Sand and Ash

Chapter 17: The Wrong Words

It only takes a single word to change everything.

—Kyōti proverb

Just as the run reached its apex, they came to a halt. Searing heat bore down on Rutejìmo while he walked the last few rods to an outcropping of rock that Mapábyo had pointed out.

She walked next to him and gestured to the near side. "There's a great spot for a break."

He trudged into the shadow and looked for scorpions or snakes. Seeing none, he sat down heavily and pulled his water skin around to take a swig. The new fabric of his shirt scratched and he rubbed his shoulder. It felt wrong to be wearing white. His mind kept wanting to see orange and red against his brown skin, instead of plain cloth and no embroidery. He kept his tazágu, though, and the dark hilt of his weapon was the only splash of color to his plainness.

Mapábyo joined him, hauling her pack and mail bag from her shoulders before setting them down. She dropped to her knees in front of him and gave him a smile before dragging her bag closer.

Rutejìmo watched as she dug into the pack.

When she pulled her hand out, she had a pair of travel rations in her palm. With a wink, she tossed them over to him.

He caught them. "Do you want—?"

Mapábyo shook her head. "You looked hungry."

His stomach answered and she smirked. With a blush, Rutejìmo ducked his head and worked the oiled paper off the dried fruit of indeterminate origin and a twisted hunk of salted meat.

Still smiling, she dug her fingers into the sand and began to scoop out a hole. After a few seconds, he heard her fingernails scrape against something buried in the ground.

Realizing that she had a supply cache hidden in the sands, Rutejìmo bit down on the jerky and crawled toward her to help. He stopped when she twisted around and started to dig another hole. His eyes took in the sight of her kneeling away from him and the tight lines of her muscular legs that led to her buttocks. He trailed his gaze along the line of her spine up to her shoulders and his heart beat faster.

Suddenly, she wasn't just an eighteen-year-old girl that he grew up with. She was something else: a woman. A woman that he had recently learned how to please, thanks to Mikáryo's instructions. When he imagined doing the same to Mapábyo, his manhood responded with his thoughts.

"Damn you, Mikáryo," he whispered to himself.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," Rutejìmo said. He glanced back. Thankfully, Mapábyo sat down, and he could turn back to her without embarrassing himself.

She grinned and pulled a small box into her lap. "I had to use some first aid last time."

He watched her move supplies from her pack to the box. He dug into his own pack to add some of his own, but she waved him away. "Don't worry about it. I bought these in town before..." Her face paled, "um, before things got frantic."

Rutejìmo gave a bitter laugh. "You don't have to protect me, Great Shimusogo—"

"Pábyo," interrupted Mapábyo. "Just call me Pábyo out here." She waggled her finger at him while grinning. Then she pulled out some rations and her own water skin.

He froze. Mikáryo had insisted on using the familiar tone herself, and the similarities between the two was too much. "I-I can't."

"Why not?" Mapábyo gave him a curious look while she set out her rations and dug out a few spices.