I do. I would follow her anywhere.
Har-loh talks in her happy voice as we walk on the beach, but I do not know the things she says. I am content to listen to her babble and to walk at her side, drinking in her scent and watching her movements. Her bright mane tangles in the breeze and she pushes it behind her small ears constantly, but she never stops talking. She does not let go of me, either, and I decide I like the warm press of her hand clutching at mine. Does she hold on to me so I will not leave her side?
As if I would ever leave her behind.
My mate crouches and picks up something from the sand. It is a hard shell, one that comes from a creature with many legs. "Takedis wif us," she says to me, holding it out.
She wants me to look at it? I lift it to my nose and sniff it, but the creature inside is long gone. I examine it for a moment, and then toss it back to the ground.
"No!" Har-loh cries, letting go of my hand. She picks the thing up, and the look on her face is sad when she picks up the two broken pieces of it. "Rukh, no."
"No?" I do not understand. I make the gesture for food, confused. Is she hungry? "Eat? Har-loh eat?"
"No," she says again, a little more calmly. There is frustration on her face as she pushes the two pieces together again. "Couldabeen playt." She looks up at me. "Needta mayk a home."
I stare at her, trying to understand. I hate that I do not have the mouth sounds like she does. I want to tell her how lovely she is. How looking at her makes me happier than a full belly. How when I wake up in the morning and she is at my side, there is such joy in my heart that it makes me ache all over. That I love the speckles on her face as much as I love the little sounds she makes when I am putting my cock inside her. I want to say so many things to her.
But the words I have are very small. "Har-loh…repeat?"
The look on her face turns soft, and she moves forward, pressing her teats to my chest. She tilts her head back and lifts her face to mine like she does when she wants to push her mouth against mine in a “kiss.” I lean down and give her one, and she smiles up at me. "Home," she tells me. "Har-loh Rukh mayk home."
"Home," I echo, then point at the broken shell. "Home?"
She chuckles and shakes her head, tugging on my hand again. "Home," she repeats, leading me away from the water's edge. She pulls me along after her, returning to the cave we slept in last night. Then she turns and gestures at me. "Rukh Har-loh home."
She's…tired? I try to grasp what she is saying. Does she wish to sleep? I motion to go inside, but she shakes her head again. Frustration flashes through her gaze and she gestures at the entirety of the small cave. "Home…sew wekkan haf home fur behbeh." She pats her flat stomach. "Kit."
I touch her stomach, trying to understand. Is her kit coming now?
Har-loh shakes her head again. She purses her lips, thinking. "Rukh, Har-loh, kit." She pauses and gestures at the fire pit. "Fire. Furs. Cave." She makes a big circling gesture with her hand and looks at me again. "Home."
I frown, trying to follow. All these things are this word? Both of us, our kit, the furs, the shell she wished to keep…and then realization strikes me. I have seen animals make a nest for their young. Does Har-loh wish to make a nest? I put a hand to her belly. "Home… Har-loh Rukh kit home?"
She nods excitedly. "Dinkyew gottit, behbeh."
"Home," I repeat to myself. A nest. A safe place for my mate and I to have our kit. It should be comfortable, and safe. I think of the distressed sounds she made this morning when the crawlers were on her boots. I look at the small cave, tinier than the one I left behind in the mountains and not nearly as comfortable. This will not do.
My Har-loh and my kit deserve a better nest than this.
I take my mate's hand. "Home," I say again, and tug her along with me. This beach is full of small caves of varying sizes. We will find a better one for our nest and then Har-loh will be happy. I will make a home for my family, and we will be together, always.
3
HARLOW
We need so many things.
As we go up and down the beach, I gather everything that might be useful. Shells big enough to work as utensils or plates, reeds that can be dried and woven into baskets, stones that work well for cooking—everything can be repurposed. It doesn't take long to fill my bag, and as we drop off our findings, I realize just how much we need. We need stones to surround the fire pit. We need utensils and cooking tools. We need furs for clothing and boots and warm blankets.