Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 119764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
They both stare at me, eyes wide.
“Owmigoh,” the older one breathes.
“Owmigoh,” I agree. I wish I knew what it meant. Does it mean fire? I shake the burning stick at her. “Owmigoh?”
Do-tah blinks and then shakes her head. She takes the stick from me when I continue to hold it out and adds it to her brush pile. The female leans in to blow on it, making the fire grow larger, and after a few long breaths, the flames catch. In fascination, I watch as they pull metal sticks out of one of their packs and make a spit for the fire. Do-tah reaches for the meat, her wary gaze on me. They are so frightened of me. I deliberately make an effort not to move so as not to scare them further, yawning and making myself as unobtrusive as possible.
The females pull chunks off the haunch of meat, spit them on the metal rod, and then sit and wait, their stomachs growling furiously.
I could fix this for them right away. I can roast the haunch for them quickly, without the need for flaming brush piles or metal contraptions, but they seem to mistrust me. It took time for my cats to trust me and several meals in their bellies, I remind myself. Patience.
CHAPTER 9
MURR
The females sit next to each other, across the fire from me. The younger one is bright-eyed and eager, the older one more wary. “Da-koh-taaah,” the younger one says, patting her mother’s shoulder. “Daaaa-koh-taaah.”
Do-tah gives her an irritated look.
But I am intrigued. These mouth noises are long and she exaggerates the movements of her lips. “Daaaah,” I try, mimicking.
“Kohh,” the girl agrees.
“Ooohhh,” I manage. “Aaah. Daah oooh ahhh.”
“Koh,” the younger one says again, pointing to her tongue as it touches the roof of her mouth. “Dah-koh-taaah.”
The mother murmurs something to her daughter.
“Kah-koh-dah,” I try again. Mouths are difficult to use for things other than chewing. The young one coaches me through several more rounds of noises before I finally manage, “Da-koh-taaa,” and it makes her squeal with enthusiasm.
It is so fascinating that their happiness comes out not in waves of mental thought, but eruptions of sound that carry happiness in them. When they giggle and laugh, it is with sheer delight, and it makes me want to emulate their laughing sounds. They make me feel good, like I have pleased them in some strange way, and I want to do more. They keep flashing teeth as well as chortling aloud, so I flash mine to them as well to show them I am happy.
“Murr,” the mother, Da-koh-taa, says in her soft voice. It fills me with pleasure to hear that bit of my name from her. I like it when she mouths my name.
“Murr,” I agree. It’s close enough that I don’t mind it being shortened. Mouths make it hard to say the whole thing anyhow. I point at the younger one and say the universal sound that prompts them to speak. “Owmigoh?”
The daughter giggles. She taps her chest. “Rbbt.”
It takes me a few tries to repeat her sounds, and I finally manage a ‘Rih-bit’ which makes her laugh with delight and her mother shows her teeth again.
We take turns naming each other aloud—Murr, Ribbit, and Dakotah—over and over. They want me to say their name words faster, until my tongue is tangling with trying to emulate them. Not only do they want to name words aloud, but they want them fast, and it makes me feel clumsy and foolish. But when I say their names, the younger one squeals with delight, and it is hard not to be pleased.
The mother is the more reluctant one. Her smiles are harder to achieve, but I find myself watching her mouth to see if it will curve up when I speak, and I am disappointed each time it does not.
Dakotah reaches over and touches the meat with a finger. She licks her fingertip clean and then makes more noises at Ribbit. Ribbit makes a happy sound and then they are pulling the meat off the spit and dividing it up. They put it on flat disks made of metal which I find curious, and before they eat, Dakotah pauses and then holds the meat out to me. She is offering me her portion.
I wave a hand to dismiss this. I already ate a fat cow when in battle-form. This food is for her and her young.
Her strange eyes blink at me and then she shows her teeth again, this time in an almost shy fashion. She picks up a chunk of meat and takes a bite. Next to her, Ribbit devours her food with happy noises, but it is the mother I am fascinated with. She is quiet, but she chews and her eyes close, her expression one of pure joy. It is just meat, and yet I feel as if I have conquered an army in this moment.