Page 42 of Yasmin and the Yeti
With the translator, she could now ask the questions that had been burning in her mind. “What’s happening with the river? Why is the water bad?”
Cera’s expression darkened. “We do not know. The fish sicken and die. The water tastes wrong, though it looks clear. Some of the younglings who swim in the lower pools have developed rashes.”
“And that’s what Rhaal went to investigate?”
“Yes. He is looking for the source of the poison. Something or someone upstream.” Cera helped her sit up to drink the broth. “He is brave, your mate. Foolishly brave, perhaps.”
“That sounds like him,” she said, a fond smile touching her lips despite her worry.
Throughout the day, other clan members came to visit. Some were merely curious about the human female carrying Rhaal’s cub. Others brought small gifts—a carved comb, a soft blanket, dried berries. Each visitor brought snippets of conversation, pieces of a larger puzzle that she was slowly assembling.
Orma, a quiet older female who had known Rhaal since he was a child, spent the longest time with her. She sat beside Yasmin’s bed, her expression troubled.
“The lower hunting grounds are affected now,” she told Cera in a hushed voice. “Broc found a dead marru yesterday—a young one. Its fur was falling out in patches.”
“The marru drink from the river,” Cera said grimly.
“And we eat the marru,” Orma added. “Njkall has forbidden hunting in the lower valleys, but that leaves little game for the winter stores.”
Her concern grew as she listened. This wasn’t just about her pregnancy or even the sothiti. The clan’s entire way of life was under threat.
“Has anyone gone upstream before?” she asked. “Before Rhaal, I mean.”
Orma nodded. “Several times. The last time was a moon cycle ago, two scouts. They found nothing unusual and returned. But I have been thinking that perhaps they did not go far enough. They did not go as far as the sacred valleys.”
“The sacred valleys?”
“Where we lay our dead to rest,” Cera explained. “It is forbidden to disturb them. But the river flows beneath those grounds, through the deep caves.”
A chill ran through her that had nothing to do with her condition. Rhaal was heading into forbidden territory, following a poisoned river to its source. And if someone was deliberately contaminating the water…
“He’ll find the cause,” she said as confidently as she could. “Rhaal won’t give up.”
“No,” Orma agreed, her eyes softening. “Not when his mate and cub depend on it.”
After the visitors left, she lay back, exhausted but restless. The translator had been a gift beyond measure—not just for the ability to communicate, but for the understanding it brought.She wasn’t just fighting for her life and her baby’s. She was caught in a struggle that threatened an entire people.
Her hand drifted to her stomach. “Your father is out there fighting for us,” she whispered to the tiny life inside her. “For all of us.”
The next morning, Polly returned, hovering at the edge of the cave like a nervous bird. Yasmin pretended not to notice her at first, giving her time to gather her courage.
Cera had left a small pouch of soapstone and carving tools beside her bed. Glad to have something to do, she took out a piece and began to shape it into a simple bead.
After several minutes, Polly edged closer, watching her hands with evident fascination.
“Would you like to try?” she asked, holding out a small piece of stone.
Polly hesitated, then took it, her fingers trembling slightly. She perched on the edge of a stool near the bed, watching Yasmin work.
“I used to make jewelry,” she explained, keeping her tone light and conversational. “Back on Earth. Mostly simple pieces I sold at local markets, but a few more specialized pieces. It’s soothing, working with your hands.”
Polly didn’t respond, but she turned the stone over in her palm, studying it.
“Like this,” she demonstrated, making a simple groove in her own piece. “Just start with basic shapes.”
After watching for a moment, Polly tentatively began to scrape at her stone. Her movements were awkward at first, but she persisted, her focus intense.
“That’s it,” she said encouragingly. “There’s no wrong way to do it.”
