Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 83205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
If there's one thing I've noticed with the snow-people, it's that they're heavily into gender roles, to the point that it makes me uncomfortable. In addition to not being allowed to eat meat, the women aren't allowed to fight, either. They hide whenever Corvak approaches, scuttling behind the nearest male.
I try not to think about how I've done the same, seeking protection with Corvak, but it's different. I hope. I don't bow and scrape to my partner the way the females do to the snow-people males. Pinkie cringes around the males in her group, racing around to serve them to the point that she's even handed them her food and gone hungry. She defers to the males at all times, dropping whatever she's doing to groom the one that I think is her mate (I privately call him Dick, because he seems like a dick to her). She defers to her toddler son, too, who is kind of a brat, so I make sure that she always has food when she comes to visit me for language lessons.
Pinkie blinks her big, owlish eyes at the roots and approaches me warily. Food for son? she asks with her hand gestures.
"Food for Pinkie and son," I agree, then hold out both roots and the bowl in my other hand.
She takes the bowl first, offering it to her grabby son, who snatches it out of her grip. When he's slurping down the food, she takes one of the roots I hold out and scarfs it down as if I'm going to snatch it away from her.
I let her eat, and when she finishes, I offer another root. She snatches this one too, but chews a little slower, bits of root falling out of her beaky mouth. More roots today, she says. Roots good now.
I smile at that, even though inwardly I'm cringing. I learned that Pinkie only brings roots every other day because she's convinced she has to sleep on them first. Then, after a full day of using them for a bed, she's convinced they taste better. I eye her matted, gross fur and it just reminds me to never eat anything unless it's brought to me by Corvak. We even have different cooking tools so things don't get cross-contaminated. The snow-people are sweet in their way, but they're also horribly unhygienic. I know we're roughing it, but I can't stop thinking about germs and microbes and what sorts of things they could pass on to us.
So Pinkie's roots stay far, far away from my roots. It's why I cook for them in the front chamber of the cave and for myself and Corvak in the back chamber, in our bedroom. I gesture to her, indicating the cave. "You want to go inside? It's cold out here."
She makes the "no" symbol, a frightened look on her face. Great One cave.
"It's all right! I just wanted to ask." I always ask, and they always decline. I decide to change topics to put her at ease. "Thank you for the roots. You've been hard at work."
Good roots, she says, gesturing. I bring. Good for…
And then she makes a fluttering sign over her chest that I don't recognize. "What is this?" I ask, repeating her signal. "What does this mean?"
She repeats the gesture. Flutter. Chest. It takes me a moment to realize that she's talking about the incessant humming. I've noticed that she doesn't hum, but I've heard some of the other snow-people doing so.
"Does this mean the chest song?" I ask and then mimic the sound with a low purr. "Yes?"
Yes, she agrees, and makes the flutter symbol again. Makes good mate. Flutter always yes.
I digest that, trying to make sense of it. Some bits of language are easier to follow than others. Nouns, piece of cake. Concepts? Tricky. "Why flutter?" I ask. "What's the purpose?"
She is quick to gesture a response. Make good here. Pinkie indicates her privates. Much good. Mate good.
My face gets hot. So the song in my chest makes me…horny? I guess that tracks. I didn't start humming until I got the parasite inside me, and now that both Corvak and I have parasites, we've been unable to stop touching. I'd still be attracted to him without it, but with the darn thing, I can't stop thinking about him at all times. It's a full-on obsession, and one that has worried me sometimes. It's good to know that it's due to an outside influence and not just me suddenly turning nympho.
Good flutter, Pinkie gestures again. Happy family.
Well, she's not wrong there. Corvak makes me very happy. I clear my throat. "Yes, happy. You, um, fluttered to your husband too?"
Pinkie affirms it with an enthusiastic gesture. Make son.
That's not going to happen with us. Corvak and I are two different species. I haven't even allowed myself to consider what our relationship means. We're together, we're having fantastic sex, and we're surviving. That's all I need for now. One day at a time. "And a cute son he is!"