it was a long time coming.”

    She didn't know how to answer that one. “Ah... well, when first saw you, I thought you look good. But didn't want to, ah...” she shied away from actually saying it out loud. “Didn't for month or two. Find out feelings, some time ago. When telling stories, teaching language.” She shuddered, looking behind her. Someone out there? No, just her imagination. “Uh... thought you understand, good friend.” She looked down. “Best friend. Closer than any other.”

    “Can't be. Kireza, we haven't known each other that long. What about your brothers and sisters? You didn't talk about them much, but...”

    “No, not close. Tokchak, clutch-mind give duty, protection, share food, survival, but not friends, not respect. Never good hunter. Could survive, but ate vermin. Only close friend Zherat, klik. Teacher.”

    “Zherat... you told me about him. He died, didn't he?”

    “Very old. Lived more than 450 moons.”

    Jeril's brow furrowed as he did some math in his head. “Thirty-something years, almost forty... I forget how short your lives are. That's really old?” Suddenly his eyes widened. “Wait, didn't you say you were only seventy moons?”

    “Seventy-five,” she corrected him.

    He grimaced slightly. “Just over six years. Doesn't make it sound much better...”

    “Yes, adult. Twelve molts. Twelve times the pain. Twelve times to eat own shell. Made my first chatchka, throwing blade, blooded it and ate first kill as adult. Not child. Not like dra. Do not take long years to grow. Adult.”

    “Okay, okay... point taken. I guess it's all relative. Hell, by dwarf or elf standards I'd still be a child. Wonder if Zender ever seduced some thirty-something barmaid and had an existential crisis over it...” He shook his head. “Sorry, I'm being disrespectful. I know how important Zherat was to you. I didn't mean to go off on a tangent like that.”

    “It is okay. Reminds me of Zherat. Zherat... after blooding, he tells me I do good. He is proud.” The warmth of kinship flared up in her blood, tempered by a painful sting of grief. “Was always there. Found me. Fed me when I was hungry, a nymph at great bazaar.”

    He nodded, smiling. “I'd still love to visit one of those. Great moving cities, where all manner of kreen come to trade and share news and form new bonds. It sounds amazing.”

    She nodded. “It is. Never found a pack there. Found Zherat. Was chasing hare at edge of bazaar. Chased it into trap. Zherat's trap. He shared with me, taught me to make traps. Helped me find memories of how to preserve meat, how to make dasl, how to make fire powder. Taught me what my blood did not know. I miss him.”

    “I can imagine. Reminds me of Master Gambel, back at the college. Anytime I couldn't wrap my head around something, he'd be there to lay it out for me, or push me in the right direction. Sarcastic son of a bitch, but genuine. I'm sorry to have brought it up.”

    “No, it is okay,” she said. “Good to remember him. Hope to meet him again some day.”

    “Meet him again?”

    “If hatch again, while I live. Helped to bury him in Circle. Shelter for nymphs, and if stars are right, guidance for lost soul.”

    “To be reincarnated, right?” He frowned a bit. “You really cared for him, didn't you?”

    She nodded, flicking her feelers together.

    “So were you and him, uh... well...”

    She chittered, embarassed. “Not like that with him.”

    “Like what? Like us?”

    That gave her pause. “...no. No, not like... what we did.”

    “I gathered that much. I mean, did you love him?”

    She chittered at him. “Love. Strange word. Mean so many things. Cared for him. Considered him kin. Clutchmate.”

    “So like us then after all.”

    “Well, yes and no.” She felt heat building up behind her eyes. “Actually... offered myself to him once, before final moult. He said no. Old, brittle male like him no fit mate for young healthy female. Said we should remain g'tokmma'ak t mma'ak.”

    “Remind me of that one?”

    “Clutchmate and friend. But not mate.”

    Jeril frowned slightly, stroking his chin. “Is that what we are? Mates?”

    The question confused her. “We... we mated.”

    “Yeah, about that... I don't think we ever really dug into this while we were chatting before. Uh... I told you about marriage, right, about two humans, er, or elves or dwarves or whatever, joining together, having kids, that sort of thing?”

    “Yes...”

    “Yeah, well, I mean... sometimes humans, and elves, and dwarves, and halflings... especially halflings, if you listen to certain people... um, anyway, sometimes we, uh, mate without the whole marriage thing. Now, not everyone approves, but secretly almost everyone approves whether they say so or not, I think, and some people do it with people other than their spouse and most people don't approve of that, and...” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, sometimes a drunken tryst is just a drunken tryst. You're not doomed to take me home and introduce me to your parents if you don't want to.”

    “Only met parents once, at great bazaar. Father joined mother's pack. Did not speak much with me.”

    “It was a joke, Kireza.”

    “Bad joke.”

    “Well, I mean, if that's what you're worried about, that you're stuck with me for the rest of your life just because we slept together, just stop worrying. I won't hold you to it and nobody has to know.”

    Nobody had to know. That thought brought her no small degree of comfort. “Okay,” she said.

    “We're doing it all out of order anyway,” he said with a smile.

    “What mean?”

    “Well, I mean, it's not like we haven't gotten to know each other yet. But among my kind, usually a gentleman courts a young lady for a while before, well, doing the deed.”

    “Courts?”

    “Spends time with her, gets to know her, takes her out on dates, buys her flowers, gives her gifts, asks for her parents' blessing and all that...”

    “Gifts? Kreen give gifts.”

    “To mates?”

    “Wanted mate. When looking for mate, one gives gift. If wanted back, gift given in return.”

    “Well, what kind of gift?”

    “Small thing. With thinking put into it. Thing wanted mate would like.”

    “Something small that they would like, huh? Hmm...” Jeril rubbed his chin, brow furrowing. Suddenly he stood up. “Wait here,” he said.

    “Where going?”

    “Just wait here, I'll be right back.” He ducked out of the tent and wandered off towards the camp. Kireza leaned out, sticking her head through the flap to watch him. It was difficult to see but she made out his silhouette by the dwindling campfire, stooping next to his bedroll. She could make out a few shapeless lumps where her other companions had set up their bedrolls, save for Zender, who sat catatonic in the lotus position, meditating while wrapped in a blanket.

    Jeril fiddled with something next to his bedroll and walked back, carrying something small with him. She scooted back into the tent to make room for him. Whatever he carried was hidden behind his back.

    “Alright then,” he said as he sat down. “Is there supposed to be some sort of ritual to this, or...”

    “What?” she asked, confused.

    “Do I have to say something special or can I just give my gift to you?”

    “Ah... no, nothing special. Just...”

    “Well okay then. Here,” he said, holding out a small book to her.

    She took it from him with her secondaries and examined it. It was bound in leather, with a satin ribbon bookmark attached to the spine. There was a title etched into the cover in silver leaf: Classical Poetry of the Kingdom of Valonde. She opened it carefully, not wanting to scratch the binding or tear any pages. Inside, on the first page, was a handwritten note:

    Jeril,
    Please be careful out there. I'm sure you know all of these poems by heart already, but I wanted to make sure you never forget your roots. I know daddy wanted Jack to keep you safe, but it's up to you to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid either. Keep this book close to you so you can remember us, and come home in one piece.
    Love,
    Aelia

    “Aelia... your sibling?”

    “Yep. She gave this to me when Jack and I left home to find our way in the world.”

    “Jeril, I... I cannot take this. It is meant to be a small thing.”

    “It's not a big book.”

    “You know what I mean. This is too important. I cannot–”

    “I insist. You haven't read most of these poems and I know it's something that you'll like. Like my little sister wrote in there I know all of these already. If it makes you feel better, don't think of it as something to keep. Think of it as me giving it to you to keep safe.”

    She looked down at the page again, still feeling uncertain about this. “Thank you,” she said anyway, closing the book. He looked expectantly at her, a gentle smile on his face. She hugged the poetry book to her thorax, contemplating what to give him in return. Jeril had just turned this into an important exchange. She hadn't expected something so close to his heart. She needed to reciprocate properly.

    She reached for her pack with a primary, secondaries still clutching the book, and opened it up. She rifled through it, digging deep down to the bottom where she'd placed the things she rarely had use for. Finally, she drew out a small leather pouch and opened it up, pouring its contents out onto the rug between them. It was full of tiny items wrapped in scraps of parchment. She examined and flipped over several of them before finding the one she was looking for and placed the rest back into the bag, which she tied and put away along with her new book.

    Slowly, she unwrapped the parchment and revealed an elongated trinket, which she gently placed in Jeril's outstretched hand. He plucked it up between his fingers and held it up to the lamplight, admiring its crystalline sheen and brown striated coloring. It was finely detailed, more than just the plain figure eight it seemed at first glance. Each section of the eight bulged slightly, and at the bottom there was an elaborate, delicate carving of intertwined fingers.

    “It looks like... two arms intertwined, holding hands,” Jeril said.

    “Yes,” Kireza said. “Like kreen sigil, with artistic... what word? Fancy, complex.”

    “Flourish?” he offered.

    “Yes. Artistic flourish.”

    “What's the sigil mean? I don't think you showed me this one yet.”

    “Is mean... hard to say in Common. Means like, kin, clutch-mind, closeness, friends, family.”

    “So... love?”

    She had to admit, that was a good way to sum it up. That nebulous and far-reaching word was, for once, useful in her mind. “Not exactly, but is good word for it.”

    “Did you make this? What's it made out of?”

    “Dasl. Made when young, gift for Zherat.”

    “Dasl... that crystal stuff you make out of your venom?”

    “Yes,” she said, proudly. “Made many. This best one. Zherat gave back to me when... when time to go to Circle. Told me to give to someone important.”
    Jeril contemplated the gift, holding it in his palm as if it were much heavier than it truly was. “Wow. I'm... I'm honored. I'm touched. I don't know what to say except... thank you.” He looked back up at her, arms extended. They embraced briefly. “I'll keep this safe for you. I promise. But, uh, do you have a piece of twine or something? I have an idea.”

    She could see where he was going with this. She turned around and opened up her supply kit, grabbing a long, thin piece of leather out of it. She measured around his neck, gave a bit of slack, and cut it to size with her mandibles. He held it up for her and she ran the thong through the top end of the trinket and tied a simple knot to hold it in place, then a more stable one behind his neck. Jeril rubbed the dasl trinket between his fingers, then let it fall to his chest.

    “Looks good on me, I think,” he said. “I can tell this is very important to you. I guess that levels the gifting field a bit. But... that makes it official, then. Now what do two potential mates do, once the gifting is done?”

    “Spend time together. Hunt together. Eat together. Work together. More gifts. Is simple.”

    “Well, we already do plenty of that. Eating together, language lessons... which reminds me, we're behind on those... And I don't think I'll have any trouble finding more things to give to you. I mean, unless you think we're moving a little fast.”

    “I, ah...”

    “You do want to do it again,” he said. “Don't you?”

    She stared at him for a good minute, unmoving. Her hearts raced. Electricity ran through her nerves. The disapproving horde of ancestors in her blood were giving way to much more primal feelings, the same base desires that had brought them to this point. The guilt was still there. The shame was still there. Jeril's rationalizing had softened those a bit, but still they lingered. But they were like flimsy gates holding back a flood of desire.

    They buckled easily, in the end.

    Unthinking, she pulled him in close with her primaries, letting her secondaries wander. She couldn't deny it: she did want him. She wanted to taste him, to smell him, to touch him all over his soft, sensitive skin and have his hands explore her in turn. Her secondaries grabbed at him, groped him, as her feelers snaked their way through his hair. Jeril, for his part, wasted no time in untying the sash around her waist and opening her robe, stroking along the seams in her exoskeleton where plates overlapped. He reached in underneath the fabric to touch her abdomen.

    “I remember you liked this quite a bit...” he mused as he caressed the soft joints underneath her vestigial winglets. She gasped, drawing in breath through her sides with a soft hiss. “I wanted to try something you were too drunk to pick up on last time,” he said.

    Slowly, he reached up and touched the back of her head, holding it in place as he brought his mouth up to hers and pressed his lips against her labrum.

    “Open your mouth,” he said.

    Confused, she hesitated for a moment before obeying. She recoiled slightly as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, touching it with her own. He coughed as she spit out his tongue, grimacing and pulling away.

    “What are you doing?” she asked, incredulous.

    “It's called a kiss. Humans do it all the time, but...” he smacked his lips. “Your mouth tastes bitter.”

    “Venom...” she guessed. “Would not taste good.”

    “Probably why kreen don't do that. Let's put that on the list of things that don't quite work for us. I think I preferred the taste of your other end.”

    She burned a little with embarrassment, looking away from him. “Don't say that.”

    “Well, it's true. I wouldn't mind doing that again, you know. But for now...” he trailed off, reaching for a feeler and guiding it into his mouth.

    She gasped again as his tongue glided over and around the tip of her feeler. He'd done this before, and it felt just as strange and exhilarating. Tingles ran up the appendage, sending electricity racing through her nerves. She tasted the remnants of his dinner, the weak enzymes of his saliva, the natural saltiness of his flesh. This was good. This was probably what he intended with his kiss.

    “Better?” he asked, letting her feeler go. She nodded, prodding his lips with both feelers, letting him take them into his mouth. Her secondaries wandered downward to his beltline. No belt this time, she was thankful to notice, though she could probably figure one out right now. Deftly, she unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down slightly, freeing his half-erect cock. She grabbed it gently between her claws, tugging on it slightly to help him along. It was awkward in this position, though.

    “Turn around,” she said. Nodding, Jeril got on his feet into a crouch and complied, getting back on his knees. She grabbed him from behind with all four claws, nibbling on the nape of his neck with her maxillae, pinching him ever so gently with her sharp mandibles every now and again to excite him. He tasted wonderful. Smelled wonderful. Felt wonderful. Everything about his body excited her in strange ways that made her anxious and hot with desire.

    Reaching down to his groin again, she grabbed his manhood with both secondaries, tugging his growing erection with delicate precision. He groaned softly, reaching behind him to urge her abdomen forward. She curled it up through his legs, pushing the tip of it underneath his lowered pants. Her blood surged, filling her soft ovipore, pushing the tripartite rosebud of slick flesh out through the layers of chitin shielding it from the outside world. Jeril reached down and began to massage her there, his fingers becoming slick with her fluids.

    “I want you...” she whispered in between nibbles, squeezing and stroking his cock gently. She wrapped her primaries around his bare chest and hugged him close to herself, reveling in his warmth and his softness. She tasted him with tongue and palps, as her feelers danced through his hair and across his chest, taking in his musk, the scent of salts and oils on his skin.

    “You can have me,” he said, his fingers massaging her sensitive pore. She could feel the tiny callouses that lute strings had left on his fingertips passing over her soft flesh. He moved to penetrate her, then pulled back, going slightly deeper each time to tease her but never actually plunging into her, sending teasing tingles through the length of her body. She squeezed his torso with her primaries and his throbbing manhood with her secondaries, matching his rhythm to the best of her ability. She could feel his heartbeat through his chest... and through his cock, she realized with some amusement. Just one heart, keeping a simple but powerful rhythm, so unlike the complex staccato beat of her elongated hearts, twinned on either side of the cord of cartilage that bound together the core of her insides.

    Slowly, she let her primaries wander downward, fondling his stomach, his legs, his cock, his balls. She squeezed those gently, experimentally, careful not to cause him discomfort in her eagerness to explore his body. He didn't protest, busy as he was exploring hers. The movement of his hands bespoke an eagerness of his own, and some frustration. He was stifled by the cramped quarters of the crappy tent they had chosen to let this bawdy scene play out in. It was clear that he wanted to take her, wanted to plunge his fingers deep inside of her and give her the pleasure she so desperately wanted, but he held back, perhaps for the promise of greater pleasures yet to come.

    For her part, she did much the same, tugging at him but keeping her pace slow and her grip somewhat loose. It was difficult to concentrate, given Jeril's dextrous and devoted attention, but she tried her best to keep her hands on task. She tightened the grip of her secondaries gradually, increasing her pace and letting one of her primaries wander. Four clawed fingers gingerly traced their way down Jeril's bare chest. Another four gently stroked his balls and teased around and underneath them. All the while her feelers tickled at the nape of his neck while she nipped at his shoulder, Jeril's lips plucking at her twitching palps while she did so. He was insistent on trying to kiss her in any way he could, perhaps trying to ground himself in something familiar even as he sampled something strange and exotic.

    Jeril, meanwhile, had just two hands, but he was putting them to work. He spread apart the three petals of her sex, fingering the creases in between them and rolling their tips in between his fingers. They spasmed and spread for him of their own accord, trying to grasp at his fingertips while they danced around on her soft, pale flesh. He kept one hand on the pore while his other dipped down to her cerci, the small feeler-like protrusions on the now-inverted upper tip of her abdomen. He rolled those in between his fingers while he ran them down their length, tugging on them lightly to tease her. His index finger continued tracing the entrance of her pore, dipping just barely inside before retreating again to resume its path around it.

    “Please, Jeril,” she begged. “Deeper.”

    “Well, since you asked nicely,” he said in between deep breaths. Finally, he allowed his fingers to fully enter her engorged ovipore. She chittered softly as she felt him massaging her insides, wriggling slowly as he went in and out at a slow, steady pace. Warmth welled up inside of her, a slow-burning wick that started at the tip of her abdomen and burned up the length of her body. Waves of pleasure washed over her, and she undulated against her lover, pushing her abdomen up into his hands as they worked. She could feel herself pulling on him, trying to draw his fingers further inside. Every pull brought with it a tension in her abdomen, a surge of pleasure and warmth. She wanted more of him, and she could tell by his trembling that he felt the same way. The subtle wash of pheromones mixing with his sweat told a similar story.

    She stroked him harder, wanting to return the pleasure he was giving her, but she started to realize that her secondary claws, though nimble, were perhaps not quite up to the task. They were hard and rigid, so unlike Jeril's soft, warm hands. She'd have to do something about that, but later. For now...

    “Jeril,” she said. “Turn around again.” Reluctantly, she withdrew her abdomen from between his legs and helped him to his feet, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him down gently as soon as he was facing her again. She planted her feet underneath her and lifted herself into a crouch, leaning back a bit so that her abdomen was pointing between her legs. It was a bit awkward, so she steadied herself on Jeril's shoulder's with her primaries as she lined up her pore, now soaking wet and radiating heat, with his cock. They both shuddered as his manhood slipped slowly inside of her, the petals of her sex greedily grasping at him. She got in close, wrapping one primary around him while pressing another to the ground to support her weight. She pressed her secondaries to his stomach and chest, grasping gently at his skin. Jeril put one hand on her waist, another on her shoulder as she leaned towards him, her face inches away from his. Her feelers danced across his naked skin as if possessed of their own will while she got comfortable, making sure they were both properly supported.

    Only then did she begin to move her abdomen, pulling away from him and pushing back towards him in a slow, deliberate rhythm. They both stifled moans as she dragged against him, the peristaltic action of her pore squeezing him at regular intervals. Jeril moved his hips only slightly, trying to prolong and pronounce the experience for both of them. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth, shuddering as she increased her pace. He was trying his hardest to hold on, she could tell.

    “Do you need me to slow down?” she whispered, her palps tickling his lips.

    “No. Keep going,” he said, running his hand up and down her thin waist.

     She nodded and resumed her rhythmic undulations, the familiar warmth and tension building up in her abdomen. She let her secondaries wander, tickling his sides, his back, grabbing at his firm buttocks. She squeezed him and stroked him with her secondaries, tasted and smelled him with her feelers, took in the sight of his reddening face with compound eyes and ocelli alike. All the while she pushed and pulled against him with her pore, its rhythmic squeezing increasing in pace as pleasure built up inside.

    Jeril let go of her shoulder and grabbed either side of her abdomen, finally giving in to the urge  to thrust into her. She hugged him tighter, leaning heavily on her free primary to push against him in turn. They were both getting close, very close now. Jeril's face twisted into strange shapes, his skin becoming warmer to the touch. Kireza's vestigial winglets fluttered and buzzed, her body trembling all over. Finally, Jeril started breathing heavily.

    “Kireza, I'm gonna...”

    “I want to see,” she said, an intense curiosity striking her out of nowhere. She pulled away from him, looking down at their joined parts. She squeezed him a few more times to push him over the edge, then pulled off of him with a slurp, her petals grasping at the head of his cock one last time before she let him go. Trembling, Jeril reached down and stroked himself violently, then grunted and began to shudder. She watched with fascination as hot white spurts of cum splashed against her belly and onto the crude rug that lined the ground under her tent. She reached down with a secondary and wiped it off herself, holding it up before her eyes. She rubbed it in between a finger and one of her hand's two thumbs, curiosity piqued as a string of the sticky stuff spread between them. She stuck it into her mouth, tasting its salty bitterness.

    Jeril gasped as his shuddering subsided. “Are you... I mean, did you...”

    She shook her head no. “No. It's okay, though. I just...”

    “Nuts to that,” he said, tucking his hands behind her abdomen and easing it forward again. He bent down and kissed her still-engorged pore, sending another shock of pleasure through her. He washed his tongue and lips over and between her petals, working her into a quivering mess. She held onto the back of his head with her secondaries, shivering as he plunged his tongue and fingers inside of her. She held her composure as best she could, not letting her claws dig into his skin. After a few minutes of Jeril working his magic, her climax shot through her like a lightning bolt, waves of pleasure washing over her. Jeril pulled his head back, thrusting into her with his fingers in perfect time with the contractions of her pore. Finally, the orgasm subsided, and she pulled away from him as her sensitivity peaked. Still shaking, she leaned against him and breathed heavily, air whistling through her spiracles.

    Jeril started chuckling. “Gods, that was good. I think we both needed that. Got a rag?”

    Weakly, she dug through her toolkit and grabbed a spare rag, handing it off to Jeril. He wiped her juices off his mouth, his hands, and his cock, now going flaccid, then his own fluids off her body and her rug. She watched him as he cleaned up the evidence of their dirty deed, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Guilt and shame weighed on her. She had done it again. She'd given in to this deep-seated urge and dragged her friend into it with her. She looked away from him.

    Jeril placed a hand behind her head and turned it back towards him, then leaned forward and planted another kiss on her labrum. He leaned back, smiling at her. That sparked something in her. The   negative feelings fell off her shoulders as she lost herself in that smile, leaning forward to hug her lover with all four arms.

    “Feel better about all this, now that you have a willing, sober partner in crime?”

    “Feel better, yes. Do not think... crime.”

    Jeril chuckled. “I knew you'd come around. Wasn't so sure about coming around myself, but I guess I did.” He opened his mouth to say something else, then shut it, apparently thinking better of telling some crude joke. He buttoned up his trousers, plopping down cross-legged across from her. She kneeled, looking down at him and around at her tent.

    “So, one more...” Jeril said, suddenly trailing off. “Um... someone's coming.”

    “What!?” Kireza cried, panic suddenly welling up in her. What were they thinking, doing this out here, so close to her companions? Her head darted around frantically. Ancestors' blood, the noise they must have made, the scents that hung heavy in the air, the –

    “Kireza,” Jeril said, flatly and firmly. “Calm down. Close your robe and sit. Let me do the talking.”

     She hurriedly complied, still shaking as she sat. She drew her arms in close to her chest, folding them like a mantis and willing herself to sit still. She listened closely to the sounds outside of her tent,  and immediately recognized the sound of dry grass crunching under the feet of someone who was about as stealthy as a thunderstorm.

    “Jeril?” Jack's voice sounded outside the tent, barely above a whisper. “Jeril, you out here?”

    Jack pushed aside the flap of her tent and stooped down to stick his head in. Like his brother, he was shirtless, but also lacked boots. “Hey, Kireza, have you seen... oh, hey bro.”

    “Can I help you?”

    “Got up to take a piss and I noticed your bedroll was empty. Why you up?”

    “Couldn't sleep, bad dreams. Figured I'd bother the person who doesn't sleep rather than wake someone else up.”

    “Bad dreams? What...” he trailed off, an expression of worry suddenly appearing on his face. “Jeril, what the hell happened to your arm?”

    Jeril lifted his arm into the air. “Oh, this? I tripped on a rock on my way over to the tent. Because I'm a dumbass. It's okay though, Kireza patched me up.”

    “Elua should take a look at that.”

    “What, and deprive an old lady of her beauty rest? Like I said, Kireza took care of it. She was a bit overzealous – I mean, it's just a little scrape. Don't worry about it.”

    “I promised Aelia I would worry about stuff like that. Now that Mom's gone I gotta watch out for the family I got left, man.”

    “My guardian angel,” Jeril said with no small degree of sarcasm. “Well, I'm not dead, so can I get back to talking with Kireza?”

    “Whatever, man. Just try to get back to sleep soon. We're up at first light and leaving as soon as possible.”

    “I will. Good night.”

    Jack wrinkled his nose. “What's that smell, man?” Kireza felt her hearts twist around one another again.

    “You mean the sulfur? Kireza was mixing up bombs when I interrupted her.”

    “Yeah man, it stinks. Don't go overboard with those bombs, Kireza. We gotta pack up early, and none of us want to hear Zender bitching.”

    She nodded. “O-okay.”

    “Jack, watch your language. You're speaking to a lady.”

    Jack rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

    “With that attitude, it's no wonder you can't get any girls.”

    “Bite me. Night, Kireza. Jeril, go to bed.”

     “Okay, dad," Jeril said, rolling his eyes.

    Jack let the flap drop. His footsteps slowly faded as he walked back over to camp.

    Jeril let out a breath. “That was close.”

    “That was too close. We can't do that again, Jeril. He almost caught us.”

    “Relax. We just have to be a bit more discreet from now on. We'll put next time off until we're sure of our privacy.”

    “N-next time? Jeril, I –”

    “Yeah, next time. It just occurred to me that if we're going to keep this under wraps we're going to need to plan ahead. And we're going to have to lay down some ground rules.”

    “Ground rules?”

    “Yeah. If we start snuggling up together and holding hands where the others can see us we're going to arouse some suspicions. So that means as far as everyone else is concerned, we're still just friends.”

    She nodded. “Okay.”

    “We just need to be careful, Kireza. No sense in letting fear dictate the way this thing goes.”

    “But –”

     “But nothing,” he said, placing a hand on her chest. “Just... stop worrying. Let me take care of  everything.” He sighed. “Okay, we'll put it aside for now. Get it off your mind, out of your head. There was one more thing I forgot to talk about.”

    “One more thing?”

    “It's been almost two weeks since your last language lesson, Kireza. A secret affair is no excuse for letting that fall by the wayside.”

    Her lessons. Of course. “Oh.”

    “Right, oh. Listen, due to the whole dodging giant statue feet thing before and the whole coming to terms with sleeping with you just now, I haven't really had the chance to put together a lesson plan. So, I guess... huh. Vocabulary? Yeah, vocabulary. Remember that book I gave you?”

    “Yes,” she said. “Of course.”

    “Right. Read it. Pick out... ten words. Ten words that you don't know, and guess their meaning by context.”

    “Ten words?”

    “Ten words. Practice pronouncing them. Guess their definition, write a sentence using each one.  Then show them to me... two days from now.”

    She smiled at him: feelers arched forward, mandibles closed. Finally, a return to something familiar. “Okay,” she said.

    Jeril yawned. “Okay, then. Two days. If you'll excuse me, I really do need to go get some sleep. So I guess this is good night.”

    He got to his feet, leaning into a hug with her. He gave her a parting kiss on one of her feelers before breaking away. “Good night, my dear,” he said as he stooped out of the tent.

     “Good night,  Jeril. Sleep well.”

    His smile disappeared behind the flap of her tent. Now she was alone. She raised her hands to her mouth, carefully cleaning each finger between her mandibles, before reaching down to her pack to get out her new book. Jeril's book, she corrected herself. She wanted to give it back someday. She opened the cover and ran a finger down the table of contents.

    Ten words, he said. Two days.

    She'd have them for him by morning.