Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

killed. It made no sense. He let the spider scramble off back into the woods, and he turned his eyes back to the boy.
    The boy patted his own chest. "Deshi." A look of frustration crossed his face as he pointed to himself again. "Deshi."
    What was the boy saying? His brow furrowed as the boy repeated the gesture. Then it dawned on him. Deshi. The boy's name was Deshi. What a strange name. He pointed to himself. "Kaanan."
    "Kaanan?"
    "Kaanan." He pointed at the boy. "Deshi."
    Deshi smiled at him. He felt a smile curve his own lips. It wasn't much, but it was a start. He didn't even know how to get the boy out of the jungle. This was his home. He didn't travel beyond his territory, and if he left, he couldn't be sure poachers wouldn't come in and take over. Which put him in a difficult position. Deshi was here. He couldn't take Deshi out. Deshi wouldn't be able to find his way out on his own. He huffed and tugged another piece of meat from the bone.
    He was stuck with the boy.
    Dammit.
    ****
    There was precious little time when moving about as a human in the jungle. As a cat, he could have gotten more done in both the daylight and nighttime hours, but with Deshi around, he'd had to rely on his human form more. It was yet another annoyance, and it made him uncomfortable, but it didn't frighten Deshi as much to see him walking on two legs. He had compromised for nearly three phases of the moon now, almost a full cycle since he had picked up the scent of the poachers and started hunting them down. It was starting to wear thin on him, though. He longed to sharpen his claws against a tree, stretch and flick his tail, let out a proper chuff and growl as he enjoyed a meal raw. With Deshi demanding nearly constant attention, though, he didn't have the chance to shift except to hunt.
    Now that Deshi was well again, the boy insisted on helping, and that meant that this excursion into the forest wasn't the hunt he would have preferred. He held out his hand, stopping Deshi behind him. "Wait," he rumbled over his shoulder, relieved to see Deshi nod and stop behind him. At least they had worked out a few words in each of their languages. It certainly wasn't enough to hold a true conversation, but Deshi had surprised him by being expressive with body language. There was intelligence there behind the dark, slanted eyes, but that knowledge seemed focused on things up in the air, things that were far removed from the earth and jungle and life.
    He scented the air for a minute and motioned for Deshi to follow him. There was a particularly thick area of vegetation, and he led Deshi around it, using a machete he had taken after going back to fully loot the poachers' bodies. He smiled when they made it past the dense patch, and he pointed to a large tree with several roots growing downward from the branches. It was a beautiful, almost sacred tree to him, and its shade was a wonderful respite from the quickly building heat as the sun climbed higher in the sky.
    "F-food?" Deshi asked hesitantly in the local language.
    If Deshi was uncertain he had said the word correctly, then he had nothing to worry about. He purred as he nodded at Deshi, cupping his hands into the shape of a fruit. "Yes. Food." He pointed upward and walked close to the tree, working his way up one of the aerial roots to a main branch. He sat on the branch, and when Deshi stared up at him with awe, he shook his head. The boy wasn't even going to attempt to climb up after him and help. He huffed and called down. "Deshi wait. Kaanan food." He motioned that Deshi should catch what he dropped, and he just hoped the boy wouldn't miss. He wanted more than smashed fruit to eat.
    It took three tries before Deshi was able to catch the ripe figs he sent down from the boughs of the tree. Each time Deshi missed, he barked at him, glared, and sent another. Fourth time, Deshi caught the fruit and crowed triumphantly. He couldn't help but smile at that, and he moved from branch to branch, plucking ripe, sweet fruits and tossing them down to Deshi's waiting hands. By the time he shimmied down the roots and to the jungle floor, he was coated in sweat, his stomach rumbling. Deshi's shirt was cupped, filled with the figs, and the bright, eager smile on the boy's face brought an odd, pleasant warmth to his chest.
    They sat beneath the fig tree eating the sweet fruit, only the occasional moan of enjoyment from the boy filling the air. The moans made him feel strange, a desire unfurling low in