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I return to the back of the cave and eye the messy piles, contemplating what to tackle next. Then something chirps.
I am utterly still.
The cave is silent. I relax a bit. Did I imagine the sound, then? It is like nothing I have ever heard before, and I mentally run through the list of small, burrowing creatures that might have invaded a sa-khui cave to escape the brutal season.
The chirp happens again.
It is coming from the back of the cave, where the metlaks have made the biggest mess. Curious, I move slowly forward. There’s a large pile of debris made from food remnants, filth, and what looks to be tufts of metlak hair pushed into a pile. Lying atop this mess is a rounded ball of dirty fluff with wiggling arms and big, round eyes. It sees me, and the thin arms move and it chirps again.
A metlak kit.
I am too shocked to make a sound. Is this why the metlaks are at this cave? Because there is a kit? But this kit is far too thin to be healthy. I slowly reach over and pick it up, and it makes a happier-sounding chirp at me. The thing smells, and its fur is matted with filth, but it is young and hungry. “What do I do with you?” I whisper to it.
The kit wriggles in my arms and makes another chirping sound, this one hungrier than the last. Its little beak-like mouth moves, and the big eyes blink at me. They glow a bright blue, just like my Hashala’s did.
I…do not know what to do. I have always been taught that metlaks are pests to be driven away. They will not hesitate to kill a hunter, and our hunters do not hesitate to kill them in return. The adults are filthy, mean, and dangerous.
But this is a kit, not even a full season old. It is filthy like an adult metlak, but it is not mean or dangerous. I pull it close to my tunic, and it burrows against me for warmth, and my heart hurts as it starts rooting about, searching for a teat. It is starving. The kindest thing to do would be to put it out in the snow and let the frost make short work of it.
I…ca
I tuck it against my shoulder, stroking the matted hair. “Why did your mother leave you? Is it too hard for her to hunt with you at her side?” I think of the two metlaks standing over Hemalo. They were desperate to get his pack. Have those two now realized that sa-khui caves - and sa-khui hunters have supplies? Are they hungry enough to attack a hunter in hopes of food?
I pick my way back toward the fire, frowning at the nearly full basket of dried meat burning there. They did not eat this, and they were starving. Do they only eat roots, then? “Perhaps you’d like a root broth,” I tell the little one as I move toward the fire.
It chirps hungrily at me again, as if it can understand me.
I rub its small back, and a wave of stink rises.
I need lots of water, then. Some for tea for my mate for when he awakens. Some for a broth to feed this tiny, smelly kit. And some for a bath. I also need to finish cleaning the cave and take stock of the supplies, as well as keep the fire going. It seems like an overwhelming amount of things to do for one person.
And yet…I feel invigorated. I feel alive. Happy. This kit needs me. My mate needs me. Perhaps Hemalo is not the only one that has needed a purpose recently.
Smiling, I tuck the kit against my shoulder and get to work.