Drasuk watches me in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he speaks. "You know, humans are an intriguing species."
"How so?" I mumble, still focused on checking for missed strands of hair from my impromptu haircut.
"Your capacity for both resilience and self-destruction is fascinating," he says, his voice thoughtful.
I give a humorless laugh. "Resilience, huh? Maybe."
It feels like a loaded word given the situation I find myself in.
"Indeed," he continues. "Facing a situation like this, I assume most of your kind would crumble. Yet, here you are, sharpening your nails and cutting off your hair."
"What am I supposed to do?" I grouse, dropping the knife and turning to face him fully. "Just sit here and wait for them to dissect me?"
He takes a step back, a hint of surprise on his big blue face. "Dissect you? No, I highly doubt that was their plan."
"Then what was the plan, Drasuk?" I challenge. "Because so far, everything with you aliens seems to be one big, confusing experiment."
He hums noncommittally. "Actually, I'm being hunted for my skull. You are being hunted for... another body part. I doubt they'd have the facilities to experiment on us here."
It reminds me of the women. I'm going to have to tell him about them. Now that I know him a bit better, I think the risk to them is minimal and if his sense of smell is as good as I think it is, then he is perfect for this task.
I give him the flattest look I can muster, before letting out an explosive sigh and returning to the task of cutting the rest of the stray strands of my hair.
24
Drasuk
My gaze flickers between Kira and the newly diminished length of her hair, the scent of genali blood heavy in the air. Each swipe of the blade sends a shower of vibrant pink cascading down to the forest floor.
It is an undeniably strange sight, this ritualistic shedding of what humans called hair. Threads, perhaps, would be a more accurate term from my perspective. Long, fibrous strands that seem to serve no real purpose other than perhaps rudimentary temperature regulation.
Or maybe mere ornament?
An illogical pang of something akin to disappointment flashes within me as I watch the vibrant pink diminish. It is an illogical sentiment, I know. Why should I care about the color of her hair?
Yet, the sight of it, so different from my leathery hide, holds a certain intrigue I cannot deny.
Curiosity gnaws at the edges of my notoriously overthinking brain.
In one regard, the practicality of her actions is undeniable. Unrestrained, the hair would become a tangled mess, a hindrance in any potential struggle for survival. Yet, a small, illogical part of me mourns the loss of the softness it brought to her otherwise sharp features.
Her tongue is sharp enough. She needs something soft to counterbalance it.
I reach out a clawed hand and pluck a few strands from the ground. The texture is unlike anything I'd ever felt—smooth, almost silky, with a surprising strength despite its delicate appearance.
I bring it closer to my snout, inhaling deeply.
The scent that hits me is unexpected, a subtle sweetness tinged with something faintly floral. It is a pleasant surprise, a stark contrast to the earthy, metallic smells that dominate my world.
Compelled by an urge I don't understand, I lift the strands to my mouth and take a tentative bite.
The taste is... interesting.
Not unpleasant, but unfamiliar. A fibrous texture with a hint of the same sweetness I smelled earlier. Before I can fully process the sensation, a sharp voice cuts through the air.
"What the fiery pit in the ground do you think you're doing, Drasuk?"
I blink, startled, the offending pink strands dangling limply from my maw. I must look utterly ridiculous, a mighty Maj'Ra chewing on a human's hair.
