"We don't curse," he says simply. "There's no point. We communicate directly and state our observations and disagreements clearly."
I scoff. "Sounds about as exciting as watching paint dry."
"Perhaps," he replies, his gaze unwavering. "But it passes on our intentions well enough. Why leave room for double meaning? Isn't communication supposed to be clear and meaningful?"
I glance away, my cheeks still burning for fuck knows why. "Fine," I mutter. "Maybe your way is better. But it's still boring."
He lets out a soft puff of air, a sound that could almost be a chuckle. "Possibly, but it is effective."
He falls silent then, his gaze shifting back to the forest.
The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy, and with a huff, I put some distance between the two of us, grabbing my backpack as I head deeper into the foliage for some privacy.
I force myself to focus on something other than the infuriating Drasuk, turning my attention to the mess that is my pilfered pack, grateful for the bright moonlight. It contains some ammo for the unwieldy rifle I snagged, a medkit, some rolls of cloth-like materials I figured could come in handy as bandages, some bars of what look like rations.
The haphazard collection I managed to salvage from the soggy bastard and his friends tumbles out in a disorganized heap. Sorting through the mess might not be the most thrillingactivity, but it's a job, and those provide a much-needed distraction.
The rustling of leaves from behind me is the first clue that my attempt at peace is about to be shattered.
Drasuk emerges from the undergrowth, his massive form easily navigating the dense foliage. This close, I can see the intricate patterns etched onto his blue hide catching the moonlight in an almost mesmerizing way. I clench my teeth, willing myself not to react.
Of course, silence seems to be my kryptonite, so I mumble some curses at him.
"So," he says, his voice a low rumble, "any plans to approach the glorious day ahead?"
Is he fucking with me here?
Gritting my teeth, I manage a tight smile. "Survival, mostly. Any brilliant ideas from your vast well of drakonid wisdom?"
The amusement playing in his eyes only serves to further irritate me.
"Patience, little one. The forest holds its secrets closely, but they will reveal themselves with time," he finishes in an overly exaggerated manner that I can't help but think is supposed to come off as sage.
Little one. Not my name. That's another thing I hate.
It's condescending, but a fullness flickers in my chest at the sound of it. Heat rises to my cheeks, and I quickly bend down to rummage through my bag again, anything to avoid looking at him.
Is it just the constant fear? The isolation? Maybe being stuck with a giant blue alien is messing with my head in more ways than one.
The thought sends a fresh wave of anger coursing through me. That's it. I'm officially pissed. Pissed at him, at the situation, at myself for feeling so... off-center around him.
Pushing myself to my feet, I grab a handful of dirt and grit from the forest floor. "Look," I say, my voice tight, "I appreciate the advice, but right now I could use some space."
Drasuk opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. "Just for a minute, okay? I need to think."
He looks at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he retreats farther into the trees. I let out a shaky breath, the tension draining from my shoulders as he disappears from sight.
With the awkward silence broken, I finally focus on the golden chest plate and bracers in my lap that I salvaged from the Graylord alien I managed to take down with a lucky shot from my not-so-cooperative gun cannon thingy.
The metal, once gleaming and proud, is now marred with scratches and dents from the fight.
A perfect symbol for my current emotional state.
I have a feeling that the gun itself is one bad shot or rough bump away from falling apart, and that does little to calm me down.
Anger spurs me on.
I grab a rock, scraping it across the surface of the armor, dulling the golden sheen with each determined stroke. The metal groans in protest, but I don't let up. Each scrape feels like a cathartic release, a defiance against the chaos this world has thrown me into.
