But I knew my wife was exhausted, so I did not press her on anything. I made no demands of her besides insisting that she sleep whenever possible, or eat whatever nutrient dense food I prepared for her.
I was focused entirely upon her health and wellbeing, and Autumn’s, too. On top of that, I still had to run the ranch, keeping the herd healthy, the shuldu fed, plus all the late season harvest chores. Winter was coming, and I had to make sure I had ample supplies to get us through that long and grassless season.
But despite the broken sleep, and the ever-mounting list of tasks to complete, I did not feel worn down by it all. If anything, I felt invigorated. I attacked my chores with the same relentless energy I’d always had. But it was no longer energy that originated from an endless well of anger.
It was energy that came from purpose.
Because that was what Jolene and Autumn had given back to me. Purpose, when I’d woken every morning for cycles thinking that my life had lost all meaning. Thinking that the only value left to me would be if I were to somehow return to the empire.
For the first time since my conviction, I no longer dreamed of returning home.
I dreamed of human females with red hair. I dreamed of the comforting smell of milk on newborn skin. The feeling of a child – my child – safe and sleeping in my arms. The soft yawns that came from a tiny mouth.
And the single, extraordinary kiss I’d gotten from another mouth.My wife’s.
I had to admit that it was thoughts of kisses – and things much more carnal – that flooded my brain when I walked into our bedroom and found my wife stripped to the waist four human weeks after Autumn’s birth.
“Is she still sleeping?” Jolene asked wearily.
“Yes.” I’d just passed Autumn’s sleeping form in her cradle in the sitting room. I’d paused to watch her briefly, in awe of the way her tiny chest rose and fell with such reliable rhythm. She was so young. So new. And so amazingly alive.
“Why can’t she sleep this long at night,” Jolene groaned.
Sensing her fatigue, I tried very hard not to stare at her breasts. I knew it was simply mammary tissue designed for keeping her child alive. But no matter how many times I told myself that, I had not been able to shake the strangely unexpected eroticism of them.
“You should be sleeping, too.”
“I can’t,” she sighed, rubbing at her temples. “My boobs hurt!”
“Boobs” was a word that did not translate, however, I had come to learn it on my own without my translator’s assistance, due to Jolene’s frequent use of it. I had also picked up other synonyms like “tits.” And “jugs,” which actually did translate, but meant something more akin to a large jar or a vase for storing liquids, like milk. So perhaps “jugs” was actually rather apt in that way.
“What ails you?” I asked, pushing aside pathetic thoughts of my own arousal. Jolene had already had one painful bout of mastitis – an infection that had required treatment from my stores of human medical supplies. I scanned her breasts with my eyes, this time looking only for signs of inflammation, but finding none.
“Nothing serious,” Jolene said with a sigh. “She’s just having a pretty long nap and things are getting… Backed up.”
“I will wake her.”
“God, no,” she said hoarsely. “She was cluster feeding all morning and I honestly need the break.”
I wanted her to have her rest. But I also knew that preventing another round of mastitis, or clogged ducts, meant that letting her get too engorged was not an option.
“Have you tried hand-expressing?” I asked.
“Yes! It doesn’t work,” she lamented, hunching over. “It’s not like milking a cow, which I actually do know how to do! It just feels pinchy and weird and nothing happens. It’s like my body recognizes I’m doing it by myself and doesn’t want to bother wasting the milk on just me.”
“What if someone else assisted?”
“I already said that I’m not ready to wake Autumn up yet.”
“I don’t mean Autumn,” I said, kneeling between her knees at the side of the bed where she sat. “I mean me.”
Her eyes bulged. Hot colour stained her cheeks, which drew an unwanted pang of arousal from low in my belly.
“You’re offering to hand express my milk for me?”
“It is the medically prudent thing to do,” I said quickly, though I sounded oddly defensive. Like I had ulterior motives. Which I did not!
I thought only of my wife’s comfort! At all times!
