She feared for his soul.
“I have one thing more to show you,” he said.
Cynara ran a few paces to catch up to Ronan, dividing her attention between him, the environment of an unfamiliar culture, and the winding path behind them. Every corner or garden thicket provided possible cover for ambush; she had none of Ronan’s confidence that shaauri would disdain a covert attack, and a’ very healthy respect for the damage razor-sharp nails could do to human flesh.
She was also disturbed that Ronan found it necessary to convince her of shaauri worth. You have nothing to prove to me, she wanted to tell him.
But she would be lying. These aliens were not worthy of Ronan’s loyalty; nothing he’d shown her had changed her opinion. She felt only pity for the low-ranked shaauri stuck with menial labor and no hope of advancement through hard work or simple determination.
Like women on Dharma, she reminded herself. This is hardly the time to debate philosophy when both of you are in very real danger.
But if she was to turn Ronan completely to the human side, she had to be able to counter his arguments, even when they came from his heart and not his head. Their mutual affection and regard was not enough. She had to understand him and his adopted way of life better than she ever had before.
Ronan stopped, and she realized they’d reached the next compound. Linei-ja,” he said. “Place of Heart.”
Unlike the others, this compound was made up of many smaller dwellings, with broad gravel yards in between. The arrangement reminded Cynara of nothing so much as a schoolyard. Even as she thought it, a group of very young shaauri trotted out into the yard and began to play with a ball, tossing it from hand to hand and butting it with their heads. The hissing of shaauri laughter was like water rushing over stone.
“Ba’laik’i,” Ronan said. “The children of Ain’Kalevi.”
Children, like children everywhere. Their bodies were small and still learning to move with shaauri grace; fur was tones and tints of solid red, no sign of barring. The youngsters were so absorbed in their play that it was several moments before one of them noticed the humans.
Immediately they fell silent, as if the message had been passed from one to the next on a single breath. Eyes grew very wide and ears waved madly. All at once one of the children bounded forward, stopped, and then hurled itself at Ronan.
Cynara hadn’t a hope of putting herself in the shaaurin’s path. It crashed into Ronan and sent them both tumbling to the ground. Cynara lunged to pull the little hellion away, but Ronan had already flipped the child onto its back.
“Silta,” he hissed, followed by a string of vowels and consonants, squeaks, and rumbles. Then he did something utterly unexpected and entirely human: He tickled the youngster until it rolled up into a tight ball and yowled for mercy.
The attack had not been an attack at all. Cynara swallowed her amazement as the other children drew closer.
Ronan hauled the youngster up by the collar of its loose vest and grinned at Cynara. “Silta is the child—son—of Annukki, who bore him during her Walkabout and now lives as ki’laik’in. She was among the ba’laik’i I knew when I was a child.”
Cynara crouched to the youngster’s level. Red-gold eyes stared into hers. “Please tell him I’m glad to meet him.”
Ronan translated, and Silta’s ears flattened in a look of astonishment. He asked a long and obviously complex question.
“He asks,” Ronan said with a very straight face, “if I have brought you back from Walkabout as my mate.”
‘This seems to be the general assumption,” she said with feigned amusement. “What will you tell him?”
“If I were va’laik ‘in or ve’laik’in, I could tell him that you are pregnant with my offspring, and I kidnapped you so that our child would be of Kalevi and not your Line.” His eyes sparkled with unexpected mischief. “Shaauri children are not so protected about the necessities of mating as humans seem to be.”
She touched her stomach, hot with the image of Ronan’s child inside her. It could have happened, even last night. She had never thought to bear children.