I let out a rumble of my own levity. "I'm glad we have that behind us."
She rolls her eyes, but I can see she's calmer now, the fear and panic receding, if only a little. I take a deep breath, preparing to tell her what I know, even if it's not much.
"Listen," I start, my tone serious. "There is a chance the modifications, or whatever is making you absorb armored skin plates, might not be permanent. If my knowledge of the genali's disgusting female trafficking is correct, they are always looking for new ways to please clients. This latest change is more drastic than I thought they could manage, but a manticorid might know more."
She frowns, absorbing my words. "So, this might go away?" she asks, her voice tinged with hope.
"Possibly," I say, not wanting to give her false hope. "It's all speculation on my part. But adaptability suggests change and change means this might not be forever."
She nods, a bit more comforted, though the uncertainty still hangs in the air.
"I need to prepare myself for it being permanent, but I do appreciate your words."
"And the tail whacks? Did you appreciate those?"
She scowls but doesn't respond. Of course she liked it.
I fall to all fours, stretching my limbs. "It's time to leave," I say, breaking the moment of quiet.
She packs up our supplies into the backpack, her movements more assured now. I watch as she places extra weapons and clips so they can be easily accessed. She checks her ammo, smiling at how many clips she has, then re-situates the zeltium weapon along her hip.
As we leave the cave and wade past the waterfall, my nose picks up a familiar scent. Dread fills me instantly. I never thought I would catch their foul scent again.
"I smell someone I know nearby," I say, my voice low and tense. "Let me carry you. It'll make the journey faster, and I feel like being nice to my pet today."
She gives me a flat look, then narrows her eyes. "I thought we had moved past the pet joke, Drasuk. What's going on?"
"You only thought we had," I reply with false amusement in my voice. I hope she hasn't figured out how to interpret the movement of my spines by now. They will betray me.
When I see her eyes dart up to them, I have my answer, though I continue to deflect. "I'm sure by now you know that your resistance to your pet status is futile, though I do commend your attempts."
She raises one of her delicate eyefurs, her face telling me she is suspicious, but simply gestures for me to go ahead. I scoop her up effortlessly, her weight barely noticeable. She grudgingly holds on as we move through the dense forest.
We travel in silence as I run, the forest around us eerily quiet. The ground is uneven, and the air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. The canopy is much thicker here, not allowing much light to filter through. The lack of ambient sound is unsettling.
We come to a large pond, its surface still and reflective like a mirror. I place Kira down without a word, not liking what I smell, then tip forward onto all fours and bound toward it. She hisses a curse out at me, but I can hear her running to catch up.
My dread returns tenfold when I spot the corpse of another drakonid. He's lying face down by the water's edge. His Maj'Ra armor is worn from extensive use and ripped asunder, useless now, a sight that sends a chill down my spine.
I rush to the body, my heart pounding. I recognize him immediately. Thukul. He was once a Maj'Ra like myself, though our paths diverged long ago. I stare at the tear in his throat as Kira catches up to me. She blinks at the sight, then starts scanning around us, her new rifle in her hands.
"Thukul," I whisper, my voice choked with equal parts rage and shock.
I kneel beside him, my hands trembling. His guts spill into the lake, the water around him tinged with blood. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to steady myself.
"You know him? Who did this?" Kira asks, her voice barely a whisper.
"I do, yes. I don't know who killed him, but I do smell other draks."
Ones I dreamed of coming across again, but never in this sort of context.
My mind begins racing. "The rest of them are close."
"Judging by how you're acting, these aren't friends."
"No, they are not."
I don't expound, and she, rather uncharacteristically, doesn't press for more answers.
