My hand tingledwith excitement where Linn’ar held it. After crash landing on this planet, I’d given up the prospect of ever eating my favorite foods again, but then Linn’ar recognized the termrice flour.Was it actually possible it existed here?
He led me to a small, cozy hut I’d never entered before. The door was painted with bright colors and shapes. When we pushed past the door, I gasped. It was beautiful inside. Sunshine spilled into the den from multiple windows, illuminating the already vividly painted walls. The space was split up neatly into different sections. I recognized kofotta fibers tucked into woven baskets in one spot—that must be the weaving area.
But there were others, too. A long wooden table was streaked in a rainbow of stains. Sitting on top of it were brushes and vials full of kaleidoscopic pigments. The entire hut radiated creative energy.
“Linn’ar,” I murmured. “Is thisyourden?”
“It does not belong to me.”
“Right,” I said, remembering the way Maeleons had no possessions. “But this is where you sleep and craft, isn’t it?”
His feelers perked. “That is correct.”
“I had no idea you were so... artistic. I mean, I knew you could weave since you made these,” I said, picking at my onesie. “But this place is incredible.”
Linn’ar trilled. “Thank you. I am happy to finally show it to you.”
I scanned the final section of the den. It was tidier than the rest, as if cordoned off from the weaving and painting radius, and it was decorated with familiar tools—pots, pans, and what appeared to be a cute little stove.
“Wait,” I said, stopping in my tracks. “A stove? Youhaveone of those? I thought fire was a no-no on Eukaria.”
I couldn’t help but remember our disastrous entrance to the planet. Part of the Sweetfields was scorched by our crashed ship, and when Zat’tor told us that harming the Sweetfields was taboo, we thought we’d be put to death for it.
But that wasn’t all my evidence. I’d never eaten anythingcookedon this planet. Most of the Maeleons’ diet—and therefore, ours—was raw fruits, salted vegetables, and honeyed grains. They didn’t appear to eat meat, despite their ferocious-looking fangs.
Linn’ar beckoned me towards the stove. “Come and see for yourself.”
I kneeled at the base of the stove, narrowing my eyes as Linn’ar opened the stove door. Instead of being dark and bone-dry, it was well-lit and humid. I blinked in confusion.
“How does this work?” I asked. “And what’s that light down there?”
Linn’ar looked amused at my curiosity. “There are no flames. It is heated by steam.”
I recalled the steamed broccoli from my childhood with a nostalgic smile.
“Is it safe to put my head inside?” I asked.
“Yes,” Linn’ar said with a chuckle. “But I will hold you so you don’t fall in.”
“Fall in?”
Now I was really curious. After Linn’ar grabbed my waist for safety, I peered inside the odd alien steam stove. Immediately, a warm, wet burst of air shot up against my face. It came from the big hole in the ground. Unlike an Earth stove, there were no coals or wood or anything related to burning. It baffled and intrigued me.
I gazed into the hole. It delved deep underground to a mysterious bright, steamy place.
“I feel you leaning closer,” Linn’ar warned from outside. He clutched my hips tighter. “I don’t want you to fall in.”
I snorted. I liked when he got all overprotective.
“Why don’t you pull me back out then?” I asked.
I was joking, but Linn’ar pulled me out and lifted me into his arms as if I weighed as much as a hamster.
“Hey, I wasn’t done exploring,” I protested.
“My filum will not be tumbling into the underground steam chamber today. We have other plans, remember?”
“Underground steam chamber?” I asked, my voice rising inquisitively.
