He lets out a grumble, "It's a loosely allied confederation of sapient races that came together to police the universe during the decline of the Thorisian Empire, of the manticorid, I mean. Emphasis on the term 'loosely allied'."
I nod, unsure of what to do with this new bit of information.
"Information on hunting grounds like these is limited, but from the little I could glean, they are fundamentally terra-engineered to be diverse worlds, split into multiple biomes. The forest anddesert are just two of them. There's also a tundra on a northern island, and a small pleasure island between them, according to the official template used in building them. Each biome has its own unique challenges and dangers."
"Great," I mutter sarcastically. "As if surviving the forest and desert weren't enough."
He grunts in agreement. "It's not an easy place to survive, but it's not impossible. You just need to be smart and cautious."
"Good thing at least one of us is taking that little caveat seriously," I grumble as he stomps through a thicket and announces our presence to whoever or whatever is within range.
So much for his quiet steps near the stream.
He doesn't rise to my bait. Or he assumes I was talking about myself. Yeah, the latter.
I roll my eyes and keep walking.
We push through the thick foliage, our progress slow but steady.
Despite the challenges, there's a certain beauty to it all, a sense of being part of something larger and more complex than myself.
My thoughts drift back to the rest of the women. The uncertainty of their fate weighs heavily on my mind. I can't shake the feeling of responsibility, the need to do something to help them. But here, in this strange and dangerous world, I'm not sure where to even begin.
"Do you think the others survived?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
I don't know why I let the question slip out. I don't know why it came out in that toneeither, but I freeze up internally, mortified at the underlying implication of the question.
Hard-headed bitch I might be, but one of the few behaviors I can accept is lying to myself.
Since when did I start seeking reassurance from anyone other than myself?
Even worse, why an incorrigible lizard?
Drasuk doesn't answer immediately.
When he does, his tone is surprisingly gentle. "It's possible. Survival often depends on a combination of luck and skill. If they are resourceful and determined, they might still be alive."
It's not exactly the reassurance I was hoping for, but in all honesty, I am happy that it's not. The need to comfort more often than not comes with the need to lie.
That said, they could be alive.
I cling to that small glimmer of hope as we continue our trek.
32
Kira
The silence after our conversation is stretching heavy and awkward. I'm kicking at rocks, sending a spray of dirt scattering in front of me.
The illogical part of me, the part I usually shove down ruthlessly, feels a strange pang of... disappointment? Am I enjoying listening to that lizard ramble on about galactic politics and outlawed hunting grounds?
Damn, the answer is yes. A huff of breath leaves my nose at the thought.
I like it when he speaks.
It isn't just the oppressive desert heat wafting into the forest making my skin prickle, though.
The sound of his deep, rumbling voice, a low, almost hissing quality to it, sends shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with fear.
