There’s a sudden, high-pitched yelp, and the drok goes still. Not caring about its claws ripping bigger holes in me, I grab the lifeless enemy and throw it to the ground. It has a wound right at the throat.
The weight is gone. The jungle tilts again. And behind me there’s stillness. A shape. Movement.
I whirl around, ready for another fight.
It’s the woman, eyes wide and spear held ready. The spearpoint drips black and red in the dim light.
For a moment, we stand like that while we await the other’s reaction. Her dark eyes have fear in them. And death.
I let out my breath. She’s not attacking me.
“Good aim with the spear,” I growl, wiping blood off my arm with the other hand. “Killed him on the spot.”
“Where is girl?” she asks in her strangely accented voice. “Youhereher!”
I pick up my sword. “Not many have taken down a drok. And certainly not with a spear.” I squat to examine my attacker. “Those claws can be useful.” I start the bloody business of cutting them off the dead drok.
The woman stands there, still tense. “Where girl?”
I ignore her while I finish declawing the drok. Then I straighten. “Surely you can sense where she is?”
There’s no answer. She doesn’t understand. But the way she watches me feels like she does. Her speech sounds strange and halting, as if she doesn’t know the words properly.
I certainly senseher.She’s small, with a round face and long, dark hair kept in place at the top of her head. I can hear her fast heartbeat over the constant din of the jungle, and I can see it at her throat. Her voice is thin and yet full, young yet mature in a way that I can’t quite figure out, but which strikes something deep in me. Something warm.
I show her the eight long and pointy claws, dripping with cold, watery blood. “These are yours.”
She doesn’t make any move to take them, so I shrug and put them in the pouch at my belt. “You appear to have saved my life. But my life already belongs to someone else, and I can’t change my loyalty. I’m sure you understand.”
I replace the sword in its sheath and look around. I’m not far from the spot I picked so carefully, thinking that it was safe. If the drok has already beenthere, there may not be anything left to protect. But I doubt it. Droks only hunt alone, and this one would not have attacked me if it had already had its fill of sweet, soft meat.
I fix the woman with a hard gaze. “You followed me this far. I won’t stop you from following me further. But the girl ismine.” I turn my back to her and walk on.
I sense her hesitating before she follows me, her feet rubbing loudly against the undergrowth with each little step. I could get rid of her, of course. I could run, or just walk faster than she could follow. But somehow, I enjoy her presence, and I’ll have to deal with her sooner or later anyway.
I lead her straight to the secret spot I picked for tonight.
The bundle I hid so carefully is still there, hanging from a branch close to the trunk of a small tree. The camouflage makes it look like the net of a smerek, causing every Big and Small to want to stay well away from it.
There’s no sound, which alarms me a bit until I climb up and check.
“Having a good night’s sleep,” I say softly. “Some people have all the luck.”
I climb down and hold the leather bundle up in front of the woman. “Here she is. Keep in mind that she ismine.”
4
–Theodora–
It’s a bundle of leather and furs in several layers, made so that it can be carried with two solid, looped straps. It looks like a primitive backpack, twice the size of any I’ve seen on Earth.
Even in the dark, I can see what it contains. There’s an opening with a loose flap, and inside there’s a round little face, eyes closed in sleep.
“A baby,” I whisper. My heart is still beating hard and fast after the encounter with that terrible monster that attacked the caveman. I was expecting to find Callie, not this.
Cora mentioned the Lifegivers, those strange plants that the tribes use to make new men. Those are all male, because they’re pretty much clones. So this is a baby boy, which makes it weird for the caveman to keep saying “she” and “her.” But I don’t know the language that well, I suppose. Maybe it’s a dialect thing.
“He yours?” I ask, just to say something.
