It kind of makes me sad – I have to hide the biggest part of who I am from him, and now we seem to be on pretty friendly terms.
I get my cape, the hat, and the boots, as well as the straw that I’ve had the presence of mind to remove from the boots so that the old grass can dry in the heat from the fire and not get moldy and stinky. Except, of course, it was stinky already.
I put the also quite rank dinosaur-skin clothing on me and climb back up the ladder.
Kyandros is a dark spot in the distance, barely visible among the trees. I should be happy so many trees fell when it snowed. The jungle is much less dense now, and it will look weird when the snow melts. Probably even more welcoming.
I scan the horizon. I can see no dinos and no tracks of any. Most of them are cold-blooded and may well have frozen to death in this temperature.
I’m not sure how to feel about that. On one hand, they have been the bane of our existence here on Xren. On the other hand, the dinos never actually killed any of us girls after that first nightmarish day when the dactyls took so many. There have been many close calls, but the creatures here can’t be that hard to deal with if eighteen girly girls have survived here for just about two years by now.
And if all the dinos are dead, then that is actually pretty damn sad. And scary. If our escape ship doesn’t work, then we might be stuck on an ice planet where the local wildlife has succumbed to the cold.
Shit, this is too depressing.
I walk fast, following Kyandros’ footsteps. He sinks further into the snow than I do, but on the other hand he has longer legs. I hope he slows down a little to wait for me. Today I thought we could hunt for not-sheep and maybe make some fur hats and maybe even some real coats.
I wish I knew in which direction the village is. I hope the girls are okay! But they have a large store of furs and skins, they live in pretty good houses and a large cave, and firewood is never far away. There shouldn’t be any trees in the village that will create a lot of destruction if they fall, so I can probably assume that they’re in better shape than I am.
I rub my ears and nose, but they’re not as cold as yesterday. Neither am I, now that I check. The temperature has definitely risen just this past hour or so. I’m okay with that.
Kyandros is waiting for me. I think. He stands there, leaning on a frozen tree like some kind of nonchalant city dweller leaning on a lamppost. The contrast between the wintry surroundings and his loincloth is ridiculous, of course. The little hint of a garment becomes him, although it is a crying shame to cover up that thing he’s sporting behind it.
“It’s warmer today,” I inform him. “My ears aren’t as cold.”
He gives me a cold look. “Why are you following me?”
14
- Mia -
I look up at him. “Why? I just hoped that maybe you’d help me hunt for not-sheep.”
“Ah. Animals about which the only thing we know is that they are not another kind of animal.”
“We actually know a few more things. They are white and fluffy. Might be hard to spot in the snow. They are easy targets and mercifully easy to gut.”
“I suppose I can help with that.” He looks around with his yellow eyes that miss nothing.
“And the point of hunting them is mostly their fur,” I hurry to add before he takes off and comes back with an armful of not-sheep torn to pieces. “So maybe go easy on them?”
He sighs. “Taking all the fun out of the process. Stay here.”
He walks away with deceptive speed, and I soon lose sight of him.
Again, I miss him when he’s gone. Damn it, how can I miss his intensity? Like missing a freaking jet engine when it stops blasting me with searing hot air.
There must be something wrong with me. It’s like I’m basking in his attention and then feel cold and lonely when he withdraws it. When he’s close, I feel more alive and aware than I can remember.
I keep walking, just to not get too cold by standing still.
So, I’ll find Bune and continue my mission. In this changed landscape, it should be easy enough. I just need a hill or something to catch my bearings and find out where I am.
Then what? The girls will join me there soon, and we’ll leave for Earth.
Leaving Kyandros behind.
Can I even do that?
I roll my eyes. What a question to ask. He’s a dragon. Am I still mesmerized by him? He does have—
A shadow passes right over me and I look up.
There’s a dark shape in the sky, close to the sun.
I squint up at it. Is that a dragon or a not-dactyl?
Shit. It doesn’t matter. I have to get out of sight.
I stumble through the snow towards the nearest tree, but it’s a good fifty yards away and I cast a very dark shadow on the blindingly white snow. That thing up there must have seen me.
The snow seems softer and harder to walk in, and I sink deeper into it than before. My breath goes ragged as I struggle to reach cover. I really have to get Kyandros to show me where he put the last string for the crossbow so I can bring a weapon to our hunts.
I take a moment to look up and behind me.
Then I throw myself headlong on the ground as the dactyl swoops over me, its talons stretched out beneath it. It whooshes past, inches above me. The only reason it didn’t catch me was that I sank deeper into the snow with my whole body. The flying horror hasn’t quite worked out how snow works.
But it will not make that same mistake twice.
I scramble to my feet again and scurry as fast as I can towards the tree. I may have a few seconds before the dactyl can attack me again.
Panic tugs at the edges of my consciousness. I’m still out in the open, with no weapon. At any time I’ll feel those ugly talons hacking into my back and sides, before the creature will carry me away.
“Kyandroooos!” I yell as I run. “Dactyyyyl!”
The dactyl responds with a bone-rattling screech of triumph. It knows I have no chance to escape now. I’ve let it catch me out in the open, a total rookie mistake on this planet.
I stumble and fall again, and when I turn around the sun is obscured by the shadow of the predator as it glides calmly towards me with its long, toothed beak open.
I freeze. Even if I keep running, I can’t reach the cover of the tree. And it wouldn’t protect me that much, anyway, not now that I have been discovered.
The dactyls eyes are round and lifeless and blood-red.
I curl up, instinctively getting ready to kick that beak, instinctively aware that it’s not going to work.
I scream in horror.
There is total chaos for a moment. I kick at a beak that never comes. There is a frantic beating of leathery wings. The dactyl screeches again, but this time the horrific noise is suddenly cut off. There’s a meaty crack, and a hard spray of icy liquid hits my face.
Then the world solidifies again and everything is quiet and peaceful.
Kyandros is standing there, calmly inspecting the blood-dripping dactyl wing he’s holding. “Large, but ineffective,” he muses.
The snow around us is red with the dactyl’s watery blood, and the predator itself has been ripped in half.
It wasn’t one of the large ones, the ones that are so big you can ride on them. But it was the size of a microplane and must have weighed a thousand pounds, easily big enough to carry me away.
I stagger to my feet on shaky knees. “Thank you.”
He glances at me. “Wipe your face. You look ridiculous.”
I grab a handful of clean snow and rub my face with it. It comes away a dirty pink.
“I didn’t. See you. Come running,” I wheeze.
He lifts the dactyl’s head and opens its jaws. “I believe you. What kind of tool could we make from this, do you think?”
I support myself with my hands on my knees, just panting and hearing my heart slowly calm down after the panic. “The teeth. Are very sharp. We usually. Make knives from them.”
&nbs
p; He yanks a long, jagged tooth out of the dead predator’s mouth. “Knives? Very short ones, then.”
“Or bolts for the crossbow,” I add. “But iron-tipped bolts are better than those.”
“Can one not make things that are not tools or weapons?”
I straighten up, grab another handful of snow, and fill my mouth with it to take away the taste and smell of dactyl blood. “One can. Anything you want.”
The dragon lifts one half of the dactyl. “Does this have the kind of things you enjoy eating? Or make your silly garments from?”
“No,” I state, going over to him. “There’s not much on a dactyl that can be used. Just the teeth and the claws. Please drop that thing.”
Kyandros turns the half dactyl around in his hands one more time, then tosses it to the ground.
I go in close, put my arms around him, and squeeze, not too hard so as not to scare him. “You saved me. Thank you.”
He stiffens with his arms held out from his body.
“What you do now,” I explain, sensing that this is probably his first experience of this kind, “is to put your arms around me, very gently. Yes, like that. Or maybe a little higher with your hands. That’s a pretty intimate place to touch the first time… yes, there. The back, not the butt. You can squeeze a little bit— too hard! Okay, better. I will squeeze you more now, don’t freak out. Mmmm. Thank you.” I lean my head on his hard chest, feeling the edges of the scales under the skin. He’s as warm as any man and I can definitely hear a heartbeat, slow and strong.
“This is a common thing in your tribe?”
I hold on to him. “Yes. It’s called a ‘hug’ and we do it all the time, especially when someone has saved someone else’s life.”
“You think that piece of prey would have killed you?”
“I do think that,” I state into his chest, pondering how long I can get away with standing like this. He has a good body to hug, hard and wide and strong and too male for words.
Well, he doesn’t know how these things work, so I’ll just remain in his embrace for a while. It feels good.
His hands slide slowly down again, and something hard starts poking my tummy.
My body responds with some very happy little tingles.
I disengage and Kyandros reluctantly lets go of my butt.
I clear my voice. “So. You just picked that thing out of the sky and tore it in half?”
He shrugs. “You called for me and it did seem to be on an attack vector. I thought it best to snag it before it could snag you.”
“You didn’t think it might be dangerous?”
He frowns. “Of course, I thought it could be dangerous to you. You are quite soft.”
“I mean, dangerous to you?”
“I am a dragon.”
“So, it could not have harmed you?”
He kicks at one half of the dactyl. “It probably could. When I’m in this cursed shape, at least. As it turned out, it didn’t.”
“It looks a little bit like a dragon, doesn’t it?”
He looks at me without understanding. “It does not.”
To me, the resemblance is striking. “I mean, with the wings and the tail and the… the whole thing?”
“This pitiful prey animal?” He frowns again as if trying to make out if I’m insulting him.
“But of course, now I can see that it is not true,” I hurry to say. “It looks nothing like a dragon. It was just something someone said. But no, completely different. Thanks again. Shall we try to find some not-sheep? Wait. Could you bend down, please?”
“Why?”
“The place where I shot you with the crossbow… may I see it?”
He just stares at me for a moment, then slowly bows so I can inspect his head.
In the strong sunlight, it becomes clear to me that the wound isn’t healing. Certainly not as fast as it should after it has been treated with the magic space gel. If anything, it has taken on a darker gray color, which I take to mean that it’s either inflamed or getting worse in some other way.
“May I see your wrists?”
I’m not used to people with silvery skin, but I know unhealthy discoloration when I see it. And this is definitely it.
“Does it hurt?”
“A slight burn only. Nothing to worry about.”
“And the head?”
He just shrugs.
The magic space gel has done wonders for both us girls and the cavemen when injured or burned. But it was made by Bune, the ship that belonged to the aliens that were the dragons’ mortal enemies. I suppose it is possible that they added something to it to make sure that if dragons tried to use it, it would only harm them. After all, the dragon that Ashlynn killed inside Bune said that Bune was all trash to him, with nothing of value inside. That would have to include the gel.
By applying the gel on a dragon, I might have just caused more harm to him. I meant well, but I’m not sure that makes it better. I have to think about this.
With a sickening crunch, Kyandros breaks the beak off the dactyl and takes it with him.
He starts walking, and this time I keep up with him. I don’t want to get caught out alone again. Apparently, some of the dinos survived the cold, after all. I hope some of the nice ones did, too.
We walk for maybe ten minutes, and then Kyandros takes off like a shot and comes back holding a not-sheep by the neck. The creature is still alive and makes pitiful whining noises.
He holds the poor thing up to my face. “Is this the prey you had in mind?”
I turn away. I do prefer a little bit of distance to a living creature I’m going to slaughter. “Yes, yes. It is.”
“Should I kill it?”
“Just do it quickly.”
When I turn my face back again, the not-sheep is hanging limply from Kyandros’ hand and there’s a small point of blood between its eyes.
Kyandros holds up one finger. The long, needle-like claw is red. “Piercing the brain usually works. But it is highly unsatisfying. I’m glad I had the chance to kill that flying thing. Murder should be messy and noisy. Do you need more of these?”
“Maybe one or two more. It’s okay if you kill them right away, before you bring them back. Just take care so the fur is in mostly one piece.”
After another half hour he has caught another three of the not-sheep, and we start to return to the cave. Now my ears and nose are starting to go icy, but the day is clearly much warmer than yesterday. If it stays like this, then tomorrow I’ll be able to leave the cave and look for Bune or the village.
“Kyandros. You’ve seen my village. Do you know where it is? I mean, could you find it again?”
“I don’t know exactly. But of course, I could find it. Just a matter of walking until you see it.”
“Have you heard of a place called Bune?”
He thinks about it. “Wasn’t there a city on the planet Gork that was called Bune? Or was that Tune?”
“No, I mean here on Xren. It’s a holy place to us. Forbidden. But the shamans tell us that the dragons know about it.”
Kyandros walks in silence for a while. “No, it was Gune. Not Bune. Or possibly Wune. I usually don’t notice the names of lessers, but this one city was special in that both Eridarion and Parundiliga were able to build impressive hoards from its ruins. No, I don’t know about any holy place on this planet. Nothing about the lesser species is holy to me.”
I wrap the cape closer around myself. “Am I really that much less than you?”
He thinks about it. “You are smaller. Weaker. Slower. You have only one shape. You can’t fly or travel through the void. You don’t strike fear into the hearts of your enemies just by being there. You don’t build a hoard. You need food to stay alive. You need water. It takes you a long time to learn a new language.”
I sigh. That’s all true. Maybe I am a lesser being. He does have something of a demigod about him.
No, I protest inside. Humans are not inferior! Do dragons have moon rockets and frozen pi
zza?
No, but that’s because they don’t need them.
Can a dragon do differential equations?
Probably not.
A-ha! Can they make a new airplane wing that carries two whole engines, all their fuel, that flexes, that carries a larger airframe and still reduces fuel consumption by four percent?
No, but neither can I.
Well, maybe not alone. But I could probably program a computer to do part of it. If I had the right software. And some books and experts to ask.
“But does that make you lesser?” Kyandros ponders aloud. “You do make things to help you cope with a world that must be extremely dangerous and frightening to you. And your kind sometimes does stay alive for a little while. Perhaps, it depends on the individual just how much less than a dragon he is. And after all, a dragon without a hoard close by isn’t that much different from you.” He motions down his own body as if to show me.
“How old are you, Kyandros?”
“I am not very old. Two hundred years only. Quite a youngster.”
“How long do you expect to live?”
“Most dragons live to about a thousand.”
“How do they spend their time?”
“Most spend the final six to seven hundred years just guarding their hoards, lying on top of them, just owning, and growing ever more suspicious about everyone else.”
I grab a handful of snow and try to make a snowball. It’s still a little too cold for the snow to stick together like it should. “Not much of a life.”
He chuckles. “The best life. Your youth behind you, your hoard collected and your name legendary, now you can just lie on top of the heap and feel how it nourishes you and how you own it. Perhaps you even have offspring somewhere, and perhaps that offspring will visit you once in a while with a small addition to your hoard. Because that’s the only way it can keep growing. But at the same time, you don’t want anyone to visit you, because of the risk they might steal a coin or a brooch or a ring or a necklace or any small object out of the thousands you own. Something like that would ruin your old age and you could never quite enjoy your hoard again. You would only think of the thing that was taken. That worry is what sucks the life out of old dragons in the end. Even if it never happens, even if their hoard is fully intact. The worry kills them. But it is a glorious end.”
Caveman Alien’s Enemy Page 10
