Our routine resumes, and everything is as before. One division replaces the other on patrol. The weather intensifies and lessens, with ice freezing and thawing and wind rising and falling. Another sandstorm follows. But this time, Ratho and I are at the mesa, safe on our shelves.
By morning it has blown itself out. Later in the day, word passes that the Madronians offered mash to the returning patrollers. Maybe mash only serves to dull the senses and memories so we are ready to face Perimeter again after a trial. At least they all returned safely as we did.
I’ve learned to accept my rapid pulse when Shiz walks near, or Ratho reaches out and touches me. Hiding my thoughts and desires is the only thing I really must control. None will know of the weakness of my amulet if I can help it. If I have daydreams while walking Perimeter, it hurts no one. Dreams are all I will ever have. I’ve decided I will have them.
Right now it is enough to reign in Mirko whenever we pass Shiz’s Baesa. He swoons, making a complete fool of himself by grinning and nearly drooling. Baesa hasn’t acknowledged Mirko’s craziness. Either because he’s a Singer, or she hasn’t yet fully awakened to attraction. Most rapions don’t until after release. Of course mine would be the one ready to mate.
In the midst of everything, it seems as if I find a degree of normalcy until one monotonous Perimeter Patrol. The cramping late in the afternoon is a complete surprise. “Ohhh!” I moan as I clutch my abdomen.
Ratho moves around the fire ring. “What’s wrong?” he asks, kneeling beside me.
“I, I’m not sure.” Another pain crunches across my hips.
“Maybe that sidewinder Mirko caught for you was sickened,” says Ratho.
Mirko looks around my knees and hisses at him. My rapion would never give me unfit food. I grind my fist into my waist.
Could it be my bloodflow? The blood streams out of my face; surely it will flow straight out between my legs!
“I think I have a bit of medicinal left for stomachaches.” I grab my pack and jump up. “And I, I think I need to use the trench.”
“It must be that winder,” Ratho calls to my back.
Mirko perches in the shrub, and I skid down the ridge, trusting he will alert me if Ratho nears. Not that patrollers don’t respect privacy, but worry might inch him closer.
At the base of the slope, I straddle the ditch. With shaking hands I check and find no blood on my undergarments. “There’s nothing,” I hiss.
Mirko chortles encouragement.
Another cramp bites my gut. A perfect globe of blood drips out of me down into the trough. Tears float over my eyes. I tear open my pack’s secret pouch and pull out the netted sponge Father showed me so long ago. Squatting deeply, I feel for the opening no other patroller has.
My hand stops. It is too unnatural to push an object into myself. The sponge dangles from my finger by the string.
“Are you okay?” Ratho sounds closer! Mirko hisses. “I’m just checking, Mirko,” he chuckles.
I grip the sponge before it falls from my hand and hike up my pants. “Yes. I’ll only be a bit longer.”
“Well, it’s time for me to patrol. Have Mirko signal me if you need help while I’m gone.”
I lean against the embankment and gulp down my tears. “I will,” I say, steadying my voice. “Would you bring me back some pinoni to help settle my stomach? I’ve run out after all.”
“Sure.”
“But I need the whole plant — with the root.”
“All right.” His footsteps retreat. He never learned medicinals, so it isn’t an odd request.
I drop my trousers again. No blood stains the garments, thankfully. I fling my poncho off my head, toss it up so it catches on the bush, and resume my squat. This time I will insert this thing. I am declared male, and this will not stop me!
I get the thing placed well inside despite my roiling stomach and hesitation to touch myself. It is no different than Father sliding his fingers into a goat for a delivery, right? The tip of the inserted sponge rubs an ache all the way up against my centerself while the thick string brushes my bare thigh. I swallow and pant to ease the violation.
When Ratho returns I’ll line my undergarment with a pinoni leaf. Hopefully, chewing the stems may help the fiery pain be quenched.
After swiping a hand through sand, I redress completely. Quickly, I fill in the section of the ditch I used until my blood is covered and then clean my hands thoroughly.
Climbing the slope, I free my poncho from the shrub. No wonder I’ve had to use a longer breast wrap. I should have faced the truth: my breasts are full now. At least it doesn’t seem I will be big-bosomed like Frana. My smallness is somewhat easy to hide.
I fling my twists behind my back. Mirko walks by my side, humming a sweetness that calms me. I’ll just lie in the sleeping pit until Ratho returns.
Mirko and I nest together. The sun sets and a chilled fog from beyond Perimeter billows toward us. Mirko fluffs. The warm, trapped air between his feathers slips from him to me.
“Tiadone.” Ratho shakes my shoulder until I fully wake. “Here is your plant. Are you feeling better?” I nod a lie. He pulls me up and leads me to the fire. I try to stand straight but bend slightly at the waist. “I’ll take your shift. You look awful, Tiadone.”
“No, I’m okay.” He brushes the hair from my cheek. I lean into his hand, and his forehead crinkles. Shiz is more handsome, but Ratho would make a good mate. I can’t remember ever not loving him. Even when he withdrew from me, said such horrible things, my centerself couldn’t fully turn from him. His dark eyes narrow, and he places his palm on my forehead.
I pull away. “I’m okay. Really. I’ll just visit the latrine again. Here, I’ll take the pinoni.” I get up and lurch away.
“Call me if you need help walking back. Bad winder can really drain you,” he says. I clutch the plant to my chest. If only it was winder.
Mirko chitters a rebuke at Ratho, swoops around my knees, and rises high into the darkness. He crows as if celebrating! Because of my sabotaging flow bursting past my amulet? What is there to celebrate?