Picture: Manvreet
Pic: Manvreet
Doris relaxed. A concession always made her more willing to listen.
“You’ve been a better mate than a boor like me deserves,” said Manvreet peaceably. “I promise to consider, as open-mindedly as I can, all that you have said. Just give me until the morning to figure things out; then, we’ll talk again. Is that all right?”
“Yes, that’s fine. By the way,” said Doris, sidling closer to her mate, “you don’t deserve me, but who else am I going to find, eh?” She smiled and nuzzled Manvreet’s chest.
Manvreet and Doris walked back to the flat rock where Grandpa was still enthusiastically tutoring Lester, who had fallen asleep.
“…so you sees,” said Grandpa, “if you then roast it slowlike and steadylike with the medium flames,” he breathed a thin stream of fire, “sees, then you gets all that goodness and flavourfulness simmerin’ through. That’s culinary, that is. But you know it’s good raw, too, so it ain’t strict necessary to do the trouble; it’s just to be fancy.”
#
Later that night, after Grandpa had petered out and fallen asleep, Manvreet and Doris each gave Lester, who was still asleep at the flat rock, a gentle goodnight nuzzle. Then, they stole quietly away to their master sleeping chamber, which was situated through a short tunnel at the back of the cavern. In the centre of the sleeping chamber lay a large pile of bones that served as a bed for the couple. Manvreet climbed on first, curled up and nestled in. Doris followed and snuggled up to her mate in her usual serpentine position. She fell asleep quickly, but Manvreet lay awake, dwelling on drowsy recollections.
A series of random extracts from earlier times passed through his mind. In one extract, he was flying, just flying—he missed that. In another, he was laughing about something with his closest brethren—what were their names again? In yet another, he was wooing Doris in the young days of their acquaintance. Many such snippets came for an instant and left just as soon before one in particular lingered. As usual, his father was off hunting wild animals and scaring up humans, and as usual, Manvreet had stayed behind with his uncle. They were discussing something... a new idea; they were always discussing new ideas. Manvreet couldn’t remember what the topic was on this occasion, but he could remember how content he felt, how optimistic he was, how he enjoyed every moment of it. How he wished he could go back to relive it again, to really live again. Manvreet tried to hold on to this memory, tried to stretch it out, make it last, but the more he tried the more it slipped away. Those days were gone forever. Manvreet puffed out a cloud of smoke, illuminated it with a narrow stream of fire and watched it languidly drift and change and assume the shape of a more sombre scene. It was terrible. Manvreet closed his eyes, but he couldn’t escape the sight. Before him were the bodies of his slain brethren, as real as they were five centuries ago. The incident had not faded into the distant past as Doris had said. She wasn’t there. She didn’t see it. She couldn’t understand.
