tipi. She froze in the act of trying to re-weave a fraying reed basket. Her hands shook slightly as she recognized her visitor.
Tosa Nakaai bent and ducked into the tipi. When he stood, his height made the interior suddenly seem much smaller. Indeed, his intimidating presence made the roomy tipi seem entirely too small for both of them.
Deborah kept her gaze on the basket, afraid to look up at him. She sensed his gaze on her. She could almost feel the heat of him so close, and there was the slight scent of fresh air and woodsmoke that penetrated her frozen senses as she tried to ignore him.
“Kima,” he said, and when she kept her head bent, he reached out to touch her lightly on the head. “Nu kwuhupu.” Deborah inhaled deeply for courage and looked up at him as he towered over her. His face was shadowed by the light behind him, and she had an impression of anger mixed with uncertainty, which was confusing. Did she puzzle him as much as he did her?
“Kima,” he said again, and tugged at her shoulder.
She rose to her feet, knowing that to resist him would be useless and possibly dangerous.
“I assume you want me to come with you,” she said in a calm tone.
Perhaps if she exhibited no fear, he would be more likely to treat her gently.
He backed to the flap and held it open, repeating, “Kima.” Frightened but determined, Deborah stepped out of the tipi and into the sunlight. She blinked at the glare and felt his hand on the small of her back.
“Mia ranu,” he said roughly, which she assumed meant she was to walk.
She cast him a quick glance.
“Where?” Shrugging her shoulders to indicate doubt, she half-turned to face him, but he caught her by one shoulder and turned her back around. He gave her another push, and a spurt of anger made her incautious. “Idiot,” she mumbled as she began to walk, wincing at the rocks cutting into her bare feet.
“How am I supposed to understand your language? You sound like two tomcats in a fight when you talk—oh!” His hard hand seized her by the nape of the neck, and he growled, “Keta tekwaaru,” so harshly that she knew he must mean for her to be quiet.
Deborah’s quick, rebellious anger subsided as swiftly as it had risen, and she remained silent as her captor walked her through the camp. Tall grasses waved in patches, and she could see the glittering ribbon of water where Sunflower took her to bathe in the morning and evening. Trees shifted in the constant wind, whispering leaves rustling like secrets on the air currents.
People stared curiously as she passed them, and Deborah kept her gaze steady and outwardly calm, though she was raging with uncertainty inside.
Did he mean to harm her? Perhaps he wanted to take her out of the camp so that he could rape her without being seen, but then she reasoned that he probably didn’t need to hide anything like that. She had the distinct impression that captives were dispensable, and could be dealt with any way the captor chose. Her throat tightened, and she managed to walk without stumbling only by sheer determination.
“Tobo-ihupiitu,” he said finally, pulling on the back of her blouse to indicate that he wanted her to stop. She did, and couldn’t help a sudden shiver.
They were in a remote, wooded copse, with the camp far behind them.
Water splashed and gurgled over muddy banks and smooth stones only a few feet away. Tall pines swayed with a loud, swishing noise that made her think of taffeta skirts rustling in church. Deborah closed her eyes and shivered again. “Nakaru-karu,” he muttered, his hand pressing her down to a thick tuft of grass. “Kahtu.”
She was grateful. Her knees had grown weak, and her legs too flimsy to support her much longer. This man terrified her; there was no evidence of any emotion in his stark features, no hint that he might be gentle in any way.
If not for that fleeting impression of uncertainty she’d had earlier, Deborah would have thought him as unemotional as the
Tosa Nakaai bent and ducked into the tipi. When he stood, his height made the interior suddenly seem much smaller. Indeed, his intimidating presence made the roomy tipi seem entirely too small for both of them.
Deborah kept her gaze on the basket, afraid to look up at him. She sensed his gaze on her. She could almost feel the heat of him so close, and there was the slight scent of fresh air and woodsmoke that penetrated her frozen senses as she tried to ignore him.
“Kima,” he said, and when she kept her head bent, he reached out to touch her lightly on the head. “Nu kwuhupu.” Deborah inhaled deeply for courage and looked up at him as he towered over her. His face was shadowed by the light behind him, and she had an impression of anger mixed with uncertainty, which was confusing. Did she puzzle him as much as he did her?
“Kima,” he said again, and tugged at her shoulder.
She rose to her feet, knowing that to resist him would be useless and possibly dangerous.
“I assume you want me to come with you,” she said in a calm tone.
Perhaps if she exhibited no fear, he would be more likely to treat her gently.
He backed to the flap and held it open, repeating, “Kima.” Frightened but determined, Deborah stepped out of the tipi and into the sunlight. She blinked at the glare and felt his hand on the small of her back.
“Mia ranu,” he said roughly, which she assumed meant she was to walk.
She cast him a quick glance.
“Where?” Shrugging her shoulders to indicate doubt, she half-turned to face him, but he caught her by one shoulder and turned her back around. He gave her another push, and a spurt of anger made her incautious. “Idiot,” she mumbled as she began to walk, wincing at the rocks cutting into her bare feet.
“How am I supposed to understand your language? You sound like two tomcats in a fight when you talk—oh!” His hard hand seized her by the nape of the neck, and he growled, “Keta tekwaaru,” so harshly that she knew he must mean for her to be quiet.
Deborah’s quick, rebellious anger subsided as swiftly as it had risen, and she remained silent as her captor walked her through the camp. Tall grasses waved in patches, and she could see the glittering ribbon of water where Sunflower took her to bathe in the morning and evening. Trees shifted in the constant wind, whispering leaves rustling like secrets on the air currents.
People stared curiously as she passed them, and Deborah kept her gaze steady and outwardly calm, though she was raging with uncertainty inside.
Did he mean to harm her? Perhaps he wanted to take her out of the camp so that he could rape her without being seen, but then she reasoned that he probably didn’t need to hide anything like that. She had the distinct impression that captives were dispensable, and could be dealt with any way the captor chose. Her throat tightened, and she managed to walk without stumbling only by sheer determination.
“Tobo-ihupiitu,” he said finally, pulling on the back of her blouse to indicate that he wanted her to stop. She did, and couldn’t help a sudden shiver.
They were in a remote, wooded copse, with the camp far behind them.
Water splashed and gurgled over muddy banks and smooth stones only a few feet away. Tall pines swayed with a loud, swishing noise that made her think of taffeta skirts rustling in church. Deborah closed her eyes and shivered again. “Nakaru-karu,” he muttered, his hand pressing her down to a thick tuft of grass. “Kahtu.”
She was grateful. Her knees had grown weak, and her legs too flimsy to support her much longer. This man terrified her; there was no evidence of any emotion in his stark features, no hint that he might be gentle in any way.
If not for that fleeting impression of uncertainty she’d had earlier, Deborah would have thought him as unemotional as the
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