She squirms away from me, grabbing her bag and knife with a determined look. Her movements are quick and precise as she cuts her hair again, the strands falling into the water. I watch, fascinated, as she tosses the hair into the stream.
I cannot help but make a game out of it, splashing into the water and attempting to catch and eat the floating strands. She stares at me, her expression a mix of incredulity and amusement.
"You're crazy," she mutters, shaking her head. "Do you want some of the rations instead?" she asks, a hint of concern in her voice.
"I will eat again in a few sun cycles," I say, dismissing the notion with a wave of my hand. "Food is not what I hunger for right now."
She narrows her eyes at me, but then softens. "You looked like a hatchling just now. I bet you were a terrible listener and drove your mother crazy."
"She was out protecting the city. Drakonid aren't raised by their parents, but in broods watched over by aged civilians. Hatchlings who show interest and ability later go to Maj'Ras veterans with an interest in young warriors. I was taught to hunt by the elders. Our prey was fierce and cunning, much like you."
I wiggle my spines at her, enjoying the way she rolls her eyes.
"I grew up as a militarybrat," she shares. "My parents were always moving, always training. By the time I was ten, I could shoot better than most soldiers. It wasn't an easy life, but it made me strong."
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, there is an understanding between us.
"Tell me more," I urge, wanting to know everything about her.
She hesitates, then continues. "When I was thirteen, we were stationed in a war zone. It was the first time I saw real combat. My parents were on the front lines, and I was left to fend formyself. I had to learn quickly how to survive, how to fight, and how to protect those I cared about."
"Why would the young be so close to combat?"
She huffs out a breath. "It didn't use to be like that, but things are more desperate every year. I think they hope it will mean more of us will be warriors, and my parents agreed to it."
She smirks. "Believe it or not, it's also where I learned my first life skill."
I keep my gaze on her. "And what would that be?"
She snorts with amusement, "It's where I learned to cut my hair. It was a necessity. Long hair can be a disadvantage in a fight..." she tapers off, suddenly gaining a faraway look in her eyes.
"I, uh, learned that lesson the hard way after..." She shakes her head, letting the already regrowing pink threads fling water about. "It doesn't matter how. I've kept it short ever since."
I assume there is a very interesting story behind that, but I figure now is no time to pry.
I imagine how adorable she would be scrapping with someone and shrieking at them as they pull her threads.
Then my grin falls. Perhaps viewing this little human as cute is not a fair assessment.
Tiny as she may be, she was also raised into combat and pursued the same line as she got older. Just as I was, though in radically different environments.
"You are admirable," I say softly, then berate myself for saying something about such an obviously weaker species.
Why is she an exception? She is even weaker than a braceaaer. A genali, even.
She looks away, uncomfortable with the compliment. "I'm just doing what I have to do to survive," she replies uneasily.
"And you do it well," I say blithely before almost choking on a mix of my own words and a distressed groan of pleasure as an all too familiar sweet smell clogs up my airways.
It's that scent again. It might be the end of me, taking away my breath, causing a hitch that leads to a harsh cough that overtakes my body.
30
Kira
I watch, bewildered, as Drasuk's amusement curdles into a choked gasp. His chest heaves, clawed hands scrabbling at his throat.
Panic jolts me.
