Transcendence by Shay Savage

while, she sighs and takes a step toward me. I flinch a bit, and she holds out her hand to me slowly.
    Tentative, I reach out my own hand. When our fingers touch, Beh comes closer and takes my hand in hers. She whispers more sounds as her thumb runs over the back of my hand. Her eyes meet mine, and they are expectant. She looks out toward the steppes, makes more sounds, and looks back to me again. Her eyes are questioning, but I don’t know what she needs.
    I never know what she needs from me.
    Unexpectedly, Beh takes a step forward and places her mouth on the side of my face.
    Her lips are warm and soft, and I have no idea why she would do such a thing. I look at her out of the corner of my eye as I take a slight step backwards. I lift my hand to my cheek and touch the spot, rubbing at it a little.
    Beh’s lips smash together, and she seems to be holding in a laugh. I don’t understand why, but I’m glad she doesn’t seem to be sad now. Maybe whatever I did wrong was fixed when she put her mouth on my face. It would not surprise me.
    My mate really is rather strange.
    And beautiful.
    Twisting my fingers around hers, I bring Beh back into our cave and get her a drink and eat some of the dried antelope meat. When we’re done eating, Beh uses more mint leaves to rub her teeth and mine before heading out to find more food to store for winter. Though I have not tried for some time, I decide to make some traps in the pine forest to see if I can catch rabbits. Beh’s strange foot coverings don’t seem like they would keep her warm at all, and rabbit fur would be good for her hands and feet if it gets too cold in the winter months.
    I think back to the previous spring and wonder how I managed to even keep myself alive. Before I had Beh, I didn’t think about winter until the temperature changed from hot to cool again. Now I have to think about everything much sooner, even before the weather turns hot. I’m glad I’m alive—glad I didn’t give up—because now I can take care of Beh. If I hadn’t survived, she wouldn’t have anyone to take care of her now.
    I set three traps before we go back to the field and collect more grain. This time, I think to bring an extra hide with me so I don’t have to use the one I am wearing. We work quickly, but when a rumble of thunder crosses the sky, we must head back to the cave with all we have gathered.
    We are barely through the crack and into the cave before the rain starts to fall. I’m pleased I brought more of the firewood from the hidden space above the cave into the living area the day before, so I don’t have to go out in the wet to get more. I build up a roaring blaze and drag one of the older furs from the bottom part of the sleeping area for Beh to sit on. It seems better than the grass mat I tried to weave last year, which is already falling apart.
    I take my mate by the hand and lead her to the fur to sit. I drop down on the mat and tug at the edges of it to try to fix it up a bit, but it is no use, so I give up. I decide to finish working the antelope hide instead, hoping it will serve as some proper clothing for my mate.
    Beh spends a moment staring intently at the mat I made, and then she looks over to the pile of reeds we brought back the day before. As the rain continues to pour down outside, Beh reaches over and pulls a pile of the reeds closer to her. She picks up two strands and twists them together just as pointlessly as she had before. She looks back at my mat and lays a few of the reeds side by side.
    After a few minutes of staring at the reeds and the mat, she makes a short sound with her mouth, picks up the reeds, and starts weaving them in and out. I watch her intently while I work and for some time as she weaves many reeds together. Often she gets them tied up in knots, growls at herself, tears the whole thing apart, and then starts over again.
    The second time she doesn’t fare much better.
    By the time the rainstorm finally subsides, she has managed