trail, but I also wanted to avoid making our camp out in the open. As we rode under the cover of a lone baobab tree, I reached up and cut a branch down with my knife, sharpening it into a stake to drive into the trail.
I chose a spot for us atop an old cheetah’s den, a rocky outcrop with a dugout burrow beneath, and built our fire at the center. I fed it brush and heather, making it smoke so it would frighten the animals around us out of the underbrush. A smoky fire would also keep the insects that loved Kara’s blood at bay. Kara gave the horses water, took their tack off, and hobbled them so they couldn’t run away while we slept. True to my promise to Bi Trembla, I didn’t intend to sleep, but I didn’t think Kara would go to bed if she knew I was staying awake all night to keep watch.
I started to pitch the tents, assembling the first one in minutes. Our travel tents were simple, triangular structures with only four pegs. But as I put the first peg of the second tent in the ground, Kara walked up behind me. “I don’t want to stay alone after seeing those men. Just put up one tent. They’re not so small. We can cuddle close,” she said.
Her words almost made me choke. I paused, keeping my eyes fixed on the peg, afraid of what my face might show her. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” she said, her fingers wrapped around mine to pull the peg out of the earth. “It’ll be like when I was at boarding school. We can stay up late and tell each other stories. It might take our minds off what we saw today.”
I couldn’t help it. When she wrapped her fingers over mine, my whole body involuntarily shivered.
“You cold?” she asked. I couldn’t tell if her question was serious or not. “I packed an extra shawl in my saddlebag.”
“No,” I managed to squeak back. A whole night, alone in a single-person tent with her. How could I spend the night swapping stories in the firelight, when I wanted nothing more than to run my fingers through the flames of her hair and press my lips to the skin of her back? Those thoughts terrified me. Where had they come from? Part of me longed to be with her, to explore her. But a deeper part of me feared what it would be like to make myself so vulnerable, to let someone touch me and look at my scars.
Despite the warmth of her hand around mine, I felt frozen. I kept still while we held the peg together without putting it down. What did she mean, holding my hand like that? I swallowed. This was her adventure. I was part of her one adventure. But when she didn’t move to release my fingers, I let myself wonder, for just a second, if it were possible she wanted what I did and if she felt vulnerable too.
When I turned to face her, her grip on my hand tightened. Color had risen to her face. Her pale cheeks and freckled nose glowed a soft pink. Specks of firelight glistened in her eyes. Her lips were so full and wet….
I leaned in and pressed my mouth to hers. I felt awkward, unsure of what to do, or how she would react.
Once upon a time, a man kissed me on the mouth, and his tongue forced its way inside like a gag, drowning out my screams. I closed my eyes against the pain of the memory, damming up the flood of tears. I tried to relish the softness of her mouth pressed closed against mine and the tiny step she took toward me, her free arm curving around the lower part of my back.
Her tongue teased my mouth open. Instead of forcing, demanding, it suggested and coaxed. When my lips yielded, her tongue was cool with the water from her canteen. This time, it didn’t feel like an invasion, and I felt my body melt into her flesh.
She led me into the tent by the hand, and I lay down on my back, waiting. I still wasn’t sure what was expected of me. Or that I was ready. When my mama had told me about what women must do, in marriage, she had told me to do my duty, to wait for the man’s lead and let him take his pleasure. I could take my own if I could, but always, my job was to
I chose a spot for us atop an old cheetah’s den, a rocky outcrop with a dugout burrow beneath, and built our fire at the center. I fed it brush and heather, making it smoke so it would frighten the animals around us out of the underbrush. A smoky fire would also keep the insects that loved Kara’s blood at bay. Kara gave the horses water, took their tack off, and hobbled them so they couldn’t run away while we slept. True to my promise to Bi Trembla, I didn’t intend to sleep, but I didn’t think Kara would go to bed if she knew I was staying awake all night to keep watch.
I started to pitch the tents, assembling the first one in minutes. Our travel tents were simple, triangular structures with only four pegs. But as I put the first peg of the second tent in the ground, Kara walked up behind me. “I don’t want to stay alone after seeing those men. Just put up one tent. They’re not so small. We can cuddle close,” she said.
Her words almost made me choke. I paused, keeping my eyes fixed on the peg, afraid of what my face might show her. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” she said, her fingers wrapped around mine to pull the peg out of the earth. “It’ll be like when I was at boarding school. We can stay up late and tell each other stories. It might take our minds off what we saw today.”
I couldn’t help it. When she wrapped her fingers over mine, my whole body involuntarily shivered.
“You cold?” she asked. I couldn’t tell if her question was serious or not. “I packed an extra shawl in my saddlebag.”
“No,” I managed to squeak back. A whole night, alone in a single-person tent with her. How could I spend the night swapping stories in the firelight, when I wanted nothing more than to run my fingers through the flames of her hair and press my lips to the skin of her back? Those thoughts terrified me. Where had they come from? Part of me longed to be with her, to explore her. But a deeper part of me feared what it would be like to make myself so vulnerable, to let someone touch me and look at my scars.
Despite the warmth of her hand around mine, I felt frozen. I kept still while we held the peg together without putting it down. What did she mean, holding my hand like that? I swallowed. This was her adventure. I was part of her one adventure. But when she didn’t move to release my fingers, I let myself wonder, for just a second, if it were possible she wanted what I did and if she felt vulnerable too.
When I turned to face her, her grip on my hand tightened. Color had risen to her face. Her pale cheeks and freckled nose glowed a soft pink. Specks of firelight glistened in her eyes. Her lips were so full and wet….
I leaned in and pressed my mouth to hers. I felt awkward, unsure of what to do, or how she would react.
Once upon a time, a man kissed me on the mouth, and his tongue forced its way inside like a gag, drowning out my screams. I closed my eyes against the pain of the memory, damming up the flood of tears. I tried to relish the softness of her mouth pressed closed against mine and the tiny step she took toward me, her free arm curving around the lower part of my back.
Her tongue teased my mouth open. Instead of forcing, demanding, it suggested and coaxed. When my lips yielded, her tongue was cool with the water from her canteen. This time, it didn’t feel like an invasion, and I felt my body melt into her flesh.
She led me into the tent by the hand, and I lay down on my back, waiting. I still wasn’t sure what was expected of me. Or that I was ready. When my mama had told me about what women must do, in marriage, she had told me to do my duty, to wait for the man’s lead and let him take his pleasure. I could take my own if I could, but always, my job was to
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