Chapter 9
Draggar
The sun has set and the sister moons of our planet are just visible over the lush treetops. They cast a blue glow over the land making the clearing in front of me ethereal and dream-like.
But this is not a dream. Unless, I have suddenly taken to dreaming of strange aliens from other worlds and one in particular who makes my chest pound and my blood sing through my veins. No, this is not a dream as there are no hunts or strong games.
I am still in awe that there are females on Laedirissae. It is a sight I never expected to see.
It has been many hours since the females went back inside their vessel, and I have not seen them again. I watched as the sun made its journey across the sky, my hopes high that I would get another glimpse of them – of the one female with thick brown hair that curled around her fabric clad shoulders – but none of the aliens ventured out again. I wonder if I see the alien again will I experience the same strong pull towards her.
Maybe I won’t. Maybe it was all a mistake.
My mind shudders to a halt. Or maybe it’s a skill the alien female is using to trick me into wanting to bond with her. An illusion of sorts.
I shake my head in confusion because somehow that explanation feels wrong. It feels like an underestimation of the intense sensations that flared to life within me in those moments. I do not understand what is happening, but I know what I felt in that moment when I spotted her. When her eyes seemed to meet mine.
But my brain tells me that it cannot be a coincidence that these aliens have come to our planet. Especially now. Yet, my instincts and the flutter in my chest tell me something else, and I do not know which to trust at this moment.
The night has grown later and based on the lack of any bumps or murmurs coming from the vessel, I can only assume the females have settled down to rest until morning. I should do the same, but I do not. I still have a duty to my tribe to try find out any information I can about the Xeniiv and Tussoll tribes and what they have planned.
The cover of darkness would be the ideal time to do that, but I am oddly reluctant to leave the females alone – well, one female in particular. I think of the soft smile she flashed towards the kitling and my chest tightens as I long for her to smile at me in such a manner.
I shake my head in disgust.
You are an honored warrior, winner of your tribe’s last two strong games and Chief Daggir’s First Warrior. You are in charge of all of the warriors in your tribe. Stop longing after the strange female and do your duty.
With that thought firmly in my mind, I decide to use darkness to my advantage to travel to the Xeniiv’s village. Their village is not far from my current location, if I use a shortcut that I learned during the games when I was a kitling, and I can make it there before the moons have reached their high point if I run. Hopefully without being seen by any of the tribal members.
If I see any signs the Xeniiv are building up their forces or preparing for an attack, then I can relay my findings back to the chief. Chief Daggir will not be pleased that I have taken on this task without his knowledge, but we need to know if there is any truth behind the rumors.
I am determined to find out the truth tonight. As soon as that is done, I will make my way back here to continue my study of the alien females. It will be many busy hours of no sleep, but I am used to getting very little sleep when out on a hunt.
This is a hunt of sorts, but for information instead of food.
I should gather my rations and set out before it gets any later, but still I linger. A strange sense of hesitancy fills me at the thought of leaving the female behind. A thick knot in my gut makes me worry over whether she – no they – will be safe while I am gone. It takes all of my strength to resist the urge to stay and guard her. I remember the female’s delicate, unarmored flesh and slight frame. She looked so fragile compared to females of my species. So vulnerable to danger.
But the females are quiet and resting and they are most likely well-protected inside the ship for now. Nighttime is always the safest time to be in the jungle as most predators are themselves fast asleep. No, they – she – will be safe.
I tell myself that I am only concerned for the aliens’ safety because if they perish now, then I will never know what ulterior motives they might have for being on our planet. I am only doing my duty as a warrior who has promised to defend and protect my tribe.
I take one last glance at the clearing, and with my determination mustered, I quietly set out on my journey to the Xeniiv village.
****
I arrive on Xeniiv territory just as the Big Sister moon has nearly reached its high point in the sky with the smaller blue orb that is the Little Sister following closely behind it. The chitter of nocturnal insectoids is quiet as I soundlessly creep towards the other tribe’s village. My skin flickers until I blend into the surrounding foliage, and I call on every hunting skill I have learned to keep my presence hidden.
If their tribesmen knew I was here creeping about their territory, it would worsen our relationship with the tribe. While there has been no violence between us, yet, there is always the potential the tension could boil over and become violent. I would easily meet any aggression from the other tribe, I do not want a war with them. I may be a warrior, but I am not bloodthirsty.
And there is the chief of my tribe, too. I do not wish Chief Daggir to know what I am doing just yet. The chief is a courageous and shrewd leader, but he is also a little too honorable and stubborn at times. Instead of finding out the answers to his questions in the most unobtrusive way possible, he would probably march into the village during the light of day and demand answers of the Xeniiv.
As much as I admire my chief, I do not think his way will lead to anything other than an actual skirmish between our tribes, and that is a fate I would rather avoid.
The trees begin to thin as I near a sentry who has been placed at the entrance to the village. His slim, rangy build and lack of prominent defensive ridges marks him as a hunter – one who has not yet undergone his warrior trials. Unfortunately for his tribe, he has not yet acquired the skills to be an effective guard. He releases a loud yawn and I watch as his eyelids grow heavy as I quietly skirt around him.
Hugging the outer, wooden walls of the village, I stop and study the assembled huts and buildings. Everything is still and quiet, the only sounds that of the young hunter as he hums to himself in an effort to keep himself awake. There are no fires burning to chase away the darkness. Even still my eyes adjust to the darkness allowing me to see that there are no other guards patrolling the grounds or stationed anywhere that I can see.
I shake my head in confusion. The Anuriix would never assign such an important task as guarding the entire village during the night to only one sentry, let alone such an inexperienced, young male.
What could Chief Aarixon be thinking? Why would he take such risks with his tribe?
Even though most of the predators we must be cautious of sleep at night, that doesn’t mean there are no risks. Such as the Pugj.
Something is wrong here.
My nose twitches as I draw in a deep breath of the balmy air.
Very wrong. Not a single hint of smoke or charred wood lingers in the air, which tells me there are no fires burning in the Xeniiv village, possibly not for a while. I stealthily move closer to the center of the village where a large fire pit should still have warm embers smoldering from the evening meal.
A ring of stones encircles a large ring of blackened ground, but when I reach down and touch the charred bits, they are cold. Small sprigs of seedlings have begun to sprout in the fire pit. There has been no fire here for some time.
How has the tribe prepared their meals?
Moving slowly, I make my way further into the village to a small, squat building that is situated not too far away from the fire pit. If the Xeniiv have set up their village similar to my own, then this hut should be for food storage. But when I pull aside the thin door, there is barely anything inside.
It is the early days of the hottest season, and as such, the hut should be burgeoning with game, grains, fruits, herbs, and tubers, all of the food needed to feed a busy tribe. I study the interior and count two meager bags of grains, most likely harvested from the gret plants that grow on our plains. I lean over one of the bags and immediately recoil at the musty, sour smell. Small green squirming bodies wiggle among the black kernels. The grethas become infested with the insectoids that are frequently attracted to old, spoiled grain. I check the other bag and spot even more insectoids. My stomach roils with disgust.
What in the sard is going on here? A tribe cannot survive without food.
I think back to the small sentry that I assumed was a young hunter. Maybe he is not all that young, but malnourished. Could the Xeniiv tribe be starving? My thoughts wander to the kitlings in my own tribe who are always so joyful and carefree, and my throat feels tight at the thought of them suffering with the pangs of empty stomachs. And the wombs – are they suffering with the lack of nourishment, too?
But none of this makes sense. There has always been an abundance of food on our planet.
In the back corner of the hut, I notice a stack of skins from the small creatures that dwell near the waterways. Hydras have distinctive blue, scaly hides with long-spiked tails. They’re typically easy to catch and abundant, but their meat is difficult to chew, oily, and bitter with very little nourishment. They are not considered worth the trouble for hunters to pursue for food.
It appears the Xeniiv tribe has resorted to eating the scaly creatures.
I quietly make my way through the rest of the village and notice a lack of any noises. Even a village at sleep should never be completely silent. Someone is almost always awake or starting out early on a hunt, but everything is eerily quiet.
That is, until I reach the large hut the village chief calls home. As I near it, the snoring of a male makes its way to my ears. I pass by a window on the side of the hut that has been left open to catch a breeze and I peer inside. My eyes are able to make out a sumptuous interior with furs tossed on the floors and baskets of what looks like food and large clay pots stacked against the walls. The sour smell of the fermented drink, kifir, drifts out on the breeze and burns my nostrils and eyes. The hut smells like someone held a feast inside with nothing but kifir to consume.
In the far corner, among a mound of furs piled on top of a bed is a large male who lets out a deep breath that ends in a loud belch that releases another wave of noxious kifir fumes in the air. I cannot tell if the male is the tribe’s leader, Chief Aarixon, as his face is turned to the side, but based on his location in the chief’s hut, he must be. I am surprised at his drunkenness. The Aarixon that I have observed during trading visits only imbibed occasionally, even at the feasts and games I attended many years ago.
I slip unnoticed out of the village and through the jungle following my previous route back towards my own tribe’s territory, stopping every so often to make sure I have not been followed. This time, I notice things that failed to register with significance on my earlier journey.
This part of the jungle is quiet, not unnervingly so, but there is not an abundance of the noises that should be common. I fail to hear the scurrying sounds of small nocturnal creatures and the fluttering of feathers high in the trees. It is nearing mating season for dicros, and usually the musky scent of the males in rut lingers in the air. As I lift my head up to inhale deeply, I only smell the freshness of the jungle. The only conclusion I can come to is that there are no animals in Xeniiv territory. Which would explain their lack of food.
Perhaps that is the reason why footprints from unknown males have been spotted on our lands. The Xeniiv may have decided to venture further afield in order to find game that has become absent on their lands. I feel relief that the rumors of an impending attack seem to be untrue. The other tribe is simply hungry.
What does not make sense is why. Our planet is burgeoning with resources – it is one of the reasons the Ancestors chose to settle here. The Xeniiv should have plenty of food so what has happened to it? Although, the chief’s hut seemed to be well stocked, especially with kifir.
As a Laediriian, it would bring dishonor to my tribe if we did not aid them in their need. I will confess my actions to Chief Daggir and seek his counsel on how to proceed.
I am positive he will communicate with Chief Aarixon and offer our assistance.
As I cross the river that marks the border between their territory and my own tribe’s, there is a steady increase in the noises of the creatures of the jungle. It’s almost like there’s an invisible boundary keeping the animals from crossing over to the Xeniiv territory.
Hours have passed since I set out on my errand earlier tonight and now the Sister Moons hang low on the horizon and there is a graying of the sky that indicates dawn will come soon. If I continue in the direction of this trail, I will travel near the plains where my tribe hunts, but I must take a detour and venture onto a less-travelled path to reach the clearing where the females reside.
My heart pounds a heavy beat as my feet pick up their pace at the thought of being near the female again. The instinct to be hurry to her and protect her is so strong it is like a pull urging me to move quickly.
As I near the large boulders at the fork of the trail, I stop to listen for a moment. My sensitive ears twitch and turn as they filter through the different sounds in the jungle. Someone is coming. The nearly imperceptible sound of footfalls on the dry leaves of the jungle floor reaches me.
I dismiss the thought that it could be one of my own tribe. No one in my tribe would be headed towards Xeniiv territory without a good reason, nor would they be so careless as to make so much noise.
The footsteps come closer, and I conceal myself behind one of the large trees. I can feel the ripples of color cross my skin as my body blends itself against the bark.
The trees are too close and the space is too confined for my sword to be of much use against another male, so I wait with my hand on the dagger in my belt ready to strike out if need be. Moments pass with the tension flowing through me increasing. My ears pick up the sounds of someone drawing closer until I spy a male walk past the spot where I’m concealed.
The male is not a member of my own tribe, and I don’t recognize him. His frame appears gaunt and he is young, and I assume he must be from the Xeniiv tribe. Anchored across his narrow shoulders is the carcass of a dicro, one of the hooved creatures that populate our world in abundance. He has obviously been on a hunt to furnish his tribe with food.
Could this male be the source of the mystery footprints on our land?
I step out from behind the large tree and my voice thunders around us. “Halt, hunter!”
The male freezes, then quickly bursts into a sprint. He is faster than I would have thought given his thin frame, but he does not get very far. Before I can decide whether to pursue him or not, the male trips over a root and goes sprawling among the leaves. His head strikes a rock with a thud.
Sard!
The young male staggers to his feet, his grip on the dicro firm and desperate in his resolve not to release it. He is younger than I thought, his ridges have barely developed and his skin color flickers briefly before settling back to its normal color. If he was older, his coloring would automatically shift in an attempt to camouflage him from me. He is most likely a young hunter who has not earned the right to wield a sword, yet.
As that thought enters my mind, I notice an old sword strapped to his back along with his hunter’s spear. The blade is dull and nicked and has not been cared for properly.
My resolve wavers as I regard the young male’s squared shoulders and clenched jaw. Try as he might to bluster his way through this, he cannot hide his trembling fingers and his darting gaze. It would be my right as an Anuriix warrior to march this male to my chief for punishment for poaching from our lands, but I will not do that. This scared young hunter needs to be shown mercy.
“Stand tall, hunter.” I order and the male snaps to his full height, his wild gaze meeting mine. “What is your name?”
He swallows hard before answering in a quiet mumble. “Sevix.”
I gesture towards the dicro carcass which has finally escaped his hold and fallen to the ground. “Sevix, why are you poaching food from Anuriix territory?”
The male’s gaze drops in embarrassment, and he stutters in obvious discomfort before he stubbornly presses his lips together, his eyes rising and flashing with defiance. There’s an unexpected thread of anger in his voice when he answers. “I am not stealing. The Anuriix owe us. If you had not driven off our game and poisoned the land, we would have food of our own. I’m only taking back what is rightfully ours.”
I bristle at his accusation even as his words confuse me. I don’t know what this male is talking about. The Anuriix have not driven off any creatures from other territories or poisoned anything. Even though the Ancestors left their home world far behind, we still uphold the values that were so common on it, and to deprive anyone of food would be cowardly.
“What nonsense do you accuse us of? We have done no such thing.” My voice is most likely harsher than it should be if I want to get any answers from this young male hunter, but I ask anyway.
The male draws to his full height, which only reaches to my chest, before answering. “Your tribe invaded our land and forced our game off. Then, you poisoned all of the plants on our land that produce food.”
Nothing of the sort has happened nor would it ever, but I can tell this hunter believes it to be true. “The Anuriix have done no such thing. Have you seen your game being driven off? Or your land being poisoned?”
“Well. . . uh, no.” He stutters, his forehead creasing in doubt. “But my chief said it was true. He has proof. He has told us the Anuriix are trying to weaken us so that you can invade our territory and take it for yourselves.”
What nonsense is this youngling speaking of? Could the bump to his head have rattled his thoughts?
“Chief Aarixon?” I ask, confused.
Chief Aarixon and Chief Daggir have always had a healthy respect for each other. It seems out of character for the normally shrewd Aarixon to baselessly accuse another tribe of wrongdoing. My instincts are screaming at me that there is more going on here.
“No, he has gone to dwell with the Ancestors.” The male’s sorrowful words leave me stunned. The last time I saw Aarixon he seemed to be in good health and as strong as a tiniio. Sevix continues, “Our new chief is named Sevvern.”
Ahh, some of the pieces of the puzzle begin to fit themselves together. If that rotten sardo is the new chief, then. . .
I consider myself to be a good judge of character and I have never liked Sevvern.
In the past, when our tribes held games for the kitlings, I took an almost instant dislike of Sevvern. The games were designed to help kitlings practice their skills and learn to cooperate with each other. Sevvern was a smug male even then, with a cruel, lazy streak. At the first games I competed in, I remember him pushing down a much smaller kitling from his own tribe.
He had stolen the kitling’s finds and claimed them as his own. We were competing in a game designed to challenge our ability to track scents – pelts were hidden amongst the foliage and we had to use our abilities to find as many as possible. Many of us kitlings had witnessed the transgression, but we knew if we told on Sevvern he would find us later and seek revenge. So, we all agreed to keep quiet.
Placing my fist against my chest in greeting, I say, “I am Draggar, first warrior to Chief Daggir.” Sevix’s eyes widen in recognition when he hears my name. “I vow to you on my honor as a Laediriian warrior that the Anuriix have no plans to invade your territory. If we did, wouldn’t there be signs that our tribe is preparing to attack? You have obviously spent time in our territory recently. Have you seen any such signs of us building up our forces or stockpiling weapons?”
The young male reluctantly shakes his head while dropping his gaze and mumbling, “No.”
“We have not driven away your game, nor have we poisoned your land. We have no reason to do such a cruel thing to the Xeniiv.” I spread my palm out and slap it against my chest, right over where my secondary heart resides. It is the gesture we use when we are confirmed as warriors, when we are sworn to protect the tribe and uphold the Laediriian code of honor.
I hold Sevix’s gaze as he searches for any sign of dishonesty from me.
After a moment, he slowly nods his head in response and I continue, “I am a fair male, and I would make a trade with you. You may have the meat and any other food that you need. . .” The young male’s shoulders sag with relief before I continue with a thread of steel in my voice, “As long as you ask permission first. In exchange, I would ask you to answer a few questions for me. Do we have a trade?”
Sevix eyes me warily before he finally agrees.
“Good.” I rummage through the pack looped around my shoulders and remove the small medic kit that I carry with me anytime I’m in the jungle. I hold it out to the young hunter and indicate he should use it to treat the still bleeding cut on his forehead. Sevix reluctantly takes it and digs though it until he finds the healing gel we use for injuries.
When he’s finished smearing the gel on his forehead and hands it back, I ask, “When did Chief Aarixon die?”
“He was found after the sun rose, dead in his furs. It happened before the hottest season began, over sixty days ago.”
Chief Aarixon was a formidable warrior and a fair-minded chief who only wanted the best for the males under his leadership. It seems unreal to me that he is actually gone. “How did he die?”
Sevix shakes his head in response, and answers, “Chief Sevvern said he had been in bad health. He confined Chief Aarixon to his bed to heal after he was stricken with stomach pains, but two days later he went to dwell with the ancestors.” At my questioning look, he adds, “Chief Sevvern became our medic during the last hottest season after our previous medic died.”
Interesting.
I did not even know Sevvern had become the Xeniiv tribe’s medic. I find it hard to reconcile my memories of the cruel kitling Sevvern was with the compassion that is required of those who hold the position of medic. The thought of Sevvern spending hours bent over a sickbed or comforting the father of a departed warrior is not something I can envision.
“You mentioned your current chief has proof that my tribe drove off the game and poisoned your land?”
“After hunting began to become scarce, Chief Sevvern and his first warrior went to investigate. They came back and said they saw the Anuriix tribe herding the creatures from our lands with your chief leading the chase. Later, when some of our warriors sickened and died after eating fruit. . .” Sevix clears his throat and takes a deep breath.
His young voice wavers as he continues, “When they died, Chief Sevvern went on a mission of outreach to the Tussoll, and they told him that they witnessed the Anuriix scattering something foul-smelling on the food bearing plants on our land. So far this season, it is almost as if they lie dormant. Most of the trees and plants have failed to produce anything and the ones that have are not fit to ingest. We were surviving off of a small amount of grain that was left from last season, but that has now spoiled.”
“What about other food stores? Is there no food cache in the caves or underwater?” I do not mention that I have already seen the state of the tribe’s storage hut or that I have seen the baskets and pots in the chief’s hut which I suspect contain food that Sevvern is hoarding.
Sevix starts to shake his head, then pauses and says, “Chief Sevvern says all of our storage spots are empty. He ordered us to hunt for food among the hydra.” A shiver of revulsion wracks his frame when he mentions the foul-tasting, scaly creatures whose hides I saw in the Xeniiv village.
“You may have what you need for your tribe. I will discuss this with my own chief, but I am confident he will not want another tribe to suffer needlessly. Does your chief know that you have been hunting on Anuriix territory?”
Sevix spits out his response. “No. I didn’t think it would do the tribe any good to tell him. Chief Sevvern does not seem to lack for nourishment.” The young male’s face hardens with suppressed anger.
“For now, perhaps it would be best not to tell your chief of our conversation, as well.” The young male nods at my suggestion.
I help the young hunter position the dicro carcass back over his shoulders so that he has a secure hold on it, then I gesture towards it. “That does not look like enough to feed a whole tribe. . .”
Before I can continue, Sevix interrupts, his eyes downcast, “There are not many from my tribe left.” He shifts his slight frame before looking up and meeting my gaze. “The starvation has taken many males from us. This will be enough to feed those of us for a while. I have a small fire pit set up outside the village where I can dry the meat and hand it out to the other tribe members without Chief Sevvern knowing.”
Shame burns in my gut. For this to happen to anyone, but especially a tribe so close to our own is stupefying. We should have known the Xeniiv were starving long before now, and we should have offered our assistance. No one should starve when there is enough food for all of us.
Gesturing towards the path, I offer to accompany the young male as he journeys to the border that marks the beginning of his tribe’s land. After we have crossed the river that marks the transition to Xeniiv land, we stop for a moment for the young male to readjust the carcass over his shoulders. Something niggles in my thoughts, pushing itself to the forefront.
“What of the Tussoll? They border your tribe on one side. Are they without food, too?”
“No, I think they have an abundance. Chief Sevvern has travelled to meet with them many times. I have overheard him describe the feasts he has enjoyed with them.” The male’s voice is tight with bitterness.
“My gratitude, Sevix, for answering my questions.” I look down at the younger male, who reminds me so much of myself at that age. Eager to be a warrior and help my tribe in every way possible, but still too young to bear many responsibilities. It was a golden time, as it should be for any young hunter, except this hunter is burdened with the task of providing nourishment for his entire tribe because of circumstances beyond his control.
“Before you go on your way, will you promise to come find me if you need anything? If it is in my power to help you, I will.”
The male agrees, but his wary gaze indicates he is still suspicious of my motives. I wish him a good journey, and then I turn and continue on my way back to the clearing where the females are. I have much to think about on my trek there and plenty of time to do so.
This is my favorite time to be out in the jungle – the solitude and the peace just before the newly awakened day arrives always leaves me with a sense of tranquility, but my thoughts are anything but tranquil.
I expected to find the answers I was seeking during my scouting mission, and I did find some. I do not believe any of the rumors that the Xeniiv are planning to attack or that they would even be capable of an attack. They seem to be having a difficult enough time just surviving.
But I have come away from my mission with more questions. There is something very wrong about the recent events in the Xeniiv tribe, and I am sure it must all be connected somehow. But how? The sudden death of the tribe’s previous chief is suspicious, especially considering Sevvern’s role as medic at the time and his elevation to chief.
I can’t help but wonder if the females are connected to the events in any way? Sevvern was always a devious male. Could he have called the females here for some reason? It seems like too much of a coincidence for their arrival to be coincidental, but I want to believe the females – one female in particular – have no ulterior motive for being here.
I growl in frustration. There are too many unanswered questions remaining, and I do not like it.
Quickening my pace, I hurry through the dense foliage and rough terrain back to the area of the jungle where the females are. The strong urge to protect the female, to see her, and bask in her sweet scent buzzes in my blood carrying me along. I cannot get there fast enough, and before I know it, I near the clearing where the large vessel rests like a sleeping giant.
By now, the sun has begun to rise, peeking just over the treetops and spreading its warmth. Dew on the large leaves turns into a steamy mist that leaves a fine sheen on my skin. The hottest season is well and truly upon us, and it will only grow hotter over the coming days.
I settle in the same spot as before and begin my watch. Over the next few hours, I hear murmurs and voices from inside the large metal ship, but none of the beings emerge.
It’s not until later in the day when I finally see movement from the vessel. I have just tossed the last of the ripe, sweet berries picked from a nearby vine in my mouth, and I nearly swallow them whole as a pale figure appears in the opening of the ship.
It’s the female. Her wide, blue eyes peer out cautiously looking for any threats before she takes a step and gestures for someone to follow her.
The female kitling appears behind my female – wait, no not my female. . . ahem, the female. The alien female. I must remember that. No matter that my heart pounds at the sight of her and that slight flutter I noticed before has begun again in my chest. I must remember she is not mine.
I must do what is right for my tribe. For the Laediriians here on Laedirissae. Which means finding out why these strange aliens have crashed on our planet. Until I know what the aliens intend here and if they mean us harm, I must keep my distance from them. From her.
But it is a task that is much harder than it should be. I clench my jaw against the urge to leave my hiding place and seek the enchanting female out.
I watch as the female and the kitling approach a small flock of psittas who have once again settled among the churned-up soil and vegetation in search of choice morsels of food. The alien female bends down to the kitling’s height and points towards the creatures. Her softly spoken words reach my ears, and frustratingly, I still cannot understand them.
“Zohh-ii, luuk iits thuh buhrds! Cahn yoo fynd Piitehrr?”
The kitling responds, “Ai sii hehm! Hiis soh fuh-nii.”
They seem fascinated by the antics of the psittas, and I wonder if there are no feathered creatures on their planet. The alien and the kitling smile and talk in low tones, pointing every so often at one of the smaller psittas as it hops around after insectoids.
I watch them for a while before another alien steps from the interior of the crumpled ship. It is another alien female. Goddesses, there are three grown females and a kitling on Laedirissae!
This female has skin the color of a dicro’spelt and even darker hair on her head. She is a little taller than the pale female and her hair is shorter, but otherwise, she looks so similar that they must be the same species.
”Hell-lii!” She calls out. The female I feel drawn to turns her head in acknowledgement with a wide smile stretched across her face.
Is that my female’s name? My mouth soundlessly moves. Hell-lii. It is a beautiful name. One that suits the small, delicate being in front of me.
The new alien approaches the other two and they have a conversation with each other, but the noises that emerge from their mouths make no sense to me.
I wish I could understand them. If I knew what they discussed, then I could find out why the females have come here. And maybe I could also deduce why my heart pounds every time I see the female named Hell-lii.
An idea suddenly forms in my mind.
Vrenner, the tech for the Anuriix tribe, is constantly tinkering with the gadgets and the advanced technology the Ancestors left us. I am sure he will be able to assist me. I must journey back to my village and seek him out.