Page 6 of Claimed By the Krijese

He perks up at this, and the not-smile comes to his face. “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

“Your gogo is an excellent teacher,” Moshi praises me. “Of all our warlords, Kala has always been one of the best. You will learn much from him if you continue your lessons and listen to what he has to show you.”

My skills have always been used for war. While I do not revel in the deaths of the beasts I kill, I am glad I am able to use my talent to help feed our people. The other ten remaining warlords rotate between hunting and guarding our village. They often do not have time to hone their hunting skills to a level that will keep our stores filled for several seasons. That is up to me, and when the time comes, Sorin.

“He is better than all the Tavikhi.” Sorin pauses. “Except perhaps Benham, but I think they are equal.”

I yank lightly on one of his floks. “You are supposed to say I am the best of anyone you have ever met.”

A rough sound like two stones being scraped against one another erupts from him. While I may be teaching my kit how to throw a war axe with precision, it is the Tavikhi kits, Cecily, and Carter who are teaching him how to laugh. “My humblest apologies, Gogo. Yes, you surpass even Benham when it comes to hunting skills. There is no one better than you.”

“There is no need for you to unnecessarily stroke my confidence in my skills. I know my talents surpass most, but I am also fully aware that one can always learn and become better.” My hearts are filled with contentment that Sorin is learning things I do not know how to teach him. Things like kindness. Laughter. Like playing and having fun.

He does his not-smile again, which causes the two elders to shake their head. They—along with the rest of the tribespeople—do not understand this human emotion and expression. I, too, often do not understand it, although when I see the human females of the Tavikhi tribe do this thing, I wish I did.

They are an interesting-looking species with their varied shapes, sizes, and even colors of their flesh. Sorin has tried teaching me the human words for these colors that he has learned from Talek, but they do not stick inside my head. All Krijese are the same color. As are each Tavikhi—aside from those with mating marks. The same is true of the Njeri, the Bohnari, and the Trivari who live on the farthest side of our planet. The distance to where their tribe resides is so far beyond our old Krijese village, I am unsure if even the Tavikhi know of the Trivari’s existence. Thereis no reason for me to know the name of the color of any species to recognize which they belong to.

Still, the color of humans range from even paler than the fields made of bari to a dark color that is still several shades lighter than a Krijese. It is the same with their hair color. Even their eyes are different. I have never witnessed such a multi-colored species in all my life. Each variance makes the humans unique in their own way. Some, even oddly beautiful in an alien way.

Krijese are not beautiful. We are harsh-looking, even the few females of our tribe. Ugly we have been told. It is one of the many reasons we are feared. Yet, I cannot help but look upon Sorin and see beauty. No matter that he is a part of me, he is, perhaps, the best parts.

“You have grown quiet, Kala,” Moshi notes, disturbing my fanciful inner thoughts.

“I am merely thinking of things.”

“Neither Ashrif nor I are the wisest counsel, but you may always speak with us if you wish to seek advice.”

I incline my head. “Thank you. I shall consider your offer.”

Moshi returns the gesture. “I believe we shall go rest.”

He helps Ashrif up off the ground—a painstaking process, but I know better than to sting their pride with an offer of assistance—and the two of them slowly make their way toward the dwelling they share with two other elders. Sorin and I watch them until they step inside and the hide door flap slaps down over the opening. He turns to me.

“Ashrif is not getting better.”

“No, he is not.”

My kit is quiet a moment longer, glancing at the tent where the two males disappeared. “Do you think he will be here next warm season?”

As much as I wish otherwise, I will not tell a falsehood. “No.”

Sorin nods slowly before facing me. “Do you think I will ever find a mate, Gogo?”

My hearts ache at the hope that is clear in his question. “I do not believe so, but not because you are not deserving or worthy of one. Do not ever think that.”

“Then why not?”

“Because there are no Krijese left after we are gone. You and Gannen are the last of us.” This is a burden far too heavy for my kit’s shoulders, and I hate that I cannot carry it for him. I tug on his flok again. “But you have something that no other Krijese before you has had. Something precious.”

“What?” Sorin cants his head.

“Peace.Friends. You will grow up with not only Gannen’s friendship, but also with Talek’s, Cecily’s, and Carter’s. None of us had that when we were kits.” Such a thing did not exist in King Armik’s tribe. “You do not have to battle with other Krijese for a place to live or for food to eat. You do not have to prove you are the strongest. The fastest. The smartest. You can enjoy visiting the Tavikhi and playing with your friends and know peace. It is the one thing I wish for you.”

Sorin crawls over and onto my legs to rub the side of his face up and down my chest. It is something he has recently begun doing. At first, I did not understand this action he took, but I have sincecome to enjoy the feel of him against me. I stroke his floks, and he makes little rumbling sounds in his throat. One of his small mouth claws grazes my flesh, but it is nothing more than a slight itch that needs scratching.

“I am going to say a prayer to our god like the Tavikhi’s do to their goddess, and ask him to guide us both and to provide us with what we need.”

As Sorin’s gogo, it is my place to discourage such pointless prayers, yet I cannot find it within myself to do so.

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