Patches of snow still clung to the dark spaces under trees and a bitter wind blew in from the east, causing Ayessa to bury her chin in her furs.

Spring was late this year, and even the sun seemed reluctant to appear, hiding instead, for weeks, behind a veil of grey clouds.

She set the palm-sized rock she was gripping in one fist down on the grass beside her and flexed her fingers.

Oyeka, squatting in the grass across from her, raised a brow. "Don't let Taboua see you."

Ayessa clicked her tongue in irritation. "That old bełe? She just likes to make sound." She picked up the rock again, though, with a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure Taboua hadn't seen.

Oyeka chuckled. "All the little birds jump when the old crow squawks, eh?"

"Be quiet and pass me another root."

He carefully removed the last of the small, branching roots off the main stalk with his flint knife and tossed the root towards her. She caught it with her left hand, balancing the large flat rock she was using as a mortar on her knee. She lay the tuber on it and continued grinding.

The sound of laughter came from the center of the camp and Ayessa raised her eyes to find its source. There, by the main fire, stood Atua, Obu and Makaro. It was Makaro's laugh that had drawn her ear.

"Lazy," he brother muttered. "How come Taboua never puts him to work grinding aharai?"

"Because she likes him," Ayessa replied. "She finds him charming."

Oyeka snorted. "He could charm a snake out of its skin. It doesn't mean he should."

"You are just jealous."

"Am I?" he said, "I don't think so. I prefer honesty over pretty words."

He hesitated a moment, then said, "You should be careful with him, Ayessa."

Ayessa avoided his eyes, busying herself with the last bit of the tuber beneath her rock. She shook the flour
into the clay pot beside her. Oyeka handed her another root.

"You think you love him-" he said.

"What I think is for me to think," Ayessa snapped.

She herself didn't know how she felt about Makaro. They had barely spoken since that afternoon in the woods.

Oyeka shrugged one shoulder. "If you like. Anyone with eyes can see though. Including father."

Her cheeks heated, but luckily her skin was dark enough to hide the flush.

"What of you and Umeke then?" she said. "Does he know about that?"

Oyeka's flint knife only stopped for a moment, but it was enough to tell her she had been right.

"He likes me to come fishing with him sometimes," he said. "What of it?"

Ayessa snorted. "You fish often, and yet, we eat no fish."

This time, it was Oyeka who avoided her gaze.

"Do you love him then?" she asked,

"Of course not," Oyeka said. "He is a man. A man can not love a man. It is only-"

"Lust?"

Oyeka handed her the last root and stood. "A way to satisfy lust until we each have our own women. Nothing more than that, Ayessa."

He tucked his knife back into its sheath and left.

When she looked back toward the camp fire, she saw Makaro was alone now. He glanced up, and their eyes met. She made to smile and wave, but before she could bring her hand all the way up, he turned and walked back towards his tent.

What was it he felt towards her that he had to flee from her?

What was it she felt for him that made her so afraid?

A cold rain fell as she made her way through the woods towards the small clearing she had found early in the winter. They would move again soon, as the weather warmed, following the herd further upland. They might come back to this place next winter or the winter next, but it was never a certainty.

Daylight was fading as she entered the clearing, but enough light remained for her to make out the sprawling tree that stood in the center of a field of new green.

She approached it, and almost reverently, placed her palm on its thick, dark trunk.

There was something about this place that brought her peace and she liked to come here to clear her head.

Sometimes, she would sit at the base of the tree and listen to the wind whip through the bare branches overhead until almost she could hear the voices of each, wind and tree, whispering to one another. Like she was listening to the Gods themselves commune.

She was still standing, hand and head resting against the trunk when a voice behind her spoke.

"Ayessa?"

Startled, she spun around to find Makaro had entered the clearing.

"Aii, Makaro," she said, putting a hand to her chest. "You startled me."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was nearby and saw you here. I would have kept going, but I thought maybe you were ill the way you were leaning against the tree."

"No, I was-" she said, then stopped, flushing. How could she tell him she was speaking with a tree? He would think she had gone wrong in the head.

They stood for a moment, neither saying a word, discomfort almost palatable between them.

"If you are well then-" Makaro said finally, turning to leave.

"Makaro," Ayessa called out, and he turned back to face her.

She swallowed. "Come. Stay, awhile. Sit with me."

She lowered herself to the ground and waited. He hesitated, as if uncertain, then approached the tree and sat beside her.

"Ayessa-" he started, but didn't finish.

He plucked a blade of grass from the ground and ran his thumb along its edge.

She tucked her knees up to her chest and rested her chin atop them.

"If you want to say sorry for kissing me, I won't hear it," she said. "I'm not. Sorry, I mean."

Her face was aflame, but she kept going. "I liked it and I won't let you be sorry for it."

"I liked it too," he said after a moment. He raised his eyes to meet hers. "Very much."

What was it about his eyes that held her so? They never used to.

"Good," she mumbled. "That is sorted then."

He smiled. Not his usual smile, but a slow smile that lit all sorts of fires within her.

This time, when he kissed her, she was ready. He parted her lips with his and their tongues met, tentatively at first, then with growing boldness.

As the kiss deepened, his hand slid up her side and under her furs, rain wet fingers searching for her skin. She shivered, and he pulled away.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

She silenced him this time with a finger to his lips. "Shh. It wasn't that. It was only that your hands are cold."

He laughed and she laughed too.

"Oh, Ayessa," he said, "what are we doing? Maybe we shouldn't."

Before he could say more, she took his hand in hers and guided it up under her tunic, until his fingers grazed the sides of her breast. Her breath caught as he moved his hand to cup her and his thumb rolled over her already taut nipple.

His own breath ragged, he leaned back in to kiss her upturned lips.

"I've never done this before," he murmured against her mouth.

"Me either," she whispered back.

Gently, he pushed her back onto the grass. With one hand, he cupped her chin, the other hand still lightly stroking her breast.

"Are you certain?" he said softly, his eyes locked on hers.

"Yes."

And they became one.