12. Oona

Aweek passes, and then two, then three all in the blink of an eye. Nick and I become comfortable in our cozy routine, both of us waking with the sun and heading down to the lagoon so he can watch me fish. After our breakfast, which still tastes vaguely of chemicals, Nick and I head down to the lily pad pool to bathe, and then we’re off to check the rabbit traps. There’s usually something snared.

At first, he found the task disturbing, probably because of the screams. He says that rabbits sound too sad when they’re being killed, but they’re good eating, and thanks to all the pelts we’ve collected, I was finally able to stitch together a whole new blanket for myself since I let him keep the bear fur. Now my ass isn’t freezing every time I go to sleep.

As I snap the neck of a screaming rabbit, Nick flinches and looks away, shaking his head and mumbling something to himself. What do they even eat in the city, I wonder? The cans and potato chip bags that end up in the shoals of the lagoon spin a sad tale about humanity. Most of their food seems to be processed and nutritionally deficient. A shame, because everyone deserves to understand the utter elation of sinking one’s teeth into a freshly cooked steak, in my opinion.

Nick’s not fond of squirrel meat, but he does eat the rabbits once he can no longer tell they were … well, once rabbits. Odd how the meat has to look like something else for him to find it edible.

He hasn’t asked me to take him home, and he hasn’t tried to escape, either. Our language lessons continue onward at a slow but steady pace, allowing us to communicate somewhat comfortably now. He still has trouble memorizing words in my language, so we usually default to English.

“What do you want to do today?” I ask him as I toss the last rabbit into the gator-leather satchel I brought along. “We can go swimming. You need to work more on your breaststroke. You’re still flopping around in the water like a dying fish in the sun and?—”

Most of the time, with enough gesticulation and attention to vocal tone, we can understand what the other wants. Most of the time. But today, Nick looks off to the distance with a forlorn expression on his face as the first twinkling stars begin to appear in the early evening sky. It’s still hot out. The temperature only drops around three in the morning, and even then, it’s not by much.

He’s looking out in the direction of the city the humans call Sugardove. I’ve heard them mention it in passing as I slither underneath their boats. Even when they aren’t tossing people overboard, they’re muttering to each other about this and that. Sugardove this, Sugardove that. It took me forever to realize that they were talking about their home.

I move to stand beside him and pat the satchel. “I can cook you some stew. Or….”

He says nothing, evidently too distracted by the stars and the haze of the light pollution appearing in the distance.

If I were away from the lagoon for too long, I’d probably be homesick. But I’ve been without others for so long, I don’t know what it would be like to miss their company. Until Nick, I forgot what loneliness was. Being by myself just … was. And I accepted that I would always be alone. The drudgery of it all became my constant companion, loneliness my burden to bear and deal with. But Nick shouldn’t have to experience those things.

He mutters something quietly, and I rumble to him. I don’t rumble at him often. Only when I feel impatient because he’s hiding things from me.

“Nick,” I say his name loudly enough to get his attention, but there’s no edge in my tone. No bite. “What’s bothering you?”

He lifts his head to meet my gaze and flashes me a rueful smile. Then he turns, points to the horizon, and says something quickly, but I can make out the word “Sugardove.” I nod, knowing what he wants. What he misses.

“You want to go home,” I say to him. His eyes widen. Normally, I enjoy surprising him. It’s fun, because I love it when his eyes twinkle. They’re pretty, his eyes. Deep brown and kind. A deep charcoal color that makes me think of fresh, soft earth. The kind that feels good underneath the thick, leathery skin of my heels.

I’ve enjoyed his company these past few weeks, no doubt about that, but I always had a feeling our time together would be temporary. For one thing, I’m always scared shitless he’s going to do something that gets himself killed, or a predator is going to kill him when I’m not looking. It’s the wilderness. It can all happen so fucking fast, and I’m not perfect. I’ve almost died plenty of times myself. And no matter how much I feed him and how much exercise he gets, he hasn’t gotten any stronger, which worries me.

Maybe he needs something I can’t provide. I wouldn’t know, because I’m not a human. We are not the same and never will be.

I need to get him back to his own habitat somehow. Maybe we should try to trek up the river and see how far we can get. But first, we’ll need to pack some supplies to at least give ourselves the best shot at success. Resolved to do the right thing, I turn away from Nick and flex my claws at my side without even realizing it. It’s only when Nick takes my hand into his that I notice I’m so tense.

“Nick, we need to get you home,” I say, looking down at him. His eyes meet mine, and I see recognition in them. He licks his lips, wetting them, and suddenly the only thing I want to do is feel his lips against mine. Because he’s no longer just a pet but an ally. A friend. A….

Mate.

“Okay,” Nick says, his voice breathy and soft. “Okay.” He runs his fingernails across my arm. It feels good, and a light shiver runs the length of my frame all the way to the tip of my tail.

I’ve clearly grown far too attached to my little human companion, and setting him free now, before there can be any permanent damage to my heart, is the answer. I’m sure of it.