Page 95 of Folds
I grit my teeth and do anything but look him in the eyes.Bahtam's face is simply too close, and every time I look up, his sharp gaze is locked onto me, unblinking and unreadable.
And despite my best efforts to make sure I'm not hurting the already injured naga, every time I shift my grip, he shivers.
"One more big push and we're out of here, we’re so close!" I say, more to myself than to him. The opening is about an arm’s length away, and I can see the cabin light spilling onto the wet ground outside.
"One more," he repeats with a wince.
Suddenly we're out, the window light behind Bahtam's head creates a halo effect, and for a second, he looks like some kind of old god cast into a dreary mortal world.
It takes my breath away.
But that feeling is short-lived, because as soon as we're out, the cool rain pelts his body as he lies on top of me. His eyes snap shut, each drop must feel like a bullet of ice.
"Inside we go!" I say chipperly, hoping to distract him from this new onslaught of cold.
I stand, somehow hauling his massive form up with me—I'll thank the years of chiseling giant tree trunks for that—and he slings his arm over my shoulder. I feel comically small under him, his frame dwarfing my own. I'm sure if any hiker stumbled on us right now, we'd make quite the pair.
One giant injured snake man on the brink of hypothermia, and one mud-covered woman half his size doing her best.
Even though every step is brutal, we finally make it to the front door of my cabin. I kick open the screen door with my foot and pull him inside, gently setting him by the hearth. When I turn back, the tip of his tail is still out on the porch. So, in an attempt to conserve the warmth of the fire, I gently lift the pointed tip and place it just inside the threshold—careful, like it might bite.
Without warning, a moan escapes Bahtam's lips.
I snap my head over to him, thinking he’s fucking dying or something.
"Are you okay?" I yell.
His eyes open slowly, tongue darting out to lick his lips—too slow, too deliberate.
"The end of my tail is… very sensitive."
I might be embarrassed at the blush that blooms across my cheeks, if not for his very evident fluster—like I didn’t just find something out I definitely wasn’t supposed to discover.
"Oh. Sorry. I don't know much about naga—y'all are pretty reclusive," I mutter as I click the door closed behind me, suddenly very aware of the smallness of the cabin. Of him in it.
He seems to have regained his composure by the time I'm closer, stoking the fire with a fresh log. The flames catch, snapping and climbing, throwing molten light across his scales.
Once I've finally got the fireplace roaring, I turn on my heel to make my way back to the kitchen and brew him the promised tea.
But Bahtam's large hand plants against the small of my stomach.
"You promised we would sit together," he breathes, scales glinting with reflected, sparking embers.
I did say that. It just sounded a lot less… loaded when I did.
"Yeah," I admit. "We totally will, just let me get you some tea?—"
"You are warmer than tea," he says, eyes hooded.
That… does not help.
"Well," I say, because apparently my brain has chosen survival via practicality, "if you let me make you some tea, and at least put some Neosporin and a bandage on that gnarly cut, I'll sit with you. Okay?" Sure, I won't deny the weird pull I feel to sit with the giant snake man, but I think it's probably best practice that we deal with his crusty injury first.
Then the snake man—giant, intimidating, could absolutely kill me—honest to god pouts.
"Fine."
Cool. Love that we're already setting healthy boundaries.
