Read Bhotta's Tears: Book Two of the Black Bead Chronicles for Free Online Page B

own away. The thing was soft, silky, and warm in her hands. A tiny little nose poked out of the crack between her thumbs, its stiff whiskers tickling her palms.
    Cheobawn held her hands close to her eye and peered into the dim recesses of her fingers. Bright eyes set in a darkly furred face peered back at her. It shook its long fuzzy tail and squeaked querulously.
    “Oooh,” she breathed. “What is it?”
    “Biology vids call it an Orphid’s weasel, but everyone calls it a stalker because of how good they are at catching the melon grubs and leaf moths. It is forbidden to kill them because they help kill off the pests,” Megan said.
    Cheobawn listened to the stalker in the ambient. It liked the safety and darkness inside her hands. She wished it calm. It flicked its tiny round ears at her, listening. Reassured that she was not about to eat it, the stalker curled its tail around its paws, settled into the curve of her palms, and opened itself to the ambient. Its mind was full of thoughts about hunting in the shade of the giant leaves, the satisfying crunch of melon buzzers between its sharp teeth, and the sweet juice inside their grubs. It told her of simple pleasures, of nights curled around family in the cool dark den, safe from the nighthawks and sky foxes. Emboldened by her interest, it began to sing a song of love used to call its children to him out of the deep shadows of the melon fields. Cheobawn tried to mimic the song with a whistle, but the high thin sound was beyond the reach of her human lips.
    “Can I keep it?” Cheobawn asked in raptured awe, looking up at her Packmates.
    “Uh oh,” Megan said to no one in particular.
    “What do you mean, keep it, wee bit?” Tam asked.
    “Keep it. Make it a little stalker house. Put a nest inside. Feed it. Let it sleep on my pillow. You know. Like Zeff’s hounds.”
    “I don’t know if that is such a good idea, wee bit,” Tam said doubtfully.
    Megan scowled at him.
    “Coward. You must tell her no,” she said to Tam. She turned back to look down at Cheobawn. “Absolutely not, Ch’che,” she said firmly. “We just got off restriction. We are not smuggling wild things into Home Dome for you.”
    “We could keep it outside, build it a cage somewhere,” Cheobawn ventured.
    “Stop,” Megan said, holding up her hand. “Listen to what you are saying for a moment and then tell me why that is such an awful idea.”
    Cheobawn’s lower lip trembled. “I could take care of it,” she said stubbornly.
    Tam groaned and ran his hands through his hair. He hated it when she cried.
    Megan sighed. “I know you think you could, but wild things do not belong in cages, Ch’che. They curl up and pine away. You wouldn’t want something you love to die of a broken heart would you?”
    “No, but …”
    “No, Cheobawn. There is no way to cage a thing and keep the predators off it. And the Elders will not allow it into the barns for fear of attracting trouble,” Megan added firmly. The older girl turned, returning to her cutting, putting an end to the discussion.
    Cheobawn looked up at Tam, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
    “Ten minutes, wee bit, then you gotta let it go, alright?”
    She nodded sadly. The stalker licked her finger, trying to comfort her, but not quite understanding her pain. The touch of his tongue sent shivers of pleasure up her spine. She pressed it against her heart. It scrabbled at the cloth of her tunic until it found the buttoned down flap at the neck. Wriggling through, it found her omeh, nibbled experimentally on the plasteel threads before venturing deeper down into her clothing, its tiny claws making her squirm as they tickled her ribs. For the next ten minutes, listening hard to the ambient of the stalker, she forgot who she was, reveling instead in a life of living close to the earth under the canopy  of leaves.
     

 
     
    Chapter Four
     
    When they stopped for the mid-shift rest, the Packs sorted themselves back into their groups and