Rukhosh POV:

The bitter season had loosened its grip for the day, and meltwater dripped steadily from the cave mouth, each slow drop echoing against stone before collecting in a shallow basin. Cold air still bit at every exposed ridge of Rukhosh's blue-gray skin, yet his khui kept a steady warmth beneath it, the familiar hum settling comfortably in his chest.

Vektal and Raik'Kar had sent hunters to spread word that more humans could be wandering beyond Croatoan after receiving their khui. Some had left without telling the chief, choosing to survive alone instead of beneath his protection, and although Vektal had spoken calmly, Rukhosh could hear the quiet irritation beneath his voice. His mate, Georgie, had taught several of them a handful of human words, though Rukhosh found little use for them. Human speech twisted strangely with too many double meanings for one simple word. One sound could mean many things, and many sounds somehow meant the same thing. His own vocabulary of English remained small, and that suited him well enough since he did not know many.

He was not searching for strange creatures. He certainly was not searching for resonance with one, even though it proved to be possible.

Most male Sa-khui had never experienced it. They accepted that truth long before their horns finished growing, especially after the sickness claimed so many sa-khui, young and old alike. Rukhosh had made peace with the silence inside his chest years ago.

After many hours checking each trap without much success, he reached the last one nestled between frost-covered rocks, and that was when an unfamiliar squeak split the quiet.

He froze, and his ears caught the sound again, high-pitched and frantic, belonging to nothing that lived on Not-Hoth. Tightening his grip on his spear, he rounded the boulder, and his brows lifted.

You hung upside down by one ankle, swaying gently from his snare, and he stared.

He had seen Georgie, of course, but this one looked different from her and was noisier.

Using the blunt end of his spear, he poked your forehead.

Your hand immediately slapped it away before a flood of angry human words burst from your mouth, fast enough that he doubted he wished to understand a single one.

"...Soft," he muttered in sa-khui.

Your strange coverings were thin, damp from melting snow, and wholly unsuited for the cold. Without a khui's warmth, you would not survive many more nights out here.

A deep purr thundered through his chest, and it stole the breath from his lungs.

His glowing eyes widened as the song filled the frozen air between them, the purring sound answering the other until his heartbeat stumbled against his ribs.

Resonance.

Mine. This human was his.

Without another thought, he swung his spear, the stone blade slicing cleanly through the rope. And then you dropped face-first into the snow with a muffled thump.

He winced.

Perhaps that had not been the gentlest solution.

Ignoring the colorful stream of human noises and words that followed, he lifted you over his shoulder despite your kicking and protesting. You were astonishingly light, and every shove against his back only made his grip tighten to keep you from falling.

His tail flicked with cautious satisfaction. He had found his mate, and once warm, once fed, their khui would finish their song.

Moments later, he came to realize that he could not have been more wrong. The moment he set you onto his fur bedding, a storage chest flew toward his head.

He barely blocked it before it struck his horns. Then you somehow found one of his spears and pointed it directly at his chest.

Your khui had chosen him.

So why, by every frozen ancestor, did you keep trying to attack?

Slowly, he pointed one finger toward the cave floor.

"Drop spear," he said carefully, keeping his voice low despite how frustrated he felt. "No hurt. Name. Food. Fire."

Human English was a difficult language, and now he wished he had learned more from Vektal's mate, Georgie.