LXIX
The blonde hunt leader taps at the door frame and enters. I pull the blanket closer to myself. When he stepped inside, the firelight caught in his hair, turning the blond strands almost gold. I instinctively pulled the fur blanket closer around my shoulders, still stiff and sore from the ritual sleep.
He carried a shallow wooden dish and set it beside me: fruit, nuts, thin strips of dried meat arranged with surprising care, like he wanted it to look welcoming. Then he smiled gently, and reached out to run a single finger along my cheek.
It was feather‑light. Curious. Almost reverent.
"Hao," he said softly, voice mellow as warm smoke.
"Hello," I whispered back.
He tapped his chest.
"Rolan."
Then he looked at me expectantly, tapping his chest again.
"Rolan."
He pointed at me.
I told him my full name.
He tried, he really did, but the syllables tangled on his tongue. He frowned, shook his head, and tried again.
"Gal… Lalan ra… ao."
A frustrated exhale.
"Ma… te."
He sighed, thinking, then tried something shorter.
"Mala…ao?"
I shrugged. "Fine. Whatever you want to call me."
He seemed relieved, repeating it once under his breath as if committing it to memory.
I mimed drinking, then made a fish‑swimming gesture with my hand.
"Rolan… water?"
A spark lit in his eyes in recognition, amusement, maybe pride that we were communicating. He gestured for me to follow and stepped outside. I wrapped the fur around myself and trailed behind him.
He led me through the village toward the river. The air was cool, the ground damp beneath my feet. Upstream, a few women washed furs and scrubbed their arms, laughing softly among themselves. They glanced at me but didn't approach.
I moved farther downstream, where a thick cluster of reeds grew tall and dense, forming a natural screen. The water here was shallow and clear, rippling over smooth stones. I knelt behind the reeds, grateful for the privacy, and cupped the cold water in my hands.
Rolan stood a respectful distance away, watching the river rather than me, guarding, not intruding.
The hat‑man's cat form padded up beside him, tail flicking, as if supervising.
The reeds rustled softly around me. Small fish like silver streaks swam away as the river murmured. The village bustled faintly behind us.
And for the first time since falling from the sky, I felt… almost safe.
The water was cold enough to sting, but after everything, the smoke, ritual, dirt, and sweat. It felt like a blessing. I crouched lower behind the reeds, grateful for the privacy, and dug into my bag. The familiar shape of my travel soap slid into my hand: a tiny bar, purple, smooth, the size of a credit card. My emergency hygiene kit. My little piece of civilization.
I held it up to the light. Honey and jasmine.
A scent so gentle it almost didn't belong in this world of mammoth bones and red ochre.
I rubbed it between my palms until it bloomed into a soft lather, pale bubbles clinging to my fingers. Then I scrubbed everything, arms, neck, chest, legs, using my nails and fingertips to scrape away the grime of ritual sleep and cave dust. The foam felt luxurious, absurdly modern, almost magical compared to the world around me.
I worked some of the suds into my hair, massaging my scalp until the strands felt slick and clean. The purple bar was already shrinking. I frowned. It wouldn't last long. I'd have to figure out a replacement. Maybe rendered fat and ash, or some kind of herbal wash the women used upstream.
For now, though, it was heaven.
I rinsed until the water ran clear, then reached for the other precious relic in my bag: my travel toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste. Mint. Artificial mint. I brushed quickly, careful not to let the women upstream see the strange ritual. When the foam thinned, I leaned forward and spit into the reeds, letting the current carry it away.
Behind me, I could hear Rolan's footsteps, steady, patient, keeping watch without intruding. The hat‑man's cat form sat beside him, tail flicking, clearly judging my modern hygiene routine.
For a moment, hidden in the reeds with honey‑jasmine soap and mint toothpaste, I felt like myself again. Not a spirit. Not a captive. Not a strange omen dropped into their hunt. Just a woman trying to stay clean in a world that had never imagined soap or toothpaste.
I finally stood and stretched, refreshed.
Rolan's eyes widened as he saw me without the disadvantages of dust and grime. He grinned, walking with purpose, eyes glinting blue in the morning light. I had wrapped a light leather around myself like a towel, it was a warm pelt, worn softer, but clean I tried to break away and he held tight. He nuzzled into my shoulder, hands cupping my stomach. I blushed a hot red. Shoulders shaking in a sudden chill.
Rolan's surprise when he saw me without the grime and dust and ritual smoke clinging to my skin was palpable. He grinned, a little proud, a little bit flirtatiously.
I wrapped the warm leather pelt tighter around myself, holding it like a towel with one arm at the top. It was soft from years of use, clean enough, and blessedly warm against the chill. I bent down to gather my bag and clothes, planning to change inside the yurt where I wouldn't be on display. I didn't hear him move.
One moment I was reaching for my things, the next his arms were around me. They gripped with solid sinew, sudden, enveloping. He was behind me in a blink, his chest pressed to my back, his breath warm against the side of my neck. He mumbled something low, the words vibrating against my skin as he buried his face between my hair and shoulder.
I froze. My heart lurched. Heat rushed up my neck.
My shoulders shook with a sudden chill. It was too exposed out here.
I tried to pull away, instinctively, reflexively, but he didn't let go. He didn't tighten his grip either. He just held me, steady and warm, as if this was the correct thing to do. As if this was expected. As if this was what someone in his position was supposed to do.
Suddenly there was a ripple in the water.
His hands cupped my stomach, gentle but firm, anchoring me in place. He nuzzled into my shoulder again, murmuring my new name—his version of it—softly.
"Malaao…"
I only knew that his closeness wasn't aggressive. It was something else entirely, something shaped by ritual, by culture, by whatever the shaman had done to bind him to me.
I stood there, wrapped in a pelt, dripping river water, blushing like an idiot, while a prehistoric hunter held me as if I were something fragile, he'd been tasked with protecting.
And he didn't seem to realize I was confused at all. For now, I just needed to get out of the water.
It didn't look different at first. It looked like just a darker ripple, a shift in the current, but something in the movement made the back of my neck prickle. The river felt suddenly colder, heavier, like something enormous had displaced the water upstream.
I froze. The reeds around me shivered.
The surface of the river bulged.
A shadow slid beneath it, swimming long, thick, sinuous.
The water erupted.
A massive shape surged upward, jaws snapping shut where my arm had been a heartbeat earlier. I didn't even have time to scream. I stumbled backward, slipping on the wet stones, the pelt sliding off my shoulders as the creature lunged again. Its head broke the surface — long snout, rows of teeth, eyes like polished stones.
A giant gar. Or an alligator.
Or something older than both.
I scrambled, but my foot caught on a root and I pitched sideways into the water. Cold slammed into me. The creature's shadow loomed, jaws opening again
Strong arms pulled me aside, away from whatever it was in the water.
Rolan yanked me upward with a force that felt impossible, hauling me out of the river like I weighed nothing. My knees hit the bank hard, and before I could catch my breath he pulled me fully against him, arms locking around my torso.
The creature lunged again, jaws snapping shut on empty air where my legs had been. Water exploded upward. Rolan dragged me farther back, his grip fierce, breath sharp against my ear.
I gasped, shaking, river water dripping down my face.
He didn't let go. He held me tight, one arm around my ribs, the other braced across my stomach, anchoring me against his chest. His heart hammered against my back. His breath came fast, warm, frantic. He murmured something low and urgent in words I didn't understand, but the tone was unmistakable.
Fear. Relief. Something protective and instinctive.
I tried to pull away, but he only tightened his hold, turning me so my face pressed into his shoulder. His hands shook slightly as they cupped my sides, checking me, making sure I wasn't bleeding, making sure the creature hadn't torn into me.
"Malaao…" he whispered, voice breaking on the last syllable.
I swallowed hard, my own breath trembling. My cheeks burned hot, my shoulders shivered from the cold and adrenaline. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to explain that I was startled, embarrassed, overwhelmed.
He didn't seem to need an explanation.
He just held me; arms wrapped around me like he was afraid I might slip back into the river if he loosened his grip even a little.
The reeds swayed. The monstrous shadow drifted away downstream.
And I stood there, dripping and shaking, wrapped in the arms of a man whose language I didn't speak, whose customs I didn't understand, and who had just saved my life without a moment's hesitation.