The Big Rains - Sam and Dazzik

Chapter 2

Dazzik

It feels wrong to tell my Sam that I am going to patrol when that is not the truth. But if I tell lies, it is only so that the truth may prove a lovely surprise for her later on.

My poor, sweet linasha is struggling with the inactivity of the big rains. We have spent much time together - learning each other, mating with each other, eating and recovering our strength. But for all there has been much joy in this time, I know more so than most how hard the rains can be. It is the first time my Sam has had to endure them, and she must do so with only her mate for company. No tribe sisters to talk with, no tribe brothers to tease and entertain her. She misses them terribly, and worries also that they must think her to have suffered some terrible fate.

She worries in particular about her good friend, Maldek - the male responsible for keeping her safe as she travelled. She does not blame him for her being taken, and from how she tells the tale of what happened, she should not. I owe him a debt of gratitude for how hard he worked to keep her safe and comfortable as they travelled.

I cannot ease her desire for female company, nor can I say that her worries are unfounded. But perhaps I can find her something that will distract her for a little while. Something that will put a smile on her face.

Of course, finding anything in the rains is a challenge. The ground squelches beneath my feet, my boots slipping in the thick mud. It is hard to see more than an arm span in front of my face. But I have more experience than most navigating during the big rains, and it is not long before I find myself at the stream.

I am not familiar with this territory, but I am counting on the streams here following the same patterns as those on my territory. When the big rains come, they fill to bursting, breaking their banks and growing to twice their usual size and depth. It is this extra space that allows the newly matured skerris fish to leave the lakes in the mountains and swim down through the streams to the river.

In the early days of my exile, I used to fish for the extra meat often during the rains. But as my reserves dwindled over the seasons, my energies diverted into maintaining my supplies, my fishing nets broke and I did not have the means or energy to replace them. I am not of the Great River tribes. I do not know well how to make and mend nets.

But there is a net amongst the supplies left behind by Basran’s tribe, and I have it with me now in hopes of securing a catch. My Sam knows food preparation. She will be able to make us something delicious to eat that has not been stored for twenty seasons.

It will be a pleasant diversion, I hope. Something to break up the monotony of the rains.

I hang my pack on a low branch to keep it out of the mud, then wade into the stream wearing my boots. In the warmer, drier seasons, such a thing would be outrageous, but my boots are worn to the point of breaking anyway, and soaked through already from the journey here. There is little point in taking them off.

The stream isn’t deep enough for the currents to knock me off balance, but I can feel the pull of the water as I reach the deepest part. The chill bites into my skin beneath my boots and leathers, the water much colder than the rains. My stomach churns to think that taking such a risk as this would have been unthinkable to me toward the end of my lonely seasons. Without a warm home to return to, I would have caught a chill, sickened and perhaps even returned to Lina’s embrace. The Mercenia hut might not be anything close to what I would like to call home, but it is warm, and it is dry. The hot showers are not so dissimilar to the bathing pools near my old village once you grow used to the strangeness of the water coming out of the walls.

It is not just the shelter, though. It is the food, also. That was the cruelty of my last few seasons as outcast - needing food to survive, but needing supplies and energy to get the food. I was constantly having to weigh risks. Hunt, and risk my last supply of arrows, or go hungry and gather the wood to make more, but risk not having the energy to hunt once they were made. Go out in the rain and risk sickness, or shelter and risk starvation. And the more I hungered, the less risk I could take with my health, but also, the more I really needed to.

Now, the cold boxes have food enough to feed my Sam and myself well for many sunsets yet. My bones no longer jut against my skin quite so sharply. I am no longer on the edge of exhaustion all the time. The cold of the stream nips at me, but I do not fear it.

It still overwhelms me sometimes to know how much I have been blessed. To know that all those long, lonely seasons, Lina’s guiding hand was at my back, nudging me ever onward on the path towards my Sam.

As I ready the net in my hands, I feel the slither of a body brushing against my legs. Looking down, I can see flashes of movement. The glitter of scales.

Lina watches over me still, and my Sam and I will have a feast of fresh meat tonight.