Facts Of Life (Ramnau)
He promised not to tell. But it's a bit late for that. His ears are still ringing from the force of the slap; Sharra nabs both ankles and drags him out from under the bunk, spitting words she isn't supposed to use, too busy holding him down to grab at the obvious bulge in his pocket.
"Let's have it!" With a snarl, with a hard shake that chatters his teeth. "Idiot! Thief! Hnafirh'rau."
It's chittering, now, frantic. Crushed flat against his leg. He thrashes to get loose.
"It's mine!" He kicks her, gets a knock on his head for the trouble, can't get away. He shoves with his elbows, right in her ribs. No telling what she'll do, if she finds out. "Let go!"
There are little stifled noises from behind the sheet strung above the sickbed, a stutter of coughing.
Sharra pulls him vertical with a hiss. "If you woke her..."
"You leave me alone." He's shaking, angry and smug. "Placitus gave it to me. It's mine."
"Ael," Sharra looks away, turns him loose, making that hurt face.
He shakes his shoulder out from under her hand, steps away from that look, from that baby name. He folds his arms. He'd stick his tongue out, but he's too big for that now. "D'nrai."
"Listen to your sister." It's high, thin, gritty from behind the sheet, and it makes Sharra frown. Everything makes Sharra frown. Except things that make her shout or hit. Some things even make her cry, but she hasn't done that in almost a year.
She looks ready to do it now.
But Ayel smiles. Aithne's always happy to see him. She can't go out, not in this cold, and she sleeps a lot, but she still does mending for the hill family when she's not resting. And he has something better than medicine, today.
Unless Sharra squashed it by being stupid.
He slips in past the sheet, wants to climb up by Aithne, but it's not something a grown up would do, and she's too tired today for stories. So he just grins at her.
"Aithne," he fishes in his pocket, touches, strokes--it's still wiggling, not dead--and brings it out. "Look!"
The tiny white ball of fluff scoots across the blankets when he lets it go. It's probably looking for somewhere warm. Scurries right to her--Aithne's very warm. It chitters happily.
"It likes crackers," says Ayel. "And grain and paper and...Lots of things. I don't think it likes blankets, though."
"Where did you--" but Aithne doesn't finish asking, just pets it, squeezes it so close to her face that it squeaks. She's smiling. Really smiling. "Eibhul. Be careful what you feed it," she says, letting it scoot across the mattress, picking it up before it falls off. She gives it back to him with a serious look on her face. "Don't want it getting--sick."
She was starting to say something else and said 'sick' instead, and he's got a pretty good idea of what.
"It'll have babies," says Ayel. "A lot. That's all they do, is be pregnant."
Aithne can't blush under that fever, or she would. "Ayel!"
"What? It's true." The puffball rolls in his hand, squirming, so he sets it down again.
Sharra pokes through the curtain, gruff and frowning, not fooling anybody. Her lips keep curling up at the sight of the thing.
"Language," she huffs, nudging him.
"Matters as much as meaning." Ayel snorts, nudges back. "I know already."
There are two puffballs on the blanket, now--no, three, one so small it was hidden behind the others.
"Ayel," Sharra says, too gently. "Daew'hir. How do you know it likes crackers?"
"Ia'rinam..." he says gravely, standing, watching her spine go stiff as she listens. She gets this way every time Placitus gives him a present. Like she can stop the underboss from doing anything he wants, just by disapproving.
Her lips are thin lines, pressed so they won't tremble. "Arhem ourhhe."
She's more concerned than angry. Good. He's got a fighting chance.
"The same way I know it likes ration crumbs," Ayel answers quickly, and runs.