The High Counselor was not happy. “The woman shall be punished! She interfered!”
“There will only be one punished here today. Come, High Counselor.”
“She is all wrong, unnatural. She can’t stay with the tribe.”
Vuskas gave Addie, by now standing, a skimming glance. “Her essence is soft.”
“She’s weak.”
“Yes. Not worth the beating you were going to give her.” He rotated his head. “Leave now,” he ordered Addie.
She looked from Vuskas to Oh’nil’s motionless form, torn. She looked at the High Counselor who was vibrating from indignation inside his yellow outfit.
Vircea’s strong arms engulfed her in an embrace, and Addie let herself be led away, her heart heavy. The order of things as they were chafed at her. Chemmusaayl disgusted her, the narrow-minded, power-hungry man.
She knew the feeling of dislike was mutual.
Once out of the circle of people, Vircea left her, and Addie sat outside of her teepee, alone.
On days like this, she didn’t know how to bring herself to learn For ways, to bend her human mindset to tolerate the outrageous injustices they inflicted on each other.
She wondered what Zoark thought about Oh’nil’s punishment. Did he support his decision to refuse Melmie? Condemned his brother? Did he even care? She didn’t really know him. He had shown her glimmers of compassion, but other than that, he was a little like Qalae: dark and cold.
He hadn’t come out to observe Oh’nil’s tie-up, so he missed the spectacle she created.
Her thoughts came to a stop.
He hadn’t come out. How many days did it take? She counted backward. Too many. Seven. An entire week! No one should “sleep it off” that long.
Forget the busybodies. She was on her feet and moving at once.
Reaching Zoark’s teepee, she lifted the flap and slid in.
He was inside, alone. It was hot in there, stuffy, and it smelled of spices and male musk. Addie eased the flap closed.
Her senses probed the small space. She could hear his labored, distressed breathing.
“Zoark?” Her voice got muffled by the strangely suffocating interior.
His breathing hitched, and he turned his head in her direction. Odd how he hadn’t heard her come in until she called out his name.
A pair of large red eyes - bright red, nothing dull about them now - stared at her without blinking. Whether he saw her was still uncertain.
“I came to see you.”
She approached the pallet where he lay and had to lower down to her knees to get close to him. Those predatory eyes tracked her progress, avid and pleading at the same time. His nostrils quivered. He definitely smelled her now.
“Are you feeling unwell?”
He growled.
“I’m here.” Reaching, she took his hand in hers. “Gods, you’re burning hot. Tell me, where do you hurt?”
“Everywhere. Nowhere,” he grated, hoarse, unlike his normal self.
She squeezed his large hand in hers and threw a glance over her shoulder at the teepee’s door even though she knew Zoark’s siblings wouldn't make an appearance. Oh’nil was tied up being punished, literally. Vircea was busy with Iguell.
Zoark’s torso was covered, as usual, by the olive green knitted tunic that clung to him in wet patches. Above the neckline, the skin of his throat glistened wetly.
