As the hours pass, the forest grows quieter, the night creatures settling into their routines. I find myself watching her, her small frame curled up defensively, her expression one of defiance even while resting. There's a vulnerability to her she tries so hard to hide, and it only makes me more determined to protect her.
I've never responded like that to a weaker species.
Strange.
17
Kira
I lay in the thicket, trying to find a comfortable position on the uneven ground. The night air is cool, a welcome change from the stifling heat of the day, but sleep eludes me. Drasuk's presence leaves me unsettled.
I can still feel his eyes on me, and it's infuriating.
I turn onto my side, pulling my knees up to my chest. The scent of earth and vegetation fills my nostrils, grounding me slightly, but my mind refuses to quiet down. Thoughts of Drasuk swirl in my head. A relentless storm of irritation and confusion.
He's arrogant, pushy, and infuriatingly smug. And yet, there's something about him that I can't quite shake off. Something that resonates.
"Fumbling fornicator food excrement," I hiss, echoing my earlier frustration, before almost screaming in annoyance at the realization that I've muttered out another line of word salad.
I take a pause, forcing my throat to remember what it felt like to speak English, and after a few seconds of disconcerting writhing in my throat, I test my lingua once more.
"Stupid fuck? Bullshit?"
Blinking at the realization that I'm back to the default potty-mouthed setting fills me with a bit of relief before I let out a groan once more.
I continue grumbling in English. "Why do these damn translations never get it right?"
Naturally, I get no response, so I switch back to drakonid to keep trying, as bullheaded as always.
I mutter a string of curses that sound like gibberish even to my ears. I should just give it up. Accept that there is no good way to curse in his stupid language, but it just sounds like one too many changes.
I've given up control of how my body looks, my freedom, my home, my language, and now cursing? No.
He'll have to be the one to fucking figure it out. I ignore the part of my brain telling me I'm going to keep sounding like an idiot.
I'm done changing.
The quiet of the wilderness presses in on me, amplifying the sounds of my breathing and the distant rustle of leaves.
It reminds me too much of the early years of my deployment back on Earth—the anxious waiting during hot desert nights, the eerie stillness that only heightened the tension. Except now, instead of the sweltering heat, the cool forest air wraps around me, making the memories feel even more distant and surreal.
I roll onto my back, staring up at the canopy of leaves above. The shadows play tricks on my mind, shapes shifting and merging in the dim light. Sleep tugs at my eyelids, but I refuse to give in.
I don't trust Drasuk, not fully.
He might be a capable ally, but he's still a wildcard.
I wouldn't have these damn conflicted feelings if he would just leave. As requested, hell, demanded, multiple times.
My mind drifts to the events of the day, replaying the battles and the moments of tension. The alien hunters, the crash site, the supplies we scavenged—it all feels like a blur. My body aches from the exertion, every muscle protesting against the hard ground beneath me.
Except the adrenaline still courses through my veins, keeping me on edge. Dammit.
The night is full of distant sounds, but it's the much closer relative silence that gets to me. The wind rustles the leaves, insects chirp, and somewhere in the distance, a night bird calls out mournfully. Despite the sounds, there's an oppressive quiet that makes me feel more alone than ever.
I shift again, trying to find a position that doesn't make my muscles scream in protest. The ground is cold and hard, and every rock and root feel like a personal affront.
"Damn it," I mutter, sitting up and rubbing my face with my hands.
